For those that think that Sylvia Plath is only for upper crust white teenage girls in suburban New England. Black people read Plath, and men too.
Myself as a male (of sorts) often, I’ve had to defend my literary tastes as i.e. Plath or Sexton or the more modern Heti or Strayed. I mean I’m just not so in love with those old white guy writings of Hemingway or whatever macho icon you might associate with such a writing persona.
It just doesn’t seem to interest me but Plath and I? We get along just fine and have more than just a few things in common, as opposed to just having that gender dynamic in common.
So what happens when you get older? You care less about who judges you. You get tired of defending yourself to others, and sometimes all that’s left to do, is to just let your work speak for yourself.