An Open Letter to Kim Kardashian

Dear Kim K., 

We get it. 

You have a big, beautiful dumper. 

You just had a baby and you don't feel very pretty or sexy anymore so you want every man (and even some women) in America to lust after you, because if they do you'll know you've still got it. I've been there. I mean, not the posing with my butt out for a NY mag part, but the unsexy part. 

Heck, I have four kids; I pretty much live on Planet Unsexy these days.

That wasn't always the case though. I was pretty cute and thin back in the day and that's dangerous. You get addicted to the compliments and the attention. You buy into the lie that your looks and sexuality are the sum of your worth. In your mind that becomes the best part of you. So after baby number one I lost my identity too, and I needed people to find me attractive so I could convince myself I still had value… that I was still lovable. Because of that I became easy, and I mean eeeeasy (wink, wink) prey for anyone willing to pay me a compliment. 

That's where you're at now. You're letting the world exploit you because you think their reaction will show you, and perhaps your husband, that you are still valuable and still worthy of love. 

But what you're going to find at the end of this media circus is that tomorrow you will still be a day older, and you will have a new perceived flaw: a new wrinkle, sag, or pound of fat. You will spend the rest of your life working tirelessly to prove your worth to people based on a body that is committed to betraying you. It will become your enemy, and you will grow to hate it. You will grow to hate yourself. No amount of ogling will suffice because you won't be the woman you were last year, last month, last selfie. 

You will be like a hamster constantly running on a wheel trying to catch the approval of others. And that's sad, because you will never be able to stop and enjoy your life. You will always be trying so. damn. hard. to earn love.

And even still, one day there will be another Kim K., a brighter younger fresher version of you, whose nude beauty will fill our news feeds, magazines, and movies. You will flinch at the thought of your husband leering at her, so you will run faster, work harder, sacrifice more. Until finally you won't be able to any longer. You will be so exhausted from trying that you will have to stop... at which point you'll realize all you gave up in this futile pursuit. The pieces of your dignity you sold for Hollywood's fleeting infatuation. The hours of laughter with good friends that were traded for hours at the gym. The minutes spent editing pictures to give to people who don't matter instead of using that time to teach your daughter that her beauty doesn't need to be filtered or fixed. Because you are feeding a monster whose appetite will not be satiated with you, it will one day try to feast on her as well. 

This is a cycle we must break now, for women everywhere and for all future generations of women to come. 

But how?

Well, that's the hard part. We have to go against everything we know and learn to love ourselves. We must learn to value that which doesn't fade but becomes more beautiful over time: our character, our kindness, and our compassion for others. 

Kim K., your mother didn't protect you from this world. She sold you to it. Please, I'm begging you, rip off the price tag and refuse to be bought any longer. You are worth so much more than the price of a magazine. We all are. And so are our daughters. 

She sees you, Daddy...

She always thought Mommy was the prettiest woman in the world, as they’d lie on the bed basking in the afternoon sun pouring through the window, she fit so perfectly snug against Mommy’s curves. Mommy turned on her side one time and her baggy shirt revealed scars on her hips and stomach. She gently traced them with her fingers and quietly asked, “What are these Mommy?” After a moment Mommy replied, “Those are my warrior scars, baby… They show the world that I’ve done one of the toughest things a woman can do, and lived to tell about it. I brought forth life.” She wanted to be just like Mommy… a warrior too.

She was seven when that all changed though, as your eyes fixated on the woman who had just walked into the restaurant. Mommy was too busy wiping mashed potatoes off baby brother’s hands to notice, but she saw you. She watched as your eyes follow the woman all the way to her seat, and she noticed how this woman’s beauty had captivated you. She studied the woman carefully, noticing the sexy way she dressed even though she didn’t know the word to describe it at the time. And in that moment she wanted to be just like her. That woman may not be a warrior, but she had your full, undivided attention.

After dinner you came back home and began to shuffle through the monotony… baths, teeth, PJ’s, and bed. After you tucked her in, she laid awake in her room thinking about the beautiful woman… the way she walked, the way she dressed, the way she did her hair. She thought about the woman for quite some time when suddenly she heard you and Mommy arguing down stairs. “What do you mean it’s overdue… I thought we just paid it!” Mommy’s voice was too quiet to hear, but she could tell Mommy was crying. She heard you yell, “Well, maybe you should get a job already?” And with that she was very confused. Mommy was always telling people she had the best job in the world, taking care of her and little brother… but maybe you didn’t think so. Maybe you think there’s something better than being a warrior. She wondered if maybe being beautiful like the woman was better...

She tossed and turned until finally the scary shadows in the corner got the best of her. She slowly snuck out into the dimly lit hall and went towards the glow coming from your study. She was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. She stood in the threshold a moment, gathering the courage to let you know she was out of bed, then gently pressed the door open, making a creak and prompting you to immediately close your browser window. But it was too late. She had already seen what you were looking at… another beautiful woman with long flowing hair just like the one from the restaurant earlier, again moving sensually before your eyes. She turned her tiny face up at you and hesitantly asked, “Daddy, do you think I’m pretty?” to which immediately you replied, “Absolutely, baby… just like your mommy.”

And in that moment she knew, she didn’t want to grow up to be a warrior like Mommy, she wanted to be beautiful and sexy like the women she saw you adore.