last week, it was reported that urban lifestyle jerk mag king would be going under after six years of providing prisoners the masses with monthly feature pictorials of scantily clad g-list black celebs, strippers urban models, and whores reality show contestants.
while news of a black-themed, print-based company folding isn’t necessarily a shock in the TET (hostess, 2009), the king’s demise reverberated throughout the web, as many see this as a small defeat for team misogyny.
While the women photographed in the pages of the tawdry rag were all full-grown adults who are to be held accountable for their own exploitation, there is still a debt of shame to be paid by the publishers, writers, advertisers and consumers of the stank rag. (sister t)
So perk up ladies, what activism, engagement, and a desire to confront foolishness couldn’t do, the economy handled for you. Exhibit number 567 that is you cut off the money, the foolishness goes away. (whataboutourdaughters)
i’m neither equipped nor motivated to attempt to fully discuss and dissect the ignominious relationship between american black women and sexual objectification. i know that history hasn’t been too kind to our sistas in this regard, and i know that much of the blame can be pointed towards jim jones.
still, lost in the hyper-sensitive shuffle is the fact that, across all demographic lines, black women remain the single most fascinating object to view on the planet. admittedly, the basis of this fascination varies from homage to hottentot, but where’s the line? where does admiration end and objectification begin? am i helping or hurting the cause by using an pictorial of bria myles’s air-brushed booty as partial evidence of my assertion that black woman are the bangingest? if a black blogger bones a silcone angel in the woods, would a hoodrat hear the sound?
i dont know.
all i know is if appreciating the freeze-framed image of stacey dash and stacey dash’s n*pples running through the airport in kanye’s “all falls down” constitutes misogyny, well, if misogyny is wrong, i dont wanna be right.
—the champ