How is Melania Trump’s New York Post Cover Okay?
I don’t support Donald Trump — but that doesn’t mean I agree with his wife’s crucification. When did nude photos become weapons?
I am offended. As a woman. As a citizen of a country that promises that free speech and free will always be accommodated. No questions asked.
The recent cover of The New York Post gives me every indication that we have lost our moral compass. Yes. I dared to use the word moral in the midst of nude shots and salacious increments that are being fed to us as if we demand such offerings for our daily nourishment.
Wouldn’t you rather starve?
I would. No matter how much we loathe the man she married for his money and power — we can’t approve this latest display of deplorable behavior. It’s seedy. It’s stinks beyond description. It reeks of editorial fodder at the hands of heartless beasts who are savages disguised as lesser savages. It’s like a rat that has been dead for two days who is bloated and discolored and smells like the gutters of nonchalance. It makes me want to assume the embodiment of an alien in an effort to shed the skin that outs me as human. It’s like listening to your favorite song but as you get into the groove — your headphones suddenly stall just when that beat is rounding the bend. It’s what makes being a woman hard to explain because some of us love the power but a lot more reject it. It wrecks havoc on the nudes we take when we turn forty and just need to assure ourselves that we still “got it.” It’s the sour in the dough that flakes around our lips as we walk around with a smile and nobody cares enough to warn us that the interview we are about to win will not work out well. It’s the reason why “feminism” remains a storied analysis that will never be cracked enough to provide shells for the future generation to quilt. It’s the eyesore that deepens with each gaze as you watch a woman being torn to shreds for the betterment of her husband who is him and she is she. It is the sun in the sky that shines so bright and then minutes later gives way to the hail of the moment that virally satisfies but fucks up your guts internally.
It is all that and more. I could go and on but I’m too drunk to gauge whether I make sense or not. I am going to take a leap of faith and assume you get the picture.
You got the picture. What do you think? Hot or not? Scandal or Slay? Instagram-worthy or better slotted for your Facebook dudes? Which is it?
Think about it? Do not answer in haste.