I didn’t want to write this post. I thought I was perfectly satisfied with texting friends that “this Kim and Pete news has devastated me” without feeling the need to add my professional byline to those feelings. But my therapist has been on vacation for three weeks, so here we are.
Honestly, when Kim Kardashian and Pete Davidson called it quits, a part of my soul quit, too. And when Kim recently posted what can only be described as a post-breakup slideshow of thirst traps—note that the thigh-high camouflage boots she’s wearing were designed by ex-husband Kanye—I felt the knife of a failed relationship twist deep into my profoundly confused heart.
On the evening of August 5, I was at a wedding rehearsal party when my partner, who had only quickly glanced at his phone to check the time, nonchalantly broke the news to me with five short words: “Kim and Pete are done.”
I should preface the rest of this by saying that I haven’t historically felt strongly about celebrities who aren’t Taylor Swift. I totally get Davidson’s appeal, but I have always reacted to his dating news with a kind of detached-but-supportive amusement. On the Kardashians, I’m pretty indifferent—I’m happy for Kourtney and Travis; I think it’s nice that Kim enjoys law; memes about Kris outperforming Satan make me laugh.
So when my partner said, “Kim and Pete are done,” I was not expecting to experience the same kinds of sensations—a drop in my stomach, a welling of my eyes, a sense of existential dread—that might otherwise ensue from my partner saying, “You and I are done.” Sorrow presents differently in everyone but, for me, the loss of appetite is the first sign that I am deeply sad. After rehearsal drinks, there was a gorgeous bonfire with peanut butter cup s’mores, and for about 10 minutes, I didn’t want one. I couldn’t believe Kim and Pete were doing this to me.
More than a week later, their breakup has continued to occupy my brain and heart, inspiring a rollercoaster of conflicting emotions: Poor Pete! Pete’s a fuckboy. I hope Kim’s ok! Kim’s a bazillionaire with 200 close family members and an apocalypse-proof compound. What about the kids!? Kim’s kids? No, me! I’m the kid :( Oh my god. Will they get back together? Who’s fault is this, really, though? They seemed so happy.
Why this brief (nine-month) celebrity relationship has shaken me so intensely that I needed to vomit over 600 words about it completely escapes me. Was the break-up just so unexpected? Did I just become attached to the weekly updates about his Kim-themed tattoos (the Aladdin/Jasmine and “my girl is a lawyer” ones really did me in) and absolute adoration for this much older woman with children? Did the folds of my subconscious harbor some secret fawning over their first kiss in an SNL sketch, an undeniably adorable and quirky meet-cute? Was I just thrilled over them being a Scorpio and Libra—an unexpected but exciting and somewhat fated match—thereby proving my embattled lifelong belief that astrology is real and correct? Maybe there are some questions that are never meant to be answered. (My only earnest attempt at an answer is that when they first got together, I thought about how they both lost their fathers at a young age and how that must have bonded them in a very special way, which just shatters my heart.)
So, I don’t know. I’m inexplicably sad that Kardashian and Davidson couldn’t make it work. I’m sad that I feel sad that they’re not together. But, most importantly, I’m sad that Ye designed thigh-high camouflage stiletto boots. We don’t deserve any of this pain.