I don't think about Ivanka Trump very often, but when I do, I'm torn. Ivanka speaks in a deep assertive voice, which oozes calculating intelligence. She uses overly correct English, meticulously cleansed of any hint of a regional accent (unlike her father, who has more than a hint of Queens in his manner of speaking). She sounds like PhD women whom I found intimidating in graduate school, or prominent women who achieved senior positions of power, WITHOUT the crutch of being 'hot' or 'sexy'.

I used to consider it just a nice extra perk for Ivanka that she is also stunningly beautiful. Beautiful enough to be a runway model, with or without her dad's name. An overflowing abundance of blessings. Her sonic quality, her call-me-next-Tuesday, I'll-crush-you-like-a-bug, I'm-a-bitch-and-you-love-it voice convinced me that she knew the exact value of her blessings. I suppose I'm saying that I admired Ivanka, when I bothered to think about her at all. I thought she was strong and powerful.

But then she decided to totally ruin her body. I know some people will try to argue eye-of-the-beholder etc. Others will argue that looks shouldn't be relevant and I'm a bad feminist. But no. It must be said. Ivanka had a long, lean silhouette. A swan neck, delicate bordering on small head, and subtle curves. Silken straight hair. Nothing about her shape was exaggerated. And then she went and got big heavy matronly breast implants. The implants aged her a decade and made her look like she had gained 20 lbs overnight. Why? Why would she do this?!?

When Ivanka hugs her children, when she tries to lay on her belly, when she goes jogging or does yoga, two very large stones stuffed under the delicate skin of her chest come between her ribs and the rest of the world. As gravity pulls down the implants, the skin and natural breast tissue will degrade and become thinner over time. Eventually, where perfect PERFECT breasts once were, there will be a quiet battlefield strewn with dead souls. Thin flesh hammocks showing the rippled putrid bags underneath.

The question I must ask is this: What kind of environment must Ivanka have grown up in that she was so insecure? Why did the super intelligent wealthy super model become so fixated with her body that she took this drastic measure, which ultimately ruined her aesthetic? What kind of asshole comments was she exposed to? What kind of despair did she feel when her equally magnificent mother was replaced by a series of increasingly subservient prototypes? What kind of self-loathing does she feel for being her fathers traveling apologist?

I think posterity will look back on the massive fake tits of the 1990s and early 2000s similarly as we look back on horrible perms and cheap makeup of the 1980s. Except worse. Digitized, automated to no end. Our times will be looked at as a epoch so strained, so mendacious, so alienated from its humanity that we literally thought we wanted to be cartoons. We imagined badly first of all, and then confused our shoddy images for our actual dreams, which we had long since miscarried.

A New York Times article recently came out describing Donald Trump's interactions with women throughout his life. I don't know how true any of those descriptions were, but the crime speaks for itself. What the motives were, who actually perpetrated it, these are things we do not know. But the crime is there as clearly as Marty McFly's mother married to an orange, yellow-haired Biff Tannen. Can we go back in time and stop it all??

I actually feel bad for Ivanka. I know she would scoff at my pity, and that is fine. After all, I am poor and flat-chested per the voices that clearly consitute her super-ego. But when I look at her my heart sinks. I'm screaming inside: IVANKA, NO!!!!