In recent weeks there has been a lot of talk about ass, in fine language behind, which is the same tits and tits, and now it has caught us for the first time. We live the breast festival, although not so much because it did not come to Eurovision, and for me that's why they have it, some and if we are guided by the networks, so much mania behind Chanel. That if she is hypersexualized - for 25 euros the answer, names of musical idols who are not. That if the singer's dress is not for such a contest - for 25 euros the answer, names of festivals in which sexual glam is absent. What if the lyrics of the song are rude and sexist - for 25 euros the answer, names of lyrical poets who have triumphed in life.

Last week Kim Kardashian literally stuffed herself into Marilyn Monroe's killer dress (Jackie Kennedy and a few others); his back was not visible, because it did not fit inside and he had to cover himself with a kind of shawl, which we already have a new piece of clothing, in addition to the cap, the cap. No one more hypersexualized than Kim Kardashian and Marilyn, rest in peace, but at the Met gala they didn't talk about it, because they already take it for granted ?, because they've gotten used to it and don't even see it ?, because when you have At what level can you do what you feel like doing? Possibly this is the way things are, the distribution of placards and venues, some to be who you are, others to be who you are and who gives you the go-ahead. Chanel did not pass the choice, it seems.

As if traditional masculinity and its headline headlines were not enough, or the paramasclism it uses to indirectly attack feminism for its victory at the Fest, it must also be seen in the feminism clad in feminism of those who decree the which is progressive - the breast - and which is heteropatriarchy - the ass. Chanel has the right to teach whatever it wants because that's what it is for, and that's what we've called "freedom," because if it's just to replace dictation, we're not doing well. Reducing a singer’s triumph to her movements comes as if Elvis hadn’t boomed with her hips or Tom Jones didn’t owe her a Grammy to her chest fluff. And let me tell you - I love both of them.