LeBron James and the Vogue Cover: More “King Kong” than “King James”

By: D.K. Wilson

Tom Withers of the Huffington Post describes LeBron James on the cover of the April Vogue thusly:

LeBron James is striking a pose.

The Cleveland Cavaliers’ superstar will appear on the April cover of Vogue, joining actors Richard Gere and George Clooney as the only men to do so in the influential fashion magazine’s 116-year history.

Wearing a tank top, shorts and sneakers from his own Nike clothing line, James appears on the cover dribbling a basketball and screaming as if in game mode while throwing one arm around supermodel Gisele Bundchen with Tom Brady nowhere to be found.

LeBron James is striking a pose, all right.

What Withers does not say is that neither Gere nor Clooney struck a pose remotely close to that of James’. What Withers does not say - nor does anyone else as of yet - is that Tom Brady would never have been asked to pose with his girlfriend, Gisele Bundchen, in full New England Patriots gear.

And Tom Brady never, ever would have allowed himself to be cast as a human ——-

King Kong.

Some people who see the Vogue cover and see the inescapable similarities between King Kong and King James will blame Vogue and/or photographer Annie Leibovitz for the ape-like visage of James, mouth agape, all 6′9″, 260 pounds of his blackness charging out of the cover with Bundchen swept up in his arm and her in her best German-Euro version of Ann Darrow.

Let’s break from the descriptions and call this like it is:

King Kong. The Great Ape.

King James. The Great N*****.

“…with Tom Brady nowhere to be found.”

Leibovitz is a veteran of the photography game. Her work at Rolling Stone was groundbreaking as she depicted rock and roll royalty with a candor unseen before she put eye to view finder. In time, she evolved to become a master at conveying the image of her subjects. She is perhaps best known for her intimate Rolling Stone cover of John Lennon and Yoko Ono that was a recreation of the Lennon Double Fantasy album cover in which Lennon and Ono are kissing. It would be the last time Lennon was professionally photographed. So, it is impossible that she was not so struck by James’ size that in her heart of hearts, in her psyche, all she could see was the primal, jungle n*****.

Annie Leibovitz looked at LeBron James and saw King James, the Kong: the, straight out of every white man’s and white woman’s deepest, darkest fear - the ones who ascribe to and abide by the Western collective conscious - of blackness run amok over pristine white sensibilities archetypal ————–n***** writ large.

Just look at the photo.

…with Tom Brady nowhere to be found.

The new national metrosexual heartthrob, Brady, is far too effete to match James’ sheer “native” masculinity.

“Wearing a tank top, shorts…”

The quasi-naked Kong, who if it were not for his Nike-supplied sneakers might just be barefoot escaping with his virginal whit, blonde prize, ready for a run to the jungle; swatting helicopters and fighter planes on his way back to his N***** Nile home, where he can defile his soon to be very uncivil bride with his pet African Rock Python; if you catch my drift.

And there ain’t a damn thing the metrosexual Brady can do with his man purse and his cowboy boots when he sees his lovely Gisele swooped up by the King of the Jungle swingin’ all Mandingo off Annie Leibovitz’s camera lens screaming to every white boys’ Uncle Tom the QB, “Can you hear me - NOW!”

That is dangerous.

And yet there is an unfortunate subtext at work here.

LeBron James must also take blame for the image he has now perpetuated and burned into 21st century white America’s ever-recessive DNA. Mr. “I can’t sign this petition disavowing the genocide taking place in Darfur” has never been mistaken for anything close to endowing himself with the social consciousness of many of the basketball players of the 1960s and 1970s with whom he so covets comparison.

LeBron James is a thoroughly modern Western figure – wooed by money and conscious that image is all too often perceived as reality. His primary goal is to belly up to and be mentored by Warren Buffett in an effort to become the first basketball-playing billionaire, or, if things break right, “I hope I’ll be the richest man in the world.”

James has always been very careful to place himself in the right places, circumlocute trouble, and never, ever get quoted out of context.

But LeBron James would more than likely never stop to think of the allusion ascribed to his cover photo. He would not gaze at the images before him and when asked, “What do you think LeBron?” say, “No.”

In dissent, James would not be forced throw down a, ‘change the theme of this photo shoot or I’ll go public with the image of me you attempted to portray,’ statement. All James needed to do was to control his image for the Vogue cover with careful examination of the nature of the photo shoot in the same manner he controls the rest of his life.

A tuxedoed LeBron James out on the town with a stylish Gisele photo shoot would do. Lebron on a couch with a magazine full of him and Gisele on the same couch with a magazine full of her - signifiers that they are man and woman at the top of their professions photo shoot - would do. Or, the two in full nightclub gear with him watching her trying to dribble in the low light of an empty Quicken Arena. The possibilities are endless.

And yet LeBron James allowed himself to be captured interminably not as the King James of his profession and rising player in the business world, but as a human King Kong, The Great N***** whose fame is inextricably tied to how proficiently he puts a leather ball through an iron hoop.

With the April cover of Vogue, LeBron James has cemented his image as a one-trick, basketball-playing n***** pony; that black horse you never bet on; that black cat you cross the street to avoid; that black, moonless night that scares you into staying home; that black pall that hangs over your favorite team when they are mired in a 15-game losing streak.

Whatever is bad and black is now LeBron James - and every white person with a proclivity for adhering to the tenets of Western thought knows this. Oh sure, the white masses will root and cheer as he performs on court in a way no man his size has ever contemplated. But that 94-by-50-foot hardwood area in which James plies his profession is now also his coffin.

There will be an ebb time to LeBron’s basketball life. If he does not win a championship soon, that ebb time might be more than an object only “appearing” closer in his rear view mirror. It will be a reality right on his behind. And some intrepid reporter will look at that Vogue cover or remember that cover and become emboldened with the private knowledge that “King James” is no king at all. He, or she, will fearlessly embark on the type of character assassination that is so prevalent in sports commentary today.

LeBron James will be thrashed through the mud and treated any old way deemed necessary by the press at any given moment in time. “King” James will be revealed as just another dumb jock baller.

And thanks to an age-old depiction of black man as Mandingo and an unfortunate personal oversight that resulted in the April 2008 cover of the American issue of Vogue, LeBron James will be perceived forever as more “Kong” than “King.”

Tags: , , , , ,

D.K. Wilson is a freelance sports writer. He is better known on the internet as "DWil," and writes for Sports On My Mind.

Share This Article

No Comments

No comments yet.

Comment On This Article