Allow us to introduce you to the Greta Gerwig Cinematic Universe.

In Frances Ha, the titular heroine apologizes to a friend when her card is declined at restaurant. “I’m so embarrassed,” she admits, “I’m not a real person yet.”

That self-deprecating yet earnest confession would easily fit in any of the last three films Greta Gerwig has written, those being Frances Ha (2012), Mistress America (2015), and Lady Bird (2017). Although this year marked her debut as a director, the 34-year-old multi-hyphenate has already cemented herself as one of independent film’s most unique and developed storytellers with an unofficial trilogy: a trio of films that saw Gerwig balance writing, acting and directing (always doing at least two) while consistently exploring the lives of young women in search of personhood and meaning.

Tellingly, Gerwig sought to be a playwright before finding her initial success through acting. Yet even while performing words that were not her own — words written by established and influential directors like Noah Baumbach, Todd Solondz, Mike Mills at that — her singular artistic intent was apparent from the start, practically bursting through the screen. Of her performance in Greenberg, for example, A.O. Scott wrote: “She seems to be embarked on a project… she is an ambassador of a cinematic style that often seems opposed to the very idea of style.” It is that effortless, almost invisible quality to her performances that suggests her “trilogy” may be completely unintentional (“I like things that look like accidents,” Frances swoons about her art). But it is that same unmistakable M.O. — a voice so new and singular it is heard both in front of the camera and behind it — that hints at the generation-defining filmmaker that is Greta Gerwig.

To use one of her most well-known influences, Lady Bird was not just her 400 Blows, it was the finale to her own Adventures of Antoine Doinel. In place of the same protagonist or actor, however, it’s her perspective of the world that evolves.

“It’s a name given to me, by me.”

Lady Bird. Mistress America. Frances Ha. The trilogy follows the path from high school to college to post-grad life, a continuity that Gerwig wrote and created in reverse chronological order, while also coinciding with her gradual transition off screen (there’s only a handful of frames without her in FH, she’s only in half of MA, and she doesn’t appear in LB). Furthermore, each film is named after a moniker given to the protagonist. The titular Lady Bird (Saoirse Ronan) was born Christine, but, much to the bewilderment of her parents and peers, has given herself a new name that embodies her urgent desire to leave the nest. Mistress America is the name of the autobiographical superheroine that aspiring entrepreneur Brooke pitches to her sister-in-law, Tracy (Lola Kirke), who then uses the title for her short story about Brooke. And finally, and perhaps most subtly, Frances Ha ends with Frances Halladay (whose last name is never mentioned or seen until now) trying and failing to fit her name label into a mailbox. Without a second thought, she folds it by a third and it fits, her last name cut off at “Ha”. It’s not the full person she’s spent the movie trying to become, but it’s two-thirds of the way there, and there’s a poetry to it.