The Cleopatra of Now

So if you thought Kim Kardashian’s astronomical ass—engineered down to the molecule to break every platform at once—was the apex of what she’d show us, you’ve been wrong before and you’re wrong now. The woman can move around. She has other angles.

I’m not going to pretend her body is a work of nature. It’s a work of will and money and surgery, rearranged so many times that calling it authentic feels almost delusional. But there’s something weirdly undeniable about that level of commitment. She wanted a specific thing, restructured herself accordingly, and somehow made it culturally inevitable. Vogue. Billionaire orbit. The whole machinery bent to her vision. Most people don’t have that kind of drive, so why am I wasting energy resenting it?

I’m giving up on the resentment, the act of standing above it all. She’s the Cleopatra of right now, our contemporary absolute monarch, and if that means buying whatever magazine insists she looks exactly like her photographs, then I’m in. How could I doubt something printed? Heil Kim Kardashian.