I'll admit I was a little late to the Girls party. But once I arrived, I partied HARD, watching all three seasons in the space of a week. The finale marked a Lena Dunham-shaped hole in my life, which I have partially filled with her new autobiography Not That Kind of Girl, but by and large I remain pining for season 4 to hit our screens next year.
I began to feel the worry as a physical sensation - it would start as a warning prickle in the top of my head and then spread like fire until it extended all across my scalp. This, I supposed, was a panic attack - but there was little I could do to stop it. As time went on, anxiety morphed into paranoia - the attacks happened more and more frequently, and the fear of them happening became all-encompassing, almost as bad as the symptoms themselves.
Apparently, we see 1500 advertisements a day featuring people whose body shape in no way represents our own. This make us feel inferior. On a daily basis, we think we're failing to look as we should. And this does not make us feel good. It's not a trivial issue. If we feel bad about how we look, we make bad choices about our health; we are more likely to be depressed.