The Dangers of Silicone Valley

Last night, on American Idol, Kara totally showed-up Bikini Girl by joining her onstage and proving, without a doubt, that she can sing little miss Oops I Left The Rest Of My Outfit At The Store under the table.

Bikini Girl was mad. Humiliated. Uncomfortable.

It was a moment.

I found myself feeling a spark of compassion for Bikini Girl as she stood there flaunting her newly paid-for breasts and the tiny triangle of fabric she must have super glued to her skin to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. She was totally set up. She thought she was being given an honest award for best attitude (which shows just how far into the land of Oblivion she lives) and a chance to finally showcase her, um, talent for America. Instead, Kara took over and finished the song with a voice that made Bikini Girl's sound like the weak, shaky, non-musical instrument it truly was.

My spark of compassion flickered and died, however, when I remembered Bikini Girl's behavior over the course of the season. I think the nail in my sympathy's coffin was the moment she preened in front of the four judges at her first audition and accused Kara and Paula, who were--rightly--questioning her lack of musical talent, of being jealous.

Jealous.

When she didn't make it through Hollywood week, she blamed that on women's jealousy too.

In fact, Bikini Girl's entire outlook on life can be summed up in just one sentence: I'm hot in a skimpy bikini and that's why women don't like me.

I'd like to address that glaring misconception. I don't like Bikini Girl, but it has nothing to do with jealousy. Would I love to look that great in a swimsuit? Sure. But there are plenty of women who look better in a bikini than I do and I don't despise them. What's the difference?

The difference is Bikini Girl's attitude that a) she could get what she wanted by flaunting her body and b) she was entitled to success simply because she'd paid to have enough cleavage to hide the entire island of Puerto Rico.

That's why women--intelligent, strong, talented, hard-working women--despise her. We've struggled for decades to be seen as something more than a pin-up poster. We've fought to have the right to vote rather than be seen as empty-minded little delicate flowers. We've battled our way up corporate ladders, political hierarchies, and industries, demanding equal job opportunities and pay without resorting to sleeping with a man to get it. We've looked the male-dominated fields of science, film-making, literature, and art in the eye and said, "Move over, Mister, let me show you what I can do."

And we did it because we had the talent, grit, and heart it took to get it done.

When Bikini Girl walked into her audition, preening like a playboy bunny, and simpered her way through her introduction, all the while making eyes at the men in the room and ignoring the women, she disrespected all the women who'd fought for us to be viewed as more than a man's plaything. She operated on the assumption that she didn't need talent if she had boobs and that because she looked great on the outside, the fact that her inside showed a distinct lack of intelligence and integrity wouldn't matter.

It made me sick. It still does.

So, no. I don't feel compassion for her getting a comeuppance last night. I feel disgust that she would think her body is her only commodity. I'm glad she couldn't find a way to trade it in for a spot at the top. I doubt she learned her lesson but I hope other girls, little girls, who watch AI did. I hope they compared her to Allison Ireheta, who blazed through the competition on talent and heart alone, and see that a pretty face hiding a shallow, scheming mind remains nothing more than a pretty face.