When she is standing before you, in the still eye of the pop-culture hurricane she has inhabited for several years now, you realize Lena Dunham is just like any young woman who fusses with her hair, loves her sister and can’t resist cheese.

But then you hear the steady hum of a sold-out crowd just beyond the door; notice the table stacked with signed copies of Dunham’s new book, “Not That Kind of Girl,” for which she was reportedly paid $3 million; and hear her mention a visit to the Facebook campus at the invitation of her friend Sheryl Sandberg.

You’re a little jealous ― but more relieved.

For Dunham, 28, is using the success of her popular HBO series “Girls,” her book tour and her status as the “It Girl” for feminism, sexual politics and body image to help women see themselves, share their stories and feel strong.

“I did not know how I would feel about the tour because I am a very big homebody,” she said Saturday night, digging into a gift of Beecher’s cheese curds and crackers. “But I have loved it. You know, when you’re on TV, you don’t get the opportunity to actually talk to the people watching your show.”

“And so I can connect with all these awesome people who share my politics and my ideals and my sense of humor and get inspired. It sends me back to making the show with real purpose.”

Those awesome people packed University Temple United Methodist Church, where Dunham walked down the center aisle with her friend, writer Ashley Ford, who would open for her, along with Seattle singer-songwriter Mindie Lind.

Much of the event focused on a chapter of her book called “Barry,” which describes a sexual assault that, at first, Dunham wasn’t able to categorize. Yes, she allowed the friend of a friend into her home. Yes, she participated in “the adult things” that transpired. But at some point, not long after she realized that he had removed the condom she had asked him to wear, she kicked him out. She was in pain for days. And she realized that she had never given him permission.

“You were raped,” a friend told her.

Was she? It was an experience many women could relate to.

But not all men.

Just days before her Seattle appearance, Dunham was the subject of a National Review cover story by the writer Kevin D. Williamson, who called her essay “a gutless, passive-aggressive act,” criticized her for naming Barry (not his real name, Dunham said the other night) and questioned why she didn’t press charges.

“I rage-tweeted for an hour last night,” Dunham said of her initial response. “It’s not fun to feel hysterical. I want to tweet about snacks and dogs and movies. But unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury right now.”

Salon writer Katie McDonough came to Dunham’s defense:

“Women, it seems, if they are to speak at all about rape (or the experiences of violation that we do not give that name to), must follow a very narrow set of parameters. Their accounts must be marketable, consumable. Never disruptive. A ‘good’ sexual assault story involves: a stranger, a woman held at knife point, immediate action to alert law enforcement, a seamless police response, an emotional but ultimately cathartic courtroom scene, a prison sentence. A ‘bad’ sexual assault story involves: everything else.”

Dunham called McDonough’s piece “an honor.”

“Sometimes it’s so hard to voice these things for yourself when you’re personally being attacked,” she said. “You try to be balanced, but there is so much shame and anger and rage that come out when you’re being attacked, especially for something as personal as telling a sexual-assault story.”

That said, she didn’t feel like her essay or McDonough’s piece was only about her, “but everybody, and the response that women get when they tell their stories. It hurts me that other people are seeing this in the world and it may make them more scared to talk.”

“We all have weird sexual experiences, and sometimes giving ourselves the opportunity to name and mourn those experiences is what we need to move on.”

And move on Dunham did, answering questions submitted by the audience.

If she could trade places with anyone? Olivia Pope of “Scandal.” (“Solve important secret crimes and sleep with the president.”)

She has “a buffet of books” on her nightstand, including “Dear Jenny, We Are All Find,” by poet Jenny Zhang.

If she was a sandwich, Dunham would be a grilled cheese, “Because I am a (blank)-ing child.”

So what to do with all of this? The show? The book? The fame? The following?

She and her “Girls” co-showrunner and partner, Jenni Konner, have started a production company focused on projects “that push the ball forward on the conversation about gender and make space for new voices.” Two documentaries will premiere on HBO next year.

She just finished the fourth of six seasons of “Girls” and wants to “finish the show off with a bang, and really give the people who have committed to it the ending that they deserve.”

Dunham will always write, an art she called “a truly faithful companion.”

She credits her family and boyfriend for keeping her head straight.

“It sounds kind of trite, like it’s what you hear every Disney actress say: ‘My family keeps me grounded,’ but they do. They push me every day to use this for good, and not just handbags.”

Tell me more.

“I’ve gotten some free handbags,” she said. “I mean, I am not going to kick a handbag out of bed for eating crackers...

“It’s so messed up, because the exact people who don’t need things for free get them for free,” she said. “So the Oberlin student in me can’t help but be outraged about that, and the shopaholic in me can’t help but want the handbag.”

By Nicole Brodeur

(The Seattle Times)

(MCT Information Services)