Kanye West and his wife Bianca Censori dragged their circus into Seoul and embarrassed themselves in front of the whole world, again. She strutted around in a tight red plastic suit while women and doll copies of her body were bent into chairs and lamps, like a catalog for people who hate normal human dignity.
The BIO POP setup looked like a shrine to her own body and nothing else, a room full of Censori clones used as props, in a space that was dead of any real beauty or talent. It felt like a kink showroom for bored rich people, dressed up with gallery lighting so critics could pretend it meant something.
Kanye sat there like a dead battery, then posed with her at the end, both of them staring blankly in front of the human furniture they just used as a backdrop. The whole thing made them look less like creative rebels and more like washed up weirdos who confuse shock, narcissism and humiliation with art.