Alright, listen up.
It’s time to talk about something that’s been grating on me. Something that reeks of the modern clown world and the absolute degradation of class.
We need to have a conversation about this Tyla girl.
Now, I’m all for success. I’m for winning. I’m for a woman who knows her value and operates from a place of power. But what I saw at the VMAs wasn’t power. It wasn’t confidence.
It was desperate. It was cringe. It was, frankly, uncouth.
She rocks up to one of the biggest events in music—a stage that legends have graced—wearing what amounts to a handkerchief. A super short dress, and yeah, fine, she had shorts on underneath. You think that’s a win? You think that’s a flex?
LET ME TELL YOU WHAT IT IS.
It’s the costume of someone who doesn’t understand the first thing about real value. Real value doesn’t need to scream for attention. Real value commands it silently. A Bugatti doesn’t need a neon sign; its presence alone silences the room. This? This was a neon sign flashing “LOOK AT ME” because she’s terrified you might not.
But it gets worse. Far worse.
She then starts contorting herself on the red carpet doing these… these pathetic, sexualized poses. It was like watching a puppet show of desperation. It was cringe. The second-hand embarrassment was palpable.
Is this what we’ve come to? Is this the new benchmark for female artistry? Not your talent, not your work ethic, not your sheer, undeniable skill… but your willingness to debase yourself for a few flashes from the paparazzi?
Let me be absolutely clear. This isn’t about being a prude. This isn’t about “covering up.” This is about understanding the matrix you’re in.
The world is a hierarchical structure. There are kings and queens, and there are jesters. Queens do not clown for the peasants. Queens carry themselves with a dignity that announces their status without them having to say a word. They understand that their power is an internal force, not an external validation-seeking missile.
What I saw was a jester. A court jester performing for the crowd, begging for a scrap of relevance. It’s low-value behavior.
A high-value woman, a truly powerful woman, knows that her sexuality is a weapon. It is not a party trick. You don’t fire your most powerful weapon indiscriminately on a red carpet for TMZ. You holster it. You let people know you have it, but you make them respect you enough to never have to see it unless you decide, on your terms, to use it.
This performance? This was handing your weapon to every troll with an internet connection. It was giving it away for free. It was devaluing the entire brand.
It screams, “I have nothing else to offer you, so please, look at this.”
It’s the same energy as a man driving a rented Lamborghini. It’s fake. It’s desperate. It’s a facade trying to mask a void where substance should be.
True power is quiet. True confidence is internal. Real Slaylebrity stars don’t need to try this hard. They just are.
So, Tyla, if you’re listening: You’re talented. I assume you got to the VMAs for a reason. But you need to understand the game. Stop listening to the snakes in your ear telling you that this is what empowerment looks like. It’s not. This is what exploitation looks like. You’re exploiting yourself.
Demand respect by first respecting yourself. Carry yourself like the queen you supposedly are, not like a common street performer.
Because right now, the only thing you’re dominating is the cringe reel.
And in the real world, outside the clown show, that’s not a win. That’s an absolute L.
Top Slaylebrity out.
INSTAGRAM: @Tyla
Followers: 12.3 Million
A super short dress, and yeah, fine, she had shorts on underneath. You think that’s a win? You think that’s a flex?
LET ME TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. It’s the costume of someone who doesn’t understand the first thing about real value. Real value doesn’t need to scream for attention. Real value commands it silently.
A Bugatti doesn’t need a neon sign; its presence alone silences the room. This? This was a neon sign flashing LOOK AT ME because she’s terrified you might not.
But it gets worse. Far worse. She then starts contorting herself on the red carpet doing these… these pathetic, sexualized poses.
It was like watching a puppet show of desperation.
It was cringe. The second-hand embarrassment was palpable.
