You Might Be Writing About Yourself Too Much

I tend to be a hypocrite. I decry confessional writing, but I write essays on Substack. I snub wannabe Anaïs Nins—baby deer profile picture, gloating over their eating disorders and detached internal monologues—yet cannot deny the wannabe Joan Didion allegations. My aversion to confessional women’s writing is underscored by my own status as a “woman writer.”