Sounds Like The Title of A Film I want To Make One Day
So you all know what happened, Kim K wore a dress that once belonged to the amazing, fantastic, beautiful, wild spirit, that was known on this earth as Marilyn Monroe.
She was a beauty, wasn’t she?
She was stunning and fantastical. She was like a living breathing faerie, in a world that didn’t understand that she was who she wanted to be, on her terms, and at the same time, made to feel guilty for being who she was.
Monroe loved deeply, and she was kind. Unfailingly so, she was trusting, and she was brilliant. So I understand why someone with the kind of ego that helps planes fly, might want to wear a piece of her clothing. I get it.
In that “why the fuck do people share clothing?” kind of way because why the fuck do people share clothing? That’s disgusting.
But whatever, Kim wanted to wear the dress, and she was told she’d have to lose weight to wear it. I can understand choosing to lose one or two pounds. I get that. I once had a dream that I would be wearing a Vera Wang dress at my wedding. I don’t care how fat my ass is, that’s going to happen.
But not because I’ll be editing my body to fit the dress. I fucking fantastically refuse. I refuse because I have seen too many young people decide that their lives weren’t worth living because they’d never fit in.
I’ve seen too many young people transition on their own because they didn’t have the support they needed growing up, to ever want to edit themselves, to fit another woman’s dress.
After everything I have been through, the thought of being jealous of other women makes me sick. I know my life isn’t glamorous, I know it’s not filled with glitz and diamonds and sapphires, and I know that I don’t show you all pictures of me in exotic locations. But I fought really hard to get where I am today, and while it may not mean much to you, it means everything to me.
The life that I am living confuses people. I’m unashamed of the fact that I am alive at 39, with four cats, and a mom, in a three-bedroom apartment, in a city that I don’t really love.
I learned a lot over the last thirty-nine years, and I am happy with the progress that I’ve been able to make in spite of what other people might think of my journey. I imagine that Kim Kardashian feels the same way. In truth, whether you like it or not, Kim and the entire Kardashian family have worked really hard to keep your attention on the size of their behinds.
This dress? Is absolutely no different. For years people have tried to dissect their platform, tried to understand what they stand for, and it’s really a lot more simple than people make it.
The entire Kardashian brand can be displayed in exactly three words:
“Look At Me.”
I am actually not jealous of the hard work it’s taken to get them where they are. I can see how as women they have had to deal with criticisms every step of the way, but that’s the part that pisses me off the most.
You are the head of an ACTUAL Billion, BILLION, dollar company, and you’re still so fucking insecure that you are worried about fitting into ANOTHER woman’s dress?
Sis we gotta talk.
It is never, ever okay, to follow so deeply in someone else’s footsteps that you put yourself in danger. It’s just not. Because if you die, then you’re not here anymore and that would suck.
Now, I’m sure that you had doctors, nurses, and all kinds of professionals telling you that however you lost those 16 pounds was healthy, but here’s what’s not.
Bragging about the fact that you starved yourself to fit into a fucking dress.
There are children starving all over the world. Like actually starving, to death. Starvation isn’t a trend, or at the very least it fucking shouldn’t be.
Then there are young people, of all orientations, who are looking at you thinking “well fuck I can do that,” who don’t have the support you have, who are literally killing themselves, so they can live up to the ideal that you project, but don’t look up to yourself.
You Own A Billion Dollar Company — Yes, You Are A Woman, And Yes, That Is Rarified Air.
You are where you are, because hundreds of thousands, of millions of people, got you there, and they got you thereby soaking up everything that is YOU. No Marilyn Monroe, or any other woman who came before you.
You looked at Dorthy’s road and went “fuck that I’ll build my own,” and you did that. You should, and deserve, to have the confidence to wear a dress that fits you, instead of trying to edit yourself to fit into someone else’s footsteps.
Yes, I know it’s iconic, and I’m sure it felt amazing but did it really?
Did missing out on meals feel good? Did the temper tantrums, or the funky sleep? Did the exhaustion feel good? Was it really worth it, to wear a dress? That you wore for like twenty minutes?
I Use To Want To Be A Princess
Until I grew up and I realized that being someone who actually gets to say what she wants for a living, is the best job there is. I am absolutely not going to shut up when I see my sister women fucking up because honestly if I don’t speak up who will?
I got no skin in this game, except for all the people who follow me, wondering how I feel because they care about me and they understand my road with body positivity and self-love.
I have an Only-Fans account but I’ve never posted on it, because I’m convinced that I can’t post until I get proper equipment and lighting, better outfits, and oh yeah, lose a ton of weight. I am not thrilled with my body, but I’m so worn down with trauma and bullshit of surviving humanity, that I don’t have the energy to work out every day and get my own “Kim K” ass.
MY Body is covered in scars, and you bet your ass I wear shorts with my hairy legs and delight in the disgust and discomfort people feel when they see me coming, and you know why? Because THIS body helped me to survive. THIS body saved my life. THIS body is the body that I survived every bad horrible rape and bad day ever in. THIS is my body.
I am proud of this body, and I am proud of the stories that these fingers get to tell, but what really pisses me off is seeing really powerful and successful women feeling so shitty about themselves that they are willing to go through starvation to fit INTO ANOTHER WOMAN’S DRESS.
Baby, wear your own dress. Because a Queen would NEVER wear another woman’s dress.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall