Caitlin Moran Didn’t Know How To Build A Girl — Until She Met Beanie Feldstein

As this is literally an incident from my life, going back to the place where it happened — The Green, in Wolverhampton; a uniquely depressing piece of wasteland — and watching a whole film crew shoot Beanie running for her life from her assailants. It felt, and I cannot lie, like sweet, sweet revenge. At the end of the day, “revenge” tends to be the motivation for a lot of artists. If, by the age of 16, you have a list entitled “The Motherfuckers,” in a book titled “The Feud Jotter,” there is every chance you, too, might end up writing a book, film, or concept album about someone who was unfairly victimized for reading out loud a poem about how your best friend was their dog, because “She hugs me with her eyes.” (That’s just one example.)

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