Why I Take Issue with Kim Kardashian

I mean… where do we begin. With the fact that Kim Kardashian has almost single-handedly commoditized the ass? Or that she’s built an empire based on her narcissistic obsession with excessive wealth and materialism? Or should we start by addressing that she ruined Kanye West, an arguably otherwise genius artist? I’ve got 99 problems and Kim Kardashian is most of them.

Let’s start with the elephant in the room: her ass. First off, shall we not pretend we think it’s real? She may not be willing to admit she’s had work done, but it speaks for itself. Everyone seems to think that she is responsible for some body image revolution–that because of her, “curvy” is now a socially acceptable, even desirable and attractive, look for women. But really, she’s just the poster child for yet another wave in the objectification of women. Thanks to KK, a very certain and specific type of curvy is now the thing to be. But don’t get it twisted–we don’t want the curves of your love handles or saddle bags. We want a tiny waist, unnaturally convex ass, and sculpted and toned everything else–stomach, arms, legs, face.

Likewise, people are acting like she’s paved the way for swarthy sisters everywhere. Let me tell you something–the only naturally occurring hair remaining on that girl’s body is maybe her eyebrows. The rest has been strategically placed or removed in a secret laboratory in an undercover bunker somewhere that is only accessible to two robots people besides her: Dr. Oz/Dr. Phil (they may be the same person, we can’t be sure), and Suzanne Somers. Is that, combined with the mandated curves, really any better than the stick-thin blonde Barbie trend? They’re both not normal and only attainable if you have boatloads of money that you can funnel into Frankenstein-ing yourself into some inhuman silicone monster.

And can we just take a minute to talk about her vagina-face? I mean, I love vaginas–they’re great and should be celebrated–but her face gives them a bad rap. Moving on, what exactly has she accomplished in her life besides capitalizing on her last name, the only value of which originated in the salvation of OJ Simpson, an arguably dishonorable cause? She’s manufactured a caricature of a physique and capitalized on that to build a brand, complete with clothing lines, TV shows, a video game, and endless other material objects void of any significant or progressive meaning, and is famous for being famous, and that’s supposed to make us worship her?

Like, a video game? Really? 39 words, Kim: NO ONE GIVES THAT MUCH OF A FUCK ABOUTCHU AND SINCE WHEN HAVE YOU EVER PLAYED A VIDEO GAME IN YOUR LIFE THAT IS A PRIVILEGE RESERVED FOR MEN IN THEIR MID-30s WHO STILL LIVE IN THEIR MOTHERS’ BASEMENTS. Why don’t you try doing something good for the world, like, I don’t know, teaching young girls like your daughter that their only value doesn’t reside in their physical appearance and material wealth isn’t the pinnacle of human existence? Or, at the very least, why don’t you shut the fuck up and spare the world the awful sound of the the nasally little bitch-whine that is your voice.

As for Kanye–I really had hope for him pre-Kim. Yeah, he’s got a douchey God complex. But it’s somewhat justified–he is very smart and talented, and takes risks in music and pop culture that a lot of his peers are too afraid or unwilling to. But I lost all respect for his decision-making skills when he joined the KK Klan. He has some bizarre fixation on her celebrity–celebrity for celebrity’s sake. He fetishizes her to the point where I honestly wonder if she breastfeeds him as foreplay because he believes there’s some divine power in her milk.

The superiority complex the two of them live in is unbelievable. I think they actually believe they are better than most of humanity–like they have magical powers or something. JUST BECAUSE YOUR INITIALS ARE MOSTLY K’s DOESNT MAKE YOU SUPERHUMAN–REMEMBER THE KKK? Like, it’s really not that hard to make a sex tape, Kim. Or drunkenly grab the microphone away from a skinny blonde, Kanye–LITERALLY EVERYONE has more upper arm strength than Taylor Swift. Guess what? I could get married for 72 days, too. That bad blonde dye job you have? It’s called Clorox, bitch–all it takes is one trip to Walgreens. The only magical thing about them is that survival of the fittest has not yet claimed them as its victims. But pit either of them up against anyone who’s ever done their own laundry or read a book, and Darwin would be proud.

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