Michelle Obama’s new memoir doubles down on petulance, not patriotism. In “The Look,” she whines about the “white-hot glare” trained on her as first lady—turning public service into a selfie-op drama.
She admits she fretted more over hemlines than headlines. While America faced real crises, she obsessed over whether her dress sent the “right message.”
She claims “soft power” in stilettos. That’s a luxury gripe, not leadership. True influence comes from ideas and action, not couture clichés.
She laments that designers “felt they owned” her. Yet she chose the spotlight. A first lady represents the nation, not a fashion label.
She skips funerals and inaugurations based on wardrobe indecision. That’s not dignity. It’s disdain for tradition and respect.
She argues her clothing spoke for her. The American people wanted policies, not patterns. Their struggles didn’t pause for a photo shoot.
Now, in her “golden years,” she’s “more confident.” Fine. But hollow confidence still rings hollow when it’s wrapped in self-importance.
Her real message? Elitism over empathy. She turns every platform into a vanity runway. That’s a betrayal of the public trust she once held.
Michelle Obama’s memoir is a cautionary tale: when you substitute substance with style, you end up with nothing but an echo chamber of entitlement.
