Hail, Queen Kardashian, The Girl of Cadiz

Many people out there still regard the “cookie-cutter” platinum blonde with the twenty-inch waistline and fake “d” cup breasts as the ideal.  Poor Hef seems to think that is the only type of beauty out there, or maybe he is like Picasso or as Hef said he is in his “platinum blonde” phase.  Even though he found a true sapphire with Holly Madison with her compassion for animals and poor people, I think he and many other men need to open their eyes to all the gorgeous brunettes and redheads out there, whether they be tiny or a bit plump.  I think one of the good attributes of the Hispanic influx is seeing raven-haired beauties a little heavier that provide some variation, and make us realize that God made variety in women for a reason and that most all women have lovely features.  We don’t have just one facet of the Mother Goddess but many.

Which brings me to the concept or theme of this piece.  We, the fair sex, I believe have learned much of the self-loathing for our bodies from this razor- thin, blonde image that began early, in the last century, with demi-goddesses such as Jean Harlow, Veronica Lake, Mae West (who by the way was not a skinny woman), and let us not forget Jayne and Marilyn, who, unfortunately, left us much too soon.  I would like to have seen what they would have turned out to be like today, a burned out addict broke with nothing or an outstanding humanitarian. 

Nowadays, the pornographic, blonde image that has infiltrated every part of Western culture from our literature to our music, has, to me, just gotten stale like so many other things in popular culture that have came and went.  All I see, for the most part, are empty, shallow women who have had enough plastic surgery to hold up London Bridge, and this mannequin-like beauty has cost them thousands to millions of dollars to possess, and in a way, I have compassion for these kinds of women who put their bodies through all this abuse and pain just to find acceptance in a male-dominated society with a fucked-up sense of beauty and of what is right and wrong.  I believe, even they, at times get tired of being viewed as objects of pleasure.  For instance, I went to college with friend who once worked as a stripper or exotic dancer.  Tears entered her eyes when she told of some of the experiences she had during her former career.  “They never really looked at us as humans; to them, we were just their objects without feelings or intellects.  I just had to get away from that kind of life and prove to myself that I was something besides a sex object.”