Kim Kardashian’s entire pregnancy is such a shit-show. It brings up so many thorny issues simultaneously: How the gossip industry feeds on celebrities. Whether or not (or to what degree) celebrities are complicit in and profit from their own exploitation. How female bodies are treated as public property. How intensely we stigmatize non-conforming female bodies, even when those bodies are in the throes of something as vital and strenuous as pregnancy.
You just wish Kim could go enjoy her pregnancy with her closest loved ones in some impenetrably fortified mountain chalet with Kevin Costner patrolling the perimeter in a bullet-proof beige sports jacket. Why can’t she just do that? Does she even want to do that? Is this level of hideous, unrelenting scrutiny really worth it to promote the Kardashian brand? But is that even a fair solution? Should celebrities have to flee to Helm’s Deep just to achieve basic peace and dignity during a profoundly transformative life event? Uuuuuugh.
Anyway, despite all of those confusing questions, one thing is abundantly clear. Kim Kardashian needs to STOP WEARING FUCKING STILETTOS EVERY DAMN DAY. In a new E! special that aired last night, Kim complained that her entire body hurts:
“I’ve had a lot of pain, everywhere. I’m in pain, physically,” Kim said. “I get really paranoid [and] I start Googling things, the things that come up are really scary. It just freaks me out all the time.”
The mom-to-be went on to say, “I was waiting for this amazing experience where I can just do whatever I want, eat whatever I want, feel great, and it hasn’t been that way.”
Explained Khloe: “Her back hurts, her breasts hurt, her stomach hurts, her feet hurt, her head hurts, her eyes hurt, her nails hurt. She cries all the time, too.”
Kim. Listen. I can’t do anything about your back pain or your head pain or your nail pain or your uncontrollable weeping or your refusal to eat unlimited cheesy Bugles. I know that you genuinely love fashion and shoes. And I understand that this entire media circus is as profitable for you as it is distressing—that going out dressed up in ridiculous finery keeps your name in the news, and keeping your name in the news at all cost has been a great strategy for your career so far. But, seriously, though I am not (officially) a doctor, I can help you cure your throbbing pregnant feet in just four simple steps:
Step one: Take those fucking torture shoes off. Take them off. They’re hurting your foot. Take them off!!!!! They’re shoes. They’re for covering your feet. Why do they have a big weird spike on the bottom!? That thing makes it so hard to walk! And walking is like the #1 shoe-themed activity! TAKE THEM OFF. THIS MAKES NO SENSE.
Step two: You’re pregnant! You can wear whatever shoes you want right now! TMZ and E! and Star and the National Enquirer are not the boss of your shoes. You are in charge. You could be wearing, like, three sets of nested Crocs right now—like a matryoshka doll of toe-comfort—and no one would even blame you, because you’ve got a super-duper-huge baby-fetus making you puffy and uncomfortable! I mean, okay, there are some people who would blame you, but they’re treating you like complete shit anyway, even in your stilettos. You might as well be comfortable while you’re being showered with Joan Rivers’s sour rage-dung.
Step three: You know “stiletto” literally means knife shoe, right? WHY WOULD YOU WALK AROUND IN SHOES MADE OUT OF KNIVES AND THEN COMPLAIN THAT YOUR FEET HURT? A KNIFE IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF A SHOE. STOP.
Step four: Also, kind of unrelated, but you should totally be eating hella cheesy Bugles. You know they’re going to talk shit about your post-baby boday no matter what you do, so you might as well Bugle it up while you can. Then later you can be all, “Fuck yeah I ate hella cheesy Bugles! I’m Buglin’ for two! I filled this Croc up with Bugles, like, 17 times per day and then emptied it into my Bug-hole without remorse. Do you know how many Bugles you can fit in a stiletto? Not fucking enough for me and my fetus, bitchez.” Then fart.
Victory is yours.
Images via Getty.