Kim Kardashian’s ass. For some reason this has been a news story before, but ever-clinging to fame, this exhausting diva of reality shows has now showcased her glistening shank on the cover of Paper Magazine.
No one should be surprised and if you are, you have not grasped the world we currently live in. Fame has nothing to do with capacity of talent. Nepotism is simplifying it, but Ms. Kardashian is of a new and growing breed: Fame by fame itself.
Where actors, musicians and artists once graced the 16×20 posters hanging in our bedrooms, inept and powerful women and men sign autographs, produce perfumes and pose nude as if it actually means something.
Heck, Paris Hilton at least attempted to act once or twice between shopping trips.
Viewing this photo brings out an anger in me. As sufferers of trypophobia, the fear of irregular holes, cringe at beehives, I get queasy staring at this shiny and talentless ass. Pun intended.
It’s easy to cry out, “What has she done to deserve such attention?” or “Why is her ass talked about far more than education reform?”
Because seriously, children are being left behind and pitbulls are being slaughtered yet this jackass is allowed to roam free?
These are excellent questions for which I have no answer, but the root of the problem lies in marketing and you. The moment this cover appeared, the world went all screwy. Memes were created. Photoshop’s sales no doubt went up. Paper Magazine’s staff will send their children through college based on the sales estimates.
I’m all for freedom of the press, and the nudity doesn’t bother me, nor does it seem to bother a lot of people. That’s not the issue.
The issue is WHO she is. Who gave this waste of air an open door into my life? I never asked for it and I sure as hell wish there was a return policy.
Then there is the class behind it. Or lack thereof.
The human body is beautiful. Why do we need six pounds of Great Value vegetable oil and arguably the most unflattering pose since the Beyonce SuperBowl photos to cram this strumpet down our gullets? Haven’t we been getting our daily allotment of BS as recommended by the FDA for years now?
I already know about this girl’s wedding, divorce, favorite ice cream, and now I can tell you for a fact if her perineum teared during childbirth. Why do I have to know this?!
Give me Farrah Fawcett in the red swimsuit. Cute and playful. Or Marilyn Monroe winking. Silly but smart.
Don’t give me a trust-fund kid in an adobe hut with overpriced champagne leaking on an equally stifling dress.
When i’d rather see Betty White pose nude than Kim Kardashian, you know something must be up.