Five minutes into FX's "Dave," Dave Bird, looking hopelessly white and Jewish in a mock-neck sweater, declares that he will be "the biggest man in hip-hop." There is no evidence to support his statement. He is an unknown, sitting in the lobby of a recording studio, trying to talk his way to fame.

In 2012, another TV character made a similar statement: in the pilot episode of the small HBO show Girls, Hannah Horvath handed a draft of her memoir to her parents and said.

The similarities between the character Dave Bird (played by real-life rapper/comedian Lil Dickey, whose name is Dave Bird) and Hannah Horvath (Lena Dunham) go beyond their oversized egos: they both embody the most They both embody the most extreme criticisms leveled at millennials. They are entitled, delusional, neurotic narcissists, content to take their parents' money instead of working for themselves, and shocked when success does not come their way. The most striking similarity between Dave and Hannah is their grotesque self-absorption. When Dave is asked to rap at the funeral of a young fan, he becomes obsessed with why he is being compared to other white rappers like Macklemore. When Hannah's editor dies unexpectedly in Season 3, she is more concerned with finding a new publisher for her e-book than grieving his death.

But there is one big difference: we love Dave. Sure, he appropriates black music for no good reason. He is brutally self-centered and embodies the misogyny and power of "woke" men. Needless to say, his music is forgettable at best, tone-deaf and offensive at worst (consider his carefully crafted rhymes, such as "Go on a date and don't worry about getting raped"). Even when he succeeds, he shows no appreciation for it. Despite this, I find myself rooting for him. And I'm not alone in that. Dave has become the most watched comedy show in FX history (opens in new tab), and its stars have been rated by reviewers as vulnerable (opens in new tab), lovable (opens in new tab), refreshingly goofy (opens in new tab), introspective (opens in new tab), smart ( (open in new tab), and sensitive (open in new tab). Hannah Horvath, on the other hand, is considered one of the most hated characters of all time, even vying with Hannibal Lecter (opens in new tab) for the title of "the most terrifying person on television" in a 2015 article in The Atlantic.

One of the most troubling examples of the double standard applied to Hannah and Dave is their reaction to their bodies. Hannah and Dave are often naked on their respective shows, but neither has a body that would be conventionally described as attractive (at least according to the Eurocentric body dysmorphia standards that society currently glorifies). Hannah is described as "plump" (opens in new tab) with "huge thighs, sloppy back, small breasts." (Open in new tab) However, not a single reviewer has mentioned Dave's body, despite seeing him nude as much (if not more) than Hannah. Naomi Frye wrote in The New Yorker (opens in new tab) about the scene in which he vividly inserts himself into a sex doll named Fuck Me Silly (opens in new tab) (which he keeps hidden from his girlfriend until he is forced to confess), in a clever "exploration of shame." He writes. But Hannah, who shares with her boyfriend Adam that she got the tattoo as a way to process her feelings about weight gain, was once described by Howard Stern as "a little fat girl like Jonah Hill." (Open in new tab)

Both characters may feel entitled to success, but only Dave is handed it. Everything he does seems to spread virally without much effort. They befriended Justin Bieber, attracted the interest of famed music producer Scooter Braun, were interviewed by the radio show The Breakfast Club, and stumbled into a multi-figure recording contract. That was only the first season. In contrast, Hannah struggles to gain a foothold in the "truly savage portrait" (open in new tab) of the publishing industry.In the first season of Girls, Hannah's parents cut off her financial support, she is fired from an unpaid internship, and she is sexually harassed while working as a secretary. She eventually ends up working in a coffee shop to make ends meet. In an interview with The New York Times (opens in new tab), the real-life Dave Bird earnestly says, "In my heart, I feel I'm one of the best rappers alive." Dunham, on the other hand, had to repeatedly emphasize that the "voice of my generation" remark was a joke (opens in new tab), that Hanna was high on opiates when she said it, and that while female writers are often confused with their female characters, she and Hanna are not the same person She was not the same person. In fact, it could be said that Dunham's entire career has been hijacked by our hatred of Horvath. Instead of being recognized for her talent as a director, actor, and screenwriter, her outspoken activism, and her efforts to change the conversation about body image and mental health, Dunham still remains a navel-gazing (opens in new tab), "Varsity League exposure freak (opens in new tab)," white byproduct of privilege (opens in new tab), and criticized as a byproduct of white privilege (opens in new tab). (Thus, Dave and Hannah serve as reminders of a terrible but undeniable fact. Unabashedly ambitious women (especially those who are neither conventionally attractive (open in new tab) nor thin (open in new tab)) are laughed at, shot down, shamed, underpaid, and dismissed as delusional. Similarly ambitious men are applauded, given advice, introduced to contacts, given second chances, rewarded enormously, and considered big dreamers.

A look at the female protagonists of other TV dramas shows that they, too, pay the price of ambition: Alicia in The Good Wife, Siri in Unreal, Carrie in HOMELAND, Debbie in Shameless, Piper in Orange is the New Black, " Annalise in "How to Get Acquitted of Murder"; Rebecca in "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. As Angelica Jade Bastian points out in "Outlines" (opens in new tab), these female protagonists are only allowed to show their ambition if they have the mental illness or trauma to justify it, because "to throw oneself full force into one's desires is to be self warning tale to women that it will only lead to destruction and soul-crushing loneliness."

Because, after all, the problem is not with Hannah Horvath or Dave Bird. They simply function as mirrors, showing viewers everything we unconsciously believe about female ambition and male entitlement. Even when we proclaim our "opposition to patriarchy." Even if we demand equal pay. Even when we stitch needlepoint that "the future is female," we cringe when we hear women talk about how sexy they are. We secretly believe that women must be likable in order to be successful. But when men tell us that we are destined for stardom (open in new tab), we don't blink. In fact, we clap along.

I recently rewatched the first season of Girls. And I realized that I had remembered it incorrectly. She said that she thought she might speak for her generation, but then she paused. She trailed off a bit, then added, "At least, the voice of a generation." Even Hannah understands how repugnant a woman's unrestrained ambition can be, and at the last minute she tries to backtrack.