This is amazing. it expresses what i feel exactly.. at least almost.. read it!!

Girl Columns
Zoe Heller

Their columns retailed the sort of self-deprecating confidences that women often use to establish intimacy with other women: Oh, you needn’t be threatened by me – let me tell you about the time a tube of spermicidal jelly fell out of my handbag at the bus stop… Personal humiliation was, in fact, the theme of the girl columns. (The humiliation took many forms, although for some reason falling asleep in a public place and waking to find that you’d been drooling proved to be one of the most persistent leitmotifs.)

The bravado with which the girl columnists revisited their own pratfalls and miseries puzzled a lot of readers. There seemed something contradictory and even suspect about avowing one’s own folly and despair with such exuberance. Reading Bridget Jones brazenly extol the hopelessness of her love life had a strangely contrapuntal effect – like watching someone leap on stage and belt out a show-tune about being shy. Indeed, when James Wolcott wrote an article for the New Yorker in 1996 decrying the outbreak of ‘girlishness’ in modern female journalism, he singled out this mixed tonal message as one of the more irritating aspects of the new girl writing. Wolcott was nostalgic for the explosive rage of seventies feminism.

Sure, those warrior-chicks were a handful, but at least you knew where you were with them. By contrast, the kittenish girls of the nineties were troubling all over the place- simpering and swaggering, telling you off, then rubbing up against your leg. The straightforward wrath of the tough nuts had been replaced with the tempery caprice of show-offs.

Some of these writers are gifted and amusing, but all cling to ad fluff up an image of themselves that seems flirty and confrontational a the same time: flirtational. (Tell me I’m cute – or else.)

Quite so. The girl writers were flirtational. But the mixture of neurosis and confidence they displayed – that nervy oscillation between insecurity and bolshiness – was one of their greatest assets. The girl columns were not models of journalistic excellence; the quality of girl prose tended to be extremely uneven, but, at their best, girl writers achieved a refreshing, even startling, level of honesty. Part of that honesty lay in refusing to play either entirely tough or entirely timid – insisting on the confusing truth, which was a combination of both.


Attention. Popularity. Fame. It can be so sickening to be chasing, seeking and wanting these things all the time. It's like always wanting to be heard. Always wanting to be loved. Always wanting to be cared for. And always wanting to be praised. And they can never satisfy becuause you'll just continue wanting more. It is so sickening. Subtle flirt. Subtle acts to seek attention. I was lke that. And i feel so fake. So not-myself. So made-up-to-be-what-others-want-me-to-be.And i just glad and thankful that i've broken the curse and freed myself from that bondage.