Kim Kardashian’s Satellite Saga: Can Glam Survive VLEO’s Drag?

Olivia Bennett, 12/17/2025 VLEO is the new orbital haute couture: satellites sashaying closer to Earth, flaunting sharper images and daring new tech—think high-glam innovation meets red carpet resilience. The future of connectivity just got a major upgrade, and darling, it’s anything but low-key.

Yet there’s a new scene emerging, tantalizing just beneath the LEO hubbub: Very Low Earth Orbit, or—because space insiders simply cannot resist an acronym—VLEO. Hovering somewhere between 60 and 250 miles above our blue planet, VLEO makes its entrance like a fresh-faced ingenue, the kind who glides past the velvet rope and suddenly everyone’s craning for a better look. Here’s where things get delicious: satellites in VLEO are so close to Earth they can make out details in the landscape the way Anna Wintour can spot a counterfeit couture stitch from three rows away.

What’s the allure? It’s sharp, almost uncomfortably so. At these altitudes, image clarity isn’t just better; it’s the difference between viewing art from the back row and being so close you could catch a stray brushstroke. Farmers are already dreaming of counting individual leaves rather than just rows. Meteorologists get data crisp enough to watch a thunderstorm blush. Governments, meanwhile, are suddenly very, very interested in high-res monitoring—though they’d never say they’re eavesdropping, of course.

But as with any ascendant darling, there are hazards waiting in the wings. VLEO is no gentle ride—think atmospheric drag, the fashion equivalent of relentless paparazzi turning an entrance into a gauntlet. Sven Bilén, an engineer-slash-entrepreneur with just enough showmanship, sums it up simply: “It’s like riding a bike into the wind.” Imagine painstakingly staging your grand debut, only for gale-force gusts to threaten your fabulous hair. Satellites slog through thicker air at these heights, burning more fuel in a bid to keep the party going. If the propulsion isn’t up to par, the curtain drops early and unceremoniously—think diva meltdown, but with orbital mechanics.

Of course, 2025 being what it is—restless, relentless—even drag is getting a technological makeover. Enter the air-breathing microwave plasma thruster, which sounds straight out of a ‘60s Bond film yet is being realized in labs that hum with high-voltage drama. The premise? Harvest traces of atmospheric gas (picture a runway model, mouth agape, gulping air before an encore), superheat it with microwaves, and whoosh it out the back for thrust. Daring, a little bit mad, and absolutely essential for VLEO’s longevity.

In the lab, prototypes hiss and glow, midwifed by teams more meticulous than the backstage crew at the Met Gala. Testing often takes place inside vacuum chambers staged to mimic the rarefied pressure 50 miles up—a strange, beautiful scene if ever there was one. And it’s not just fringe players. The U.S. Department of Defense has stepped in, commissioning Red Wire's “Otter” (yes, really) to demonstrate another approach to sustaining VLEO life. The industry is so feverish that even satellite tether concepts from the NASA ‘90s are being exhumed with the kind of optimism usually reserved for veteran designers staging a comeback.

Still, every orbit exacts its price. The real threat isn’t just the drag, but atomic oxygen—an insidious, single-minded presence determined to strip satellites bare the way Joan Rivers once filleted Oscar night fashion missteps. Coatings are tested to their limits, and friction at these speeds pushes temperatures to the kind of numbers that have insurance actuaries sweating—sometimes over 2,700 degrees Fahrenheit. Staying beautiful in this crowd takes more than resilience; it demands a degree of engineering tenacity and material science sparkle bordering on obsessive.

Money, inevitably, follows where the spectacle leads. Recent figures have industry analysts whispering about $220 billion in projected investment for VLEO by 2027. One might call it a veritable arms race—though this time, the fashion is tougher, sleeker, and built to burn twice as bright without burning up prematurely.

With all this talk of space drama, it’s easy to forget there’s an earthbound dividend as well. What happens in VLEO won't just shimmer above us; it promises faster internet connections (and who isn’t tired of laggy video calls?), sharper climate models, more reliable disaster response, and, perhaps, a sense that in a chaotic world, at least someone’s still chasing clarity. Maybe clarity and proximity really are the new luxury.

Ultimately, VLEO satellites might be the disruptive designer of the orbital gala—storming past velvet ropes, rewriting the style book, and reminding an old guard that sometimes, proximity to the runway makes all the difference. Glamour, as ever, is found in the bold, the innovative, and the slightly unpredictable.

Picture it: Earth's atmosphere, draped in midnight blue, as the most exclusive party this side of the Milky Way—a glamorous masquerade where satellites waltz for their slice of celestial real estate. For years, Low Earth Orbit—known in the inner circles as LEO—was the bash everyone wanted into. Star-studded lineups, legendary hosts. Think International Space Station holding court while Starlink satellites spam selfies, photobombing the quiet elegance of Hubble with their relentless connection requests. But, as we tiptoe into 2025, that upper crust has gotten, well, overcrowded. It’s no longer the chic soirée it once was. Frankly, it's starting to resemble an awards afterparty when the fire marshal’s giving you side-eye for exceeding maximum capacity.Yet there’s a new scene emerging, tantalizing just beneath the LEO hubbub: Very Low Earth Orbit, or—because space insiders simply cannot resist an acronym—VLEO. Hovering somewhere between 60 and 250 miles above our blue planet, VLEO makes its entrance like a fresh-faced ingenue, the kind who glides past the velvet rope and suddenly everyone’s craning for a better look. Here’s where things get delicious: satellites in VLEO are so close to Earth they can make out details in the landscape the way Anna Wintour can spot a counterfeit couture stitch from three rows away.What’s the allure? It’s sharp, almost uncomfortably so. At these altitudes, image clarity isn’t just better; it’s the difference between viewing art from the back row and being so close you could catch a stray brushstroke. Farmers are already dreaming of counting individual leaves rather than just rows. Meteorologists get data crisp enough to watch a thunderstorm blush. Governments, meanwhile, are suddenly very, very interested in high-res monitoring—though they’d never say they’re eavesdropping, of course.But as with any ascendant darling, there are hazards waiting in the wings. VLEO is no gentle ride—think atmospheric drag, the fashion equivalent of relentless paparazzi turning an entrance into a gauntlet. Sven Bilén, an engineer-slash-entrepreneur with just enough showmanship, sums it up simply: “It’s like riding a bike into the wind.” Imagine painstakingly staging your grand debut, only for gale-force gusts to threaten your fabulous hair. Satellites slog through thicker air at these heights, burning more fuel in a bid to keep the party going. If the propulsion isn’t up to par, the curtain drops early and unceremoniously—think diva meltdown, but with orbital mechanics.Of course, 2025 being what it is—restless, relentless—even drag is getting a technological makeover. Enter the air-breathing microwave plasma thruster, which sounds straight out of a ‘60s Bond film yet is being realized in labs that hum with high-voltage drama. The premise? Harvest traces of atmospheric gas (picture a runway model, mouth agape, gulping air before an encore), superheat it with microwaves, and whoosh it out the back for thrust. Daring, a little bit mad, and absolutely essential for VLEO’s longevity.In the lab, prototypes hiss and glow, midwifed by teams more meticulous than the backstage crew at the Met Gala. Testing often takes place inside vacuum chambers staged to mimic the rarefied pressure 50 miles up—a strange, beautiful scene if ever there was one. And it’s not just fringe players. The U.S. Department of Defense has stepped in, commissioning Red Wire's “Otter” (yes, really) to demonstrate another approach to sustaining VLEO life. The industry is so feverish that even satellite tether concepts from the NASA ‘90s are being exhumed with the kind of optimism usually reserved for veteran designers staging a comeback.Still, every orbit exacts its price. The real threat isn’t just the drag, but atomic oxygen—an insidious, single-minded presence determined to strip satellites bare the way Joan Rivers once filleted Oscar night fashion missteps. Coatings are tested to their limits, and friction at these speeds pushes temperatures to the kind of numbers that have insurance actuaries sweating—sometimes over 2,700 degrees Fahrenheit. Staying beautiful in this crowd takes more than resilience; it demands a degree of engineering tenacity and material science sparkle bordering on obsessive.Money, inevitably, follows where the spectacle leads. Recent figures have industry analysts whispering about $220 billion in projected investment for VLEO by 2027. One might call it a veritable arms race—though this time, the fashion is tougher, sleeker, and built to burn twice as bright without burning up prematurely.With all this talk of space drama, it’s easy to forget there’s an earthbound dividend as well. What happens in VLEO won't just shimmer above us; it promises faster internet connections (and who isn’t tired of laggy video calls?), sharper climate models, more reliable disaster response, and, perhaps, a sense that in a chaotic world, at least someone’s still chasing clarity. Maybe clarity and proximity really are the new luxury.Ultimately, VLEO satellites might be the disruptive designer of the orbital gala—storming past velvet ropes, rewriting the style book, and reminding an old guard that sometimes, proximity to the runway makes all the difference. Glamour, as ever, is found in the bold, the innovative, and the slightly unpredictable.