A lot of the "coincidences" Julie Beck imagines as meaningful in her recent Atlantic article about her quest to meet the "wildly different" other women with her name, just seem part of being a middle-class, college-educated white person in the US with a common moniker. As a "Kristin Miller," I have some basis for comparison.
There's no better visual shorthand for HK's hive-like urbanism than crowded streets beneath a glowing canopy of signs sprouting from nearly every available surface. The multicolored glare and audible electric sizzle of so many tubes blinking on and off is a deeply encoded childhood memory.
In one of my Film & Digital Media seminars this spring, a classmate had us do an exercise: She showed us a series of photos of well-known female directors, such as Lynne Ramsay and Sally Potter—women whose movies a group of film students would likely have seen and admired, some of whose work I count among my favorites. With the exceptions of Jane Campion and Kathryn Bigelow, most of us weren't able to identify a single one by sight. And if we couldn't, who could?