Kim Kardashian has a big ass.
I mean, she does. We all know it. It’s, like, 90% of the reason she’s famous. But, now that she’s at double-occupancy, suddenly we’re not allowed to talk about it anymore. Suddenly, we all went from “down with the Kardashians!” to “LEAVE
BRITNEY KIMMY ALONE!”
As someone who came down with a mean case of the babies last year, I am no stranger to the callous criticism that can accompany pregnancy. The almost daily barrage of comments on my figure was grating, and, at times, spirit-crushing, peppered with the implication of “you’re being pregnant wrong.”
But, you know what didn’t help? The people trying to help.
As Enormous 2012 Courtney said last year, I was not allowed to even speak the possibility that I felt fat. No one would let me. Any remotely self-disparaging words were shot down like a Duck Hunt mallard, while the non-helpfuls all seemed to be laughing at my girth like that asshole dog. These two situations were both varying types of miserable. Sure, I didn’t like people telling me I was too big. But I really didn’t like people telling me I couldn’t think I was too big.
There is a natural inclination to protect pregnant women. And that’s great. It’s like a sisterhood. Friends I hadn’t spoken to since high school suddenly rallied around me, like I’d joined a club of DIY tutus and proper discipline methods. And it’s a club I never wanted to join, but, once I was made a member by proxy, it was nice to be a part of, really. Don’t get me wrong, I am firmly STFU Smug Bitch Parents, but I’m also really grateful to have lots of other people to look to for confirmation that weird kicks were normal and my organs wouldn’t fall out after my c-section (they haven’t yet, but I’m still not wholly convinced). But the good side of anything has a corresponding bad. And the bad, in this case, rides along a road paved with the best, sweetest of intentions.
You see, people have a tendency to treat the pregnant like they could literally die at any given moment. While this has certain perks, like being offered chairs and not having to get boxes from the stock room, it can get old. And I know, I know, that everyone is just trying to be nice and helpful, but so is the random stranger telling me I’d look prettier if I just smiled, and that guy’s story ends with a solid taintblast courtesy of my Seychelles.
In the case of Kim Kardashian, as it did with Jessica Simpson before her, the “be nice, she’s a pregnant delicate snowflake” is a result of rampant speculation and commentary on her weight.
Let me preface my stance by saying I don’t think anyone should be speculating or commenting upon the weight of anyone else, famous or not. Insulting people is shitty, and feigning mock horror at their health is ridiculous. Worry about your own cellulite and love handles, and leave everyone else alone, you bored harpies. Fat shaming is the one of last socially acceptable bastions of “ism” and it’s not cool. And Kim Kardashian isn’t fat, she’s pregnant blah blah blah blah.
There is a But coming here, and I don’t just mean Kim’s.
But, the idea that someone should be completely scorn-free only because that person happens to be pregnant is some bullshit nonsense.
The idea that Kim Kardashian needs every female-centric blog rallying around her, singing the praises of her beautiful, womanly body, replete with the life-giving power of motherhood, is ridiculous. She doesn’t. She’s fine. Just because she’s pregnant doesn’t mean that she has been weakened to the point of vapors on the fainting couch because InTouch Weekly called her fat.
This is a woman who lives in the house that Big Ass and Sex Tape built, crafting an entire empire around public scrutiny and over-exposure. When she gets divorced after six weeks, she knows what she’s doing. When she wears a belly veil to her divorce hearing, she knows what she’s doing. She may be an idiot, but she’s not an idiot. She’s not as dumb as she is. She is completely in control of her public image, right down to every fat cell, and she is milking it for every drop of attention it will bring her.
She’s not injured, she’s not dying. She’s pregnant. She doesn’t need your protection, your defense, your “you go girl” high fives of solidarity. She is still the same twatbag society ruiner she’s always been. She’s just a bigger one now. You thought she sucked before she got all fetal. Don’t be fake now.
Pregnancy is a sucky ten month nightmare of nonsense and heartburn. But, I’ll tell you what, I’ve never been more unafraid to tell someone to shut the fuck up and hand me a cookie. Pregnant chicks are not precious butterflies you need to hold delicately in your hands. They’re bad bitches who came here to kick ass and give birth, and they’re not dilated yet. Above all else, they’re people.
And to treat them as anything different is to perpetuate the idea that pregnant women, and, thus, women, are weaker and in need of coddling.
So, don’t coddle Kim Kardashian. Don’t coddle Jessica Simpson. Don’t coddle me when I get pregnant again. Don’t be a dick, but don’t be a hero. Because they don’t need your heroics. They’ve got this.