Kanye West’s shameless quest for whiteness
Stop lying to yourself, you know that Kanye West has always been a shameless, fame whoring opportunist.
Kanye West has always been a shameless, fame whoring opportunist.
You know that some black men in America, with the addition of a little wealth and notoriety, can’t help but sell their (formerly) black souls just to get that much closer to whiteness. Thanks in large part to the highly effective conditioning of white supremacy, some black men will stop at nothing to attain the maximum proximity to whiteness that money can buy.
They’ll hit the lotto and leave your ass for a white girl. They’ll use their newfound wealth to put the finest plastic surgeon in the Hollywood hills on permanent retainer for their Stepford wife. They’ll have her looking like a Dreamworks Animation character in an ill-advised attempt at replicating naturally black features onto their Build-A-Beckys.
They’ll nip where they should’ve tucked. They’ll strategically redistribute fat from one body part to another. They’ll have her post tasteless pictures all over social media of soul food that she allegedly cooked (minus the soul, of course). They go to these lengths almost as if to say that, while she may not be black, she’s the closest thing that can come to it without actually crossing that line.
These men are little more than bipedal raccoons who would peel back their black skin just to prove to Ralph Lauren & Co. that they’re just as white underneath all that epidermis. They’ll go on week-long ego binges just to maintain their loose grips on sanity because nothing sells albums quite like a self-induced nervous breakdown — these men exist solely to cause controversy. They speak entirely in soliloquies as if no one else is in the room other than them.
Kanye and desperate black men like him feed off of the flashing lights and the screaming whites.
They’re obsessed with whiteness, of course, because they’re obsessed with fame and, after having reached the highest peaks of it, they find that the only thing better is to be universally accepted by whiteness.
Sadly, when all one craves is attention and they’re denied that attention by those who they crave it from the most, they’ll go to extreme lengths just to be seen and heard. They have no need for their blackness, because, to them, it can be discarded just as easily as a $3,000 raggedy sweater that they “designed.” As a result, the Kanyes of the world live their lives as performance pieces that cater to and seek affirmation from the toxicity that is white consumption.
And since white men hold all the social capital in the white paradigm, their goal is to mimic every behavior attributable to white men.
Deep down, they know that they can’t be white men, but that won’t stop them from trying as if we don’t all see the onyx hue that they so ashamedly carry on their person. They assume the role of a white supremacist patriarch and adopt an unrivaled arrogance and sense of entitlement to match it. They belittle their own blackness and dispel obvious instances of racism so often that the only way to describe their race is begrudgingly black.
It seems that the Kanyes of the world wish they could crawl up inside the birth canal of a white woman and gestate for nine months, hoping and praying that they’ll come back out having been freed of the burden of black skin. If that doesn’t happen, they’ll settle for being covered in a thick layer of white slime, so thick that they might even pass for alabaster.
If that doesn’t work, maybe they’ll do what Kanye did and try for the unconvincing illusion of acceptance by means of an impromptu press conference held in the lobby of a multi-million dollar building owned by one of them. Who knows, they just might get a hand tentatively placed on their shoulder by one of them, like an antebellum plantation owner showing off his favorite House Negro to company over bourbon and brandy.
