Hi guys. I’m just gonna come out and, like, say it. This year, I’m becoming a full-fledged bimbo.

I know what you’re thinking, lol. You probably think that’s a really stupid thing to say.

What’s the point altogether.

“Bimbofication” — the scientific term for getting silly and hot — has been bouncing around the internet for a few years now.

It all started on TikTok, with American creators like Chrissy Chlapecka embracing a very specific brand of hyper-femininity. Wearing highly flammable hair extensions and form-fitting polyester outfits, Chlapecka speaks to the camera in a baby voice, discussing everything from politics and mental illness to “the female urge to buy.” my stupid little $7 coffee and staring at my stupid little thousand dollar phone to fill the void.

And I’m not going to lie, when I first saw his videos I was conflicted. On the one hand, they spoke to me aesthetically. I am outrageously drawn to the color pink. But on the other hand, what I need to clarify is manicured, I was irritated. Why was she talking like this? Why was this busty blonde talking like a toddler?

I couldn’t get out of it. Then I realized I wasn’t supposed to.

The philosophy of the 2022 bimbo is to have “fewer thoughts” and “more vibes”. It’s a deliberate rejection of my generation’s propensity to catastrophize and diagnose. And after two years of uncertainty, we’ve realized there’s no point in trying to get past things like pandemics or math. It’s easier to be warm.

And for this gorgeous gorgeous girl, it feels like a return to the center.

I always wanted to be a bimbo, deep down. I think it has something to do with being a kid in the 2000s. I grew up on a diet of Playboy bunnies and Pussycat Dolls. And it’s a miracle I didn’t grow up on a diet, period.

In 2000 pop culture, almost every woman with enough screen time was incredibly attractive and, in some way, a bimbo. With Legally Blonde the rare exception, the women in these films were a bit silly at best and morally corrupt at worst.

Take for example Mean Girls.

While I’m sure the message Tiny Fey was hoping to send when she wrote Regina George was that being a conceited, popular female dog is bad and increases your chances of being hit by a bus, my eight-year-old self has completely missed the point.

I wanted to be her. I wanted to drive a convertible Lexus. I wanted to be the most popular girl in school. And if I needed to be a bimbo to get there, I would oblige.

In this version of early 2000s bimbofication, the very act of performative femininity was seen as vapid and worthy of ridicule. Women were just one more “like” or “umm” away from being rejected entirely, relegated to the aisle of the Chemist Warehouse which stocks Paris Hilton’s eau de toilette.

And it wasn’t just the men who had a thing or two to say about the women who proudly wore their low rise jeans and high thongs. Books such as Ariel Levy’s Female Chauvinist Pigs put the “phenomenon” of “raunch culture” on the wind, suggesting that women who wore Playboy bunny accessories were the butt of the joke. A tense at that.

As a young girl who loved pink, that left me with few options. I hated physical sports and loved going to Kmart to pester my parents for new Bratz dolls and a pack of Lip Smackers. I knew, however, that wearing a miniskirt probably lowered my IQ. There was no option to be hot and smart.

And that’s why this new wave of self-aware bimbofication is so deeply exciting. We are entering the decade of the bimbo, I can feel it in my 300CC breast implants. We take the word, apply it with rhinestones and present it on the Internet, in our own words. Then we lay down on our fluffy pink pillows to get our restful sleep because we’re in no rush whether you like it or not.

Unlike previous manifestations of bimbofication, anyone can be one in 2022. Men, women, them and them. Our scorching version of our bras is luxurious in extreme feminine energy – except this time it’s our fingers slapping on the keyboard, celebrating bimbocentric causes like the emancipation of Britney Spears.

So here is my promise. In 2022, I will be the dumbest person I know. I’m going to stop deleting excess exclamation points in my emails… a technique I used to get people to take me more seriously!!! And sorry, I’m not going to restrict my use of the word “sorry”.

I’m not going to blow off steam to be taken seriously. I’ll be walking on a treadmill all in makeup, listening to Kim Petras sing about her coconuts, nodding because you’re queen. You know what I mean?

If you don’t, it doesn’t matter. In fact, it’s hot.