Guys. I can’t. Seriously.
When I first read the news, I was like this:
But then I woke up this morning and was like this:
I’m talking, of course about Kim’s divorce. The one that I, along with every other person who watched her wedding special, knew would come eventually. We’ve defended Kim a lot in this blog before (ironically or not), as she’s basically the epitome of Famous for Bad Reasons. If someone can make a $65 million brand out of a sex tape, they’re a better businesswoman than me. If she wants to get married and divorced ten times, that’s her prerogative. I’m not here to tell her how to live her life.
But I’m not writing about it anymore. I don’t care how many ridiculous anti-Kris stories her friends tell TMZ. I don’t care if she elopes to Vegas for her next wedding. I don’t care if she spends $30 million on her sixth. I don’t care if I read a People cover story in 50 years about how sad she is that she died alone because she only really loved money and fame.
This isn’t a moratorium on all things Kardashian—I’d obviously never turn my back on Khloe and Lamar. But you’ll have to look for the Libra for any Kim coverage from now on (though I wouldn’t hold my breath).