Everywhere I go I seem to encounter pictures of the Kardashians. Every time I go onto the Internet. When I accompany friends to Urban Outfitters, I am faced with shelves of Kim K’s book ‘Selfish’; a collection of photographs of herself, a physical, 400-page version of her Instagram account. Again, and again, and again, I overhear people lamenting how they can’t seem to get her ass, or cannot perfect the art of contouring. And even reading the Guardian, I learned that she is now regarded as an ‘inspiration’, a ‘role model’, an idol.
Role model? I don’t even know what the damned woman does – and I don’t think that many others do either. It seems that her and her family have just landed on earth, resplendent in their contoured and curvaceous beauty, and held the world in rapture. To hold her as an idol, above the mundane lifestyles of us mortals, is a dangerous thing to do. It seems to me that she has no obvious talent that has catapulted her into the limelight – only the ability to wield a make-up brush, or get one of her minions to do it for her. The danger lies in the fact that teenagers
will are thinking that the only worthwhile goal is to become beautiful. To an ignorant being such as myself, the American Dream formulated by Kim Kardashian is built solely on one’s behind, and one’s cheekbones. Beauty is synonymous with famous, and famous is synonymous with rich. And rich is what we all want, right?