You Killed My Dreams, Too

I am currently baffled by some online phenonmenon, for lack of a better word.

No, I’m not talking about Saad Hariri’s Twitter account, although that’s pretty funny in itself.

I’m talking about women undergoing plastic surgery, plonking themselves in front of their webcam and talking.

And that’s it.

These women seem to have observed the trajectory of Haifa Wehbe and the likes: be beautiful, and if you need a corrupt doctor to be so, then by all means buy that pair of boobs, pout in front of a camera, shake that tiny booty in a gold mini dress and what do you know, you’ve gotten yourself a “career’, with many rich men spending fortunes on you and all eyes on you, you, you.

I mean, they have nothing to say or show, that absolute necessity to create something and maybe share it with the world that possesses all artists is completely absent.

They’re in it for the money and the fame. Every thing they do is directed towards these two goals: be rich and famous. Lara Kay, one of the latest sensation of that category, states it herself in many instances: “Yes I have done plastic surgery but it works so what?”Here, please understand the “it works” to attract attention and most preferably rich men.

The times we live in are terribly frustrating for our egos: economic hardships ensure we need to work unrewarding jobs to make ends meet, with only tiny pools of leisure . Besides, there’s a need of recognition and validation of our own selves: lost in the anonymity of the masses, the individual finds itself insignificant, a tiny ant labouring day in day out. Hence the pursuit of fame that is perceived to be the ultimate goal in life, bringing in its stride happiness and money. The trend of reality TV has made it all the easier for everyone to think their problems will go away with a flick of a remote control, and frankly, with the intellectual/artistic/creative level shown on most programmes, it is no wonder absolutely anyone think they can make it. When I see the sums Kim Kardashian is paid to insult her sister on TV, I wonder if I shouldn’t make a sex tape myself (Bazinga).

Social media has enabled many people to “be discovered”, regardless of their talent. Virtually everyone can have their 15 minutes of fame, and people tend to forget that every work of art, every initiative that might lead to fame is, well, work, and takes effort and dedication, and that fame is not in any way the purpose of that work.

Capitalism has long merchandised everything: art, women’s bodies, people’s lives. The wanna-be famous such as Lara Kay and Myriam Klink are nothing but by products of a system that sees everything as marketable goods . I’m not siding with bloggers and people who have been bashing them with epithets such as “whore” “charmouta” and other insulting comments targeted as their expressions of sexuality. However, I do have an issue with that expression being the incarnation of what men want, and designed to attract said men, impersonating gender stereotypes to the extreme in the sense that they’re reducing themselves to a body and looks, making their appearance their major feature, as if it were the most important thing. Even Kay’s video clip looks like sexist soft porn, the way it’s done exploiting her body and reducing it to certain parts: close ups on her vagina and buttocks, languid expressions and pouts with bee stung lips. There doesn’t seem to be any fun in their appearances, they’re not enjoying themselves, they’re merely going through the motions of exciting thé viewer, of being what they think they should be to get noticed.

Watching and listening to “songs” such as 3antar and 2ataltouleh el a7lem actually made me a little sad more than anything else. Sad because despite many decades of women’s movement, it seems to have achieved littled in terms of erasing the stereotype of beauty being the most important thing for a woman and her only way to get ahead. And sad because sexuality is supposed to be creative, and fun and sensuous and an adventure. Not a means to get showered with gifts and two cameras on one’s self.

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