Kylie Jenner & Can Chicks that Have Cosmetic Surgery be Feminists?

The reason I’m posing this shit as a question is because I honestly don’t know the answer.

The tenets of feminism, to me, seem about as crazy as that shit that Jacobo Morales was saying once his character assumed power in Bananas.

I mean, you demand gender equality, but believe that a man should never hit a woman regardless of what the woman has done – including hitting him.

You denounce rape culture, but take rape complaints to “the authorities” as opposed to dealing with them the way any self-respecting man would; huddling in a corner and praying the memory away, or grabbing whatever weapon’s handy and proceeding to insure that said rapist is in the middle of his very last day.

And most amazingly, it’s 2016 and you still allow female reproductive rights to be an issue decided by the American legislative process and not something internal, all-female and firmly outside of the provenance of any sort of male input whatsoever.

So yeah, I’m screwed up as to what exactly feminism is because of all the things I’d imagine that it should be, and isn’t.

Along those lines, we get a Frankenbitch like young Kylie Jenner, who, you know what? I’d bet my last money, considers herself a feminist despite a transformation like this:

Now, I am not so old as to predate boob jobs, but just about every other nuance in female-related plastic surgery I’ve witnessed the rise in popularity of with my own eyes and that shit has made me ill.

Not that the results can’t be pretty hot and I haven’t wanted to fuck a lot of those bitches, it’s just that the knowledge that there was a time when a woman essentially had what she was born with and could, at best and through exercise and healthy self-esteem, make the most of is, renders grim the reality that now, neither of those are necessary and, given the right amount of cash, a chick can walk into a doctor’s office looking one way and walk out looking entirely another.

We’re looking at an entire generation of permanent Cherry’s from I’m Gonna Git You Sucka.

And two questions emerge immediately:

  1. What’s the purpose of this?
  2. Who is it all for?

The first one may seem self-explanatory; to look better you might argue, but to look better according to whose standards?

And to look better than what?

Better than you look now?

Can that even be confirmed?

Wouldn’t it be more efficiently argued that the answer to question 1) would be to feel better?

The second question, of course, is far more insidious.

Because if a woman were to argue that she was having cosmetic surgery for herself, one would have to wonder what it was about herself that made her feel she needed it?

And what I mean by that is, if you walk with a limp and surgery could clear up your limp, then surgery makes sense.

But if you have an otherwise functional face and body, to have it, er, repaired is insanity.

No, Beauty Myths are almost certainly the motivation for the average woman that has cosmetic surgery, the kind that fly directly in the face of the empowerment to which feminism, if I’m right at all, is supposed to subscribe.

It’s like the age-old question among niggas: can you be in an interracial relationship and still be pro-Black?

The answer in that case is hell no.

But since I still don’t know exactly what feminism is, I also still don’t have an answer to the question I put in the subject line.

About the Author

Dickie Bhee is a self-styled lunatic, a Renaissance showman, a Class A, Grade A buffoon, a nigga that believes in the greatness of Niggerhood a social gadfly and a genuine Man About Town. Also:

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