This morning I scanned The Huffington Post and spotted this morsel by Stephanie Marcus: “The Mirror reports that the 36-year-old rapper commissioned street artist Bambi . . . to paint a topless portrait of his new wife wearing just a G-string and Louboutin heels. It’s titled Perfect Bitch.”
I found this amusing because these celebs are obsessed with admiring themselves in mirrors, and the Mirror faithfully follows them. This outlet is the online version of Brit pub The Daily Mirror, whose tagline was “intelligent tabloid” until the Trading Standards Agency ruled that they must remove it (January 2014).
The man is such a skilled, wily interviewer. Piers asked every guest this piercing question: “Have you ever been properly in love?” To which many a famed person’s facial expression said, “WTF?” (I apologize to my family matriarchs. I typically avoid expletives.)
Hmm. Did I miss a segment in which Piers posed this question to Kimye? I suppose I will break down and watch the season opener of “Keeping up with the Kardashians” to find the answer to this deep question.
For the object of his affection, Mr. West already blew a bunch of bucks on gifts: a flower tower on Mother’s Day, a 20-foot flower tower on their wedding day, and an oversize Hermès Birkin bag festooned with hand-painted naked ladies last Christmas.
Mr. West, if you suddenly become thrifty, you might consider buying reprints of Mrs. West’s nude photos in Playboy. Then you could wallpaper your room with blown-up images complemented by mirrors bouncing off the light of gigantesque Baccarat crystal prisms.
Hey, you can always change out the images when you redecorate. After your baby’s birth in 2013, Mrs. West revealed, “I want to do Playboy [again].” My, my—the urban use of the verb do mightily resonates.
Alternatively, you could download copyright-free nude masterpieces and Photoshop Mrs. West’s amazing form over the fetching women who have garnered their rightful places in art history. How classy would that be?
I just overheard my mother in heaven sighing and wringing her hands over the fact that you must explain the facts of life to underage miracle child North West if she toddles into your bedroom.
When Mrs. West busts up this marriage for her fourth trot to the altar, how much will she make auctioning off this bundle of “tasteful” art? As for the flower towers—no go. They already have wilted.