Thanks Steff! Yes, I feel like it's been spinning in my head for so long and I really do just want to get over it...so, writing it out felt like the best course of action 😅
Thank you for including Anne Sexton along with Plath and Woolf. I'm always curious about why Plath is iconic but Sexton is not. There's a good article there that I have never made time to pursue.
When we are watching capitalism play out in so many ways currently, this rings very true, in many arenas-
"This is what capitalism does to everything genuine, of course. The system has a genius for metabolizing its own critique—for finding the thing that feels like resistance and selling it back to us as product."
While I'm far from an expert on the sad girl canon, I definitely understand where you're coming from. I get so tired of Sylvia Plath being coopted into this aesthetic of wayward teenage youth. The woman was a visionary poet and deeply troubled soul and I think would not have approved of forever being associated with depressed teenagers.
Wow, you’ve described this cultural shift with precision and grace. Excellent.
I’d like to add another suggested book toward your point on shifting from confession to mystery: On the Calculation of Volume.
Incredible ongoing self-questioning of the narrator through her surreal circumstances (reliving the same day over and over and becoming increasingly isolated by it). The resulting, ongoing self discoveries (and surprises, even to herself) of how she attempts to cope with this.
Interesting, however I feel both styles, the confessionalits and the abstract ambiguity were present in women writing, especially poetry and art for a long time. Confessionalist writing is probably more recent around 50s/ 60’s onward. Phoebe Bridgers et al were sort of the new generation confessionalists influenced by 1960’s— I quite like her solo albums tbh. But I guess I will have to agree to your point about the post confessionals, I am sure they are around somewhere. Cannot agree more on the costume bit, especially when its art in bad taste
"...to sit inside damage without metabolizing it into a TED Talk..." I think the young call this a "mic drop." Or maybe it's just us olds. Either way, mic drop.
The sad girl made me feel less alone when I needed that. But you’re right. At some point recognition does become a trap, a cage. I don’t want to keep circling my own damage.
Articles like this are why I love substack! I have to admit I am a fan of all the artists and authors you mentioned but I really enjoyed reading this perspective and haven’t ever thought about this before.
A deeply necessary read because no one is immune to capitalism’s sneaky reach for our wallets/minds/identities. Everything is being covertly packaged now if we aren’t paying attention (the sad girl aesthetic being a big one, currently). The analysis and the call to action questions is one way we snap out of it and back to attention. As a writer, those final questions you pose will linger in my practice (and my reader’s eye) for a very long time.
Opacity and strangeness! Yes. These both feel like essential parts of some mysteriously large definition of now and "girlhood" and growth without conclusion (sometimes with, I guess). Cheers!
Part of me feels like all I’ve ever known was sadness. In a weird way it became comforting to let it envelop me. Every time I let myself be happy it’s taken, tragically and I began to fear I ruined all I touched. Like I had been sentenced to this for the crimes of a past life. I let it isolate me. I accepted less than I deserved because it felt safer, less likely to be taken because it must be what I really deserved. For many many years I never questioned it, i stayed small and agreeable. But slowly an anger in me grew. A feminine anger, both my own and collectively. I feel like the anger was righteous and broke bonds that had held me for so long. It gave way to a new era for me. And now those that are used to my compliance no longer know how to deal with me. I’ve entered my dark femme era and I’ve shed the sad girl for an emboldened woman. I piss many off but that no longer scares me. I don’t accept less than I deserve anymore either. At my core I feel there’s still a sad little girl but I feel she is shielded by what has risen from her. Maybe some of us do need reminding that we don’t have to stay that sad girl, that we can remain true to ourselves and still evolve. That’s what this essay reminded me of. Thank you.
I love this perspective so much as a writer and a reader. Thank you for naming this pattern!
Thanks Steff! Yes, I feel like it's been spinning in my head for so long and I really do just want to get over it...so, writing it out felt like the best course of action 😅
Thank you for including Anne Sexton along with Plath and Woolf. I'm always curious about why Plath is iconic but Sexton is not. There's a good article there that I have never made time to pursue.
When we are watching capitalism play out in so many ways currently, this rings very true, in many arenas-
"This is what capitalism does to everything genuine, of course. The system has a genius for metabolizing its own critique—for finding the thing that feels like resistance and selling it back to us as product."
Yes!
While I'm far from an expert on the sad girl canon, I definitely understand where you're coming from. I get so tired of Sylvia Plath being coopted into this aesthetic of wayward teenage youth. The woman was a visionary poet and deeply troubled soul and I think would not have approved of forever being associated with depressed teenagers.
Wow, you’ve described this cultural shift with precision and grace. Excellent.
I’d like to add another suggested book toward your point on shifting from confession to mystery: On the Calculation of Volume.
Incredible ongoing self-questioning of the narrator through her surreal circumstances (reliving the same day over and over and becoming increasingly isolated by it). The resulting, ongoing self discoveries (and surprises, even to herself) of how she attempts to cope with this.
Interesting, however I feel both styles, the confessionalits and the abstract ambiguity were present in women writing, especially poetry and art for a long time. Confessionalist writing is probably more recent around 50s/ 60’s onward. Phoebe Bridgers et al were sort of the new generation confessionalists influenced by 1960’s— I quite like her solo albums tbh. But I guess I will have to agree to your point about the post confessionals, I am sure they are around somewhere. Cannot agree more on the costume bit, especially when its art in bad taste
"...to sit inside damage without metabolizing it into a TED Talk..." I think the young call this a "mic drop." Or maybe it's just us olds. Either way, mic drop.
capitalism has never carried a canon.
this was gorge. <5.
The sad girl made me feel less alone when I needed that. But you’re right. At some point recognition does become a trap, a cage. I don’t want to keep circling my own damage.
Articles like this are why I love substack! I have to admit I am a fan of all the artists and authors you mentioned but I really enjoyed reading this perspective and haven’t ever thought about this before.
A deeply necessary read because no one is immune to capitalism’s sneaky reach for our wallets/minds/identities. Everything is being covertly packaged now if we aren’t paying attention (the sad girl aesthetic being a big one, currently). The analysis and the call to action questions is one way we snap out of it and back to attention. As a writer, those final questions you pose will linger in my practice (and my reader’s eye) for a very long time.
In this next iteration, I want something with teeth. A way that sloughs off the grief.
Such a spot-on take. I'm curious, do you think this shift allowed for more nuansed representations, or just a different kind of performance?
“The sad girl made us feel seen. Maybe the next thing makes us see’ 🎤
Opacity and strangeness! Yes. These both feel like essential parts of some mysteriously large definition of now and "girlhood" and growth without conclusion (sometimes with, I guess). Cheers!
Part of me feels like all I’ve ever known was sadness. In a weird way it became comforting to let it envelop me. Every time I let myself be happy it’s taken, tragically and I began to fear I ruined all I touched. Like I had been sentenced to this for the crimes of a past life. I let it isolate me. I accepted less than I deserved because it felt safer, less likely to be taken because it must be what I really deserved. For many many years I never questioned it, i stayed small and agreeable. But slowly an anger in me grew. A feminine anger, both my own and collectively. I feel like the anger was righteous and broke bonds that had held me for so long. It gave way to a new era for me. And now those that are used to my compliance no longer know how to deal with me. I’ve entered my dark femme era and I’ve shed the sad girl for an emboldened woman. I piss many off but that no longer scares me. I don’t accept less than I deserve anymore either. At my core I feel there’s still a sad little girl but I feel she is shielded by what has risen from her. Maybe some of us do need reminding that we don’t have to stay that sad girl, that we can remain true to ourselves and still evolve. That’s what this essay reminded me of. Thank you.