Thanks to The Media, Now I’m Obsessed With The Kardashians
But not in the way you think
Yes — it has happened. The fascination with why so many are still fascinated with the most talentless and forgettable family on the planet is leading me down a road that many don’t want to travel — in the event that it leads to discovering more about themselves than they wish to accommodate.
The gloriousness of social media has to be the gift of never having to be present. We can disappear in clouds that contain backed up shit while we accumulate more shit that floats around us — but never in ways that prevent the urgent scrolling and swiping.
When The Kardashians and some of The Jenners penetrated the sphere of mindless entertainment— they ushered in the tools of our content by proving to lazy fucks that you can remain lazy fucks and still get paid for being lazy fucks.
Kim Kardashian and her crew arrived at a time when we were yearning for self-sabotage. The economy was in the shitter and the once-employed were facing a long road of uncertainties that shattered dispositions to the point of paralyzed disbelief. Escape routes were a welcomed vice to tolerate this scathing reality — and the best medication was to be transfixed on the reality of those who were flourishing under the spotlight that our boredom provided.
Some of us didn’t want to believe the notion that a Los Angeles socialite could literally fuck her way to the top and be rewarded for it. We were raised by mothers and grandmothers who warned us of the dire consequences that wreck your entire being if you dare depend on sexual prowess as the avenue to success.
But after watching Kim blossom from celebrity stylists to low key porn star to the industry’s most sought-after fashion model — it’s clear that most of us were missing something.
But not to worry because we are finally at that place were self-indulgence is an art form that needs to be on display 24/7 — as opposed to hiding behind the puffiness of clouds that are starting to overstay their welcome.
When I was younger — there was a level of dignity attached to celebs who were given magazine covers or the invite to appear on prominent morning talk shows. There was the understanding that you were really good at something — and that skill had earned you the right to look gorgeous in magazine spreads or impeccably put-together as you strut your way to take a seat next the host of a nightly offering.
Now — the hope is that you have enough people following your every post.
It’s all about the numbers and how accurately your flexible template matches the ever-changing demands of the Kardashian women who spent the money you gave them to look like the Blacker version of you.
So — this where my obsession really takes hold.
When the virus was in its early stages — I experimented with a cure by just giving in to the fandom. I tried to watch episodes with the hopes that I would actually like these people who were getting harder and harder to ignore. Unfortunately it didn’t take long for me to be utterly disgusted — not just at them — but also at the fact that more than enough of you could stomach the stench.
I bailed when the homeless man was invited into the lair and given a brief interlude from the brutality of his existence. I’m almost certain that if that episode aired today — the intense backlash would be unsurvivable.
Luckily for the Klan — it was back when a lot of seedy stuff went down and nobody had the tools to take down corporations or movie moguls with tweets or damning footage.
So — they got away with crudely mocking a member of society who was a lot less fortunate than they were and therefore vulnerable to the trappings of his status — which included rich bastards hilariously attempting to give him a makeover for their entertaining pleasure.
Luckily for the Klan — that footage isn’t anywhere to be found — and so it’s as if it never happened.
Perhaps my obsession is seeped in how they manage to get away with being mediocre at best. If they were at least somewhat interesting — I could possibly give them a pass — but after subjecting myself to recent offerings — it’s abundantly clear that the Kardashian/Jenner dynasty is thriving more than ever — due to the creepy loyalty of the media.
When Kim Kardashian invaded Europe back in 2014 for her splashy and gaudy wedding to Kanye West — the manner in which she was feted was a sickening reality check. Designer houses were competing for her attention and illustrious designers like Valentino were more than honored to host her wedding party.
Her global appeal and her uncanny ability to hold the country of her birth hostage is a lesson in how the media can make or break you while driving the rest of us insane.
Fashion staples like Vogue which is basically the poor man’s Instagram at this point — are even more obsessed than any of us will ever be. After poaching Kendall Jenner and a handful of kids of fading notables — the ritualistic quest of scouting “new faces” to fit the bid for diversity came to a screeching halt.
Suddenly there’s no room for anyone who isn’t associated with the most famous last names in the universe.
Kendall Jenner — the model — is on the cover of Vogue basically every other month. And when we say Vogue — we mean both at home and abroad. Her reality TV days have paid off — but the biggest lure is big sister Kim — who is also not experiencing any signs of fatigue from the industry that would have shut her out back in 1999.
The media dictates everything. What we eat, wear, watch and post. And the fashion and beauty industry can’t afford the risk of reverting back to the eighties — when model scouts were always on the lookout for that unusual discovery that make photographers click away with glee.
This means that we’re stuck with countless covers of the Kardashians and Jenners until kingdom come.
There’s no room to include the likes of Selah Marley — a young Black beauty who is the daughter and granddaughter of icons. Even she can’t seduce the editor’s of Vogue — Teen Vogue — Harper’s Bazaar — or all the other outlets that swear their allegiance to “diversity” by banking on the bankability of Beyonce, Rihanna, Lupita.
And so I’m obsessed with the fact that Kendall is once again a Vogue cover girl and Kim is on the cover of Elle magazine for reasons that don’t exist — other than the fact that Kendall is Kendall — and Kim just had another biracial baby — which is noteworthy since she’s the mascot of diversity.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this shit — except to bully the media into admitting that they sold out. Nothing is cohesive or imaginative anymore. Brands are scanning for beauties who already have a shitload of money and millions of followers so they can partner with ready-made winners.
The American dream is now a collage of nightmares that forces mothers to use their newborns as props in the hopes that someone will find that profitable. We all want Khloe’s body, Kourtney’s hair and Kim’s everything. Young girls want to be young mothers like Kylie — and still be able to manage a cosmetic empire without breaking a sweat or puncturing a lip.
The obsession continues until the media saves us. But who wants that?