An Open Letter To J.Lo

Kimberly's picture

Dear J.Lo,

We are about the same age, you and I. You are a little above forty and I am slightly under it. We both look very young for our age and can be considered to have hot bodies. Nevertheless, even if I had the opportunity to go onstage and proffer my thinly-sheathed vulva for the world to see, I wouldn't. The difference between us is not a level of prudery as my happy husband will attest. The matter lies entirely in the nature of the impact I wish to have during my finite time on this planet.

Lest you think I'm singling you out, you are one of a crew of vulva-thrusting matrons: Madonna, Beyonce, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, et. al. The aforementioned women may or may not be your friends, however, you have a great deal in common with them. You are all mothers. You have all had at least one form of plastic surgery. You are all apparently concerned about the loss of your looks to aging. Like it or not, you are part of a club of increasingly desperate female entertainers caught in a monkey trap. For those who are not familiar, there is a system of trapping monkeys that originates from the jungles of Southeast Asia. In order to trap a monkey, the trapper creates a container with a hole just wide enough for a monkey to stick his or her hand into. The monkey reaches in for the bait but even as the trapper approaches, net in hand, the poor monkey will desperately cling to the bait, unwilling to just let go of the prize and avoid capture.

When we desperately repeat a strategy that has failed to work or produce results despite its destructive costs, we are in the monkey trap. Sexuality is your monkey trap, J.Lo, and the net is falling down. The truth is nobody wants to see the organ of your maternity on full display underneath a dead cow's skin. A twenty year old who gyrates for a world audience in efforts to titillate people into buying her album is sad; a forty year old who does the same thing is pathetic.

If you truly feel the need to validate yourself for the benefit of the boy's club, simply head down to one of the many strip joints in rural Illinois where you can get your degrading fantasies of being a morning shift stripper turned twenty dollar truck stop prostitute fulfilled in real time. Your children needn't be ashamed of your secret activities and millions of TV viewers will be spared your advanced tutorial of where your babies came from. I would suggest the same solution for the cadre of ancient pole dancers/compulsive public masturbators listed in the second paragraph of this essay. Some of the men who frequent these male clubs are into cougars: they like their meat with some gristle.

As far as the rest of us are concerned, isn't it about time you put your crotch away?

When I lament the fact there are almost no role models for young women, I point the finger squarely at entertainers like you. You should be ashamed. Not because your looks are fading or your relevance is gone, but because you failed to use your beauty and fame as a platform for acting in a way that might save this increasingly doomed world. When I think of my admiration for Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a woman who escaped repressive Islam to become an activist for all women against religious tyranny, she's not even the same species as a person like you with your wasted opportunities.

Now, if you're thinking "What could I possibly do that could change the world in a profound way?" I have one answer for you: Stop eating and wearing animals. Even I, with my limited resources, have managed to do that. Become a superhero rather than Cruella De Vil, prancing around in the fur of anally electrocuted, skinned babies with a pork chop hanging out of your mouth. With personal chefs at your beck and call, you could easily become vegan and start truly standing for the forces of good in the world. Your veganism would not even be entirely selfless -- your stomach, liver, heart, and even your thighs would thank you before long because it just so happens fiber is great for humans and only plants have it.

It's one thing for somebody like me to go vegan, which I did three years ago. You often make more money in one day then I will make in ten years of work. Nevertheless, since you climbed to the top of the star charts, I managed to create my own business from scratch, write four novels, and produce three albums of original music. I have done this all on a lower-middle class income while working full time. Imagine if I had a quarter of your resources! Certainly I would have a chain of veg restaurants by now, a film company producing documentaries, and most likely several animal sanctuaries. What was the last thing you spent your millions on, some sprawling metastasized tumor of a house that requires a full time staff just to keep the roof from leaking? Clothes? Shoes?

Seriously?