How To Be a Heartbreaker. Group Two 

Marina and the Diamonds: How To Be a Heartbreaker - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKNcuTWzTVw

Marina Diamandis creates a music video that emcompasses two of Doty’s definitions of queer: figures going against hetero-normativity, and also non-normative gender performance. Marina portrays men the way women would typically be portrayed in American society - as playful, carefree sex objects. She also portrays herself in a way that would usually be regarded positively for men, but in her case because of double standards, people view her as promiscuous (a “slut”). The video received a lot of backlash, typically for the way she portrays herself and objectifies men, yet she sings about not giving away sex to these men. However, there are hundreds of music videos that portray women as objects and glorify men for having their way with them sexually, yet they receive very little attention or scrutiny.

The definition of queer that deals with non-normative gender performance can be seen throughout the video.  The men in the background are playful with Marina, but it is more noticeable when they are playful with one another.  It is not often seen in media where men are playfully hitting each other in a shower.  If the men are playing with one another than they are typically doing things that are perceived as more masculine.  Rubbing up on each others bodies also defies normative gender.  Society does not usually see men rubbing up on each other as what is considered normal.  By filling the role that would be reserved for women, the video is displaying non-normative gender performance.
    

Rather than being praised as a strong, independent woman, she is being viewed as a hypocrite. In the comments of the Youtube video, many people have commented saying that if a man had this video they would be criticized and frowned upon, but when a woman makes a video like this one, instead of being viewed as empowering and enlightening, they are looked at as a fake feminist and are using feminism as a way to receive special treatment and to avoid backlash and criticism.    

Marina’s video may be looked down upon by some feminists, men, and women because of its obvious role-reversal. In our modern society women are meant to be viewed as symbols of purity, selflessness, and an overall embodiment of motherly nature. Marina shows us that women are so much more than just these titles, and their pleasure is their own, not subject only to the desires of men. Marina makes the statement, “Girls, we don’t want our hearts to break in two, so its better to be fake…” She seems to be saying that the only way to get noticed as beyond the titles placed upon women is to be eccentric, to be over the top, and to break the mold: whether they feel comfortable or not. She seems to say that women must ask as “men” in order to not get hurt in the traditional ways that womens’ roles allow them to be.

1. Do you think that Marina is taking a feminist stance by exploiting men, and portraying relationships and breakups this way? Or do you think that Marina is being hypocritical and is using feminism as a way to avoid backlash from the heteronormative standards?
2. Is it right to objectify men, as society objectifies women? Why or why not? What ramifications might this have?
3. In some of the YouTube comments, the commenters say that women in the media and in music videos objectify themselves.  Can it be seen as self objectification? Or could we argue that the way women perform in media as forms of self-empowerment and choosing to express themselves in a different way from what is considered the norm?

Blurred Lines? Group One

Robin Thicke pushed the boundaries of the radio waves in 2013 when he dropped his single “Blurred Lines”. Filled with lyrics about how much he knows women want sex, many people have been viewing this song as a step backwards from the progress that women have been making to keep themselves from being objectified. The song was complemented by a video that, of course, raised even more concerns than the song, especially in feminist circles. As a feminist response to the bigotry of Thicke’s video, a group of women called Auckland Uni created a parody called “Defined Lines” during the same year. We attempt to give a queer reading of these two videos comparing them to one another using Adrienne Rich’s definition of queer which is mainly about stomping out patriarchy once and for all. She says that “Women could be indifferent to [men] altogether; that men could be allowed sexual and emotional access to women only on women’s terms” (643). We will show how the feminist video utilizes Rich’s advice about how women can fight against the normalization of a dominant male culture.

Thicke’s video for “Blurred Lines” is set in what appears to be a strange sort of private party atmosphere that features a variety of scantily clad women. Throughout, these women are portrayed in a way that conveys innocence and vulnerability. They are lead around by Thicke and his other male counterparts like sheep, clothed in various nude and muted colors, and their hair is periodically brushed and petted as if they were dolls. Their childlike appearance contrasts the stance of power and assurance belonging to Thicke and the other men present. This imagery is problematic in that it enforces a gender binary that asserts that men should hold dominance over women, the weaker sex. “Defined Lines” goes as far as to completely juxtapose what Thicke is intending to do in his video and dominate the males in a repressive role. The women covey their dominance by spraying whip cream and putting a vibrator in the men’s mouths; this is in reference to the male organ being used as a powerful mechanism in diminishing them. One of the singers then totes one of the men like a dog across the video frame on a leash like a dog. The intention is obvious in showing that women have just as much control over the opposite sex as men. In society, it wouldn’t be as shocking for women to take on an acting role in a music video as just a prop; such as the three women in “Blurred Lines.” But it seems extraordinarily degrading when one witnesses the man dressed in a leash. Society doesn’t seem as phased by degradation of women, but appalled when it is turned on men, this is precisely the point that the Auckland Uni artists are intending to make.

This rejection of male power and appetite that we see in Defined Lines falls in place directly with Rich's ideas of the lesbian continuum. Specifically, it capitalizes on the power that women hold as gatekeepers to intimacy, and their ability to choose how, when, and why to seek it, “It seems more probable that men fear… women could be indifferent to [men] altogether, that men could be allowed sexual and emotional access to women only on women’s terms”(643).  The entirety of the song, besides acting as a massive "Fuck You" to Robin Thicke, not only flips the gender dynamics we usually see in many music videos, but emphasizes women’s choice and agency in engaging in heterosexual relationships - with one girl going so far as to reject the whole thing entirely (“Your precious dick can’t beat my vibrator”). The videos continued deliberate use of phrases like, “our liberation”, “we don’t want it” also draws attention to the importance of unity and gives the viewer an impression of general female support through shared experience of misogyny and objectification. This idea of women supporting women against the patriarchy is an integral part of Rich’s lesbian continuum, and despite lacking any overt sexual material between women (except for a brief scene where two of the women “share” a man), the video imparts this through empowerment and female connection.

Unfortunately, Robin Thicke’s music video for “Blurred Lines” and the message it’s imagery presents is not uncommon in the music industry, Representations of the dominant male and the subordinate woman are present in music videos and performances cross genre and culture. Auckland Uni’s parody, “Defined Lines,” shows a different potential for the world of music media. It offers the argument that the more common representations we are given may not be the only way sex and gender play out in real life. Although some might deem it too extreme or comical, much like Rich’s idea of the lesbian continuum it shows that perhaps there is a different way to exist. A greater allowance of variability in the music industry could be the key to unlocking a world of possibilities for the representation of women in our society.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. In general, what does the term “Blurred Lines” in the music video “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke mean in context of sex, gender roles, and harassment? What are Auckland Uni artists trying to say by naming their parody “Defined Lines?” In what ways to the compare
2. Auckland Uni’s parody of “Blurred Lines” attempts to break down the stereotypical presentation of sex and gender contained in the original music video. In our opinion it serves as a powerful visual tool that fights the way women are portrayed by the media. What are some ways you believe tangible change can be made in our everyday lives? How can we better represent women in the workplace, in classrooms or in our neighborhoods?
3. We classified Auckland Uni’s video as queer because it is fighting against a normalized system of patriarchy. What do we have to do to take Auckland Uni’s ideas about women’s rights out of the “queer” zone? Is this video a good way to change the way that males view women? Is it too radical, making people shy away from feminism?

Anaconda, Nicki Minaj, and Queer Spaces?

Trinidadian rapper Nicki Minaj’s most recent single “Anaconda” (2014) has gathered a lot of attention both for the song and for the accompanying video that focuses prominently on the twerking and undulating rear ends of Minaj and her backup dancers (examples of feminist readings include this from Autostradle and this by Black feminist bell hooks). The video has been viewed over 241 million times on Youtube and helped Minaj earn her highest charting single in the United States. As a fan of Minaj, I wanted to think about the possibility of reading this video through a queer lens, especially the all-female spaces the video uses and the power that Minaj appears to have over the consumption of her own body. In reading “Anaconda” as a queer text, I am employing Cathy Cohen’s definition of queer as that which contests heteronormativity. For Cohen, “heteronormativity works to support and reinforce institutional racism, patriarchy, and class exploitation” (455) and thus even heterosexual or straight-identified individuals can be queered by their resistance to these intersecting systems of oppression. I read “Anaconda” as contesting traditional ideas about the female body and female pleasure that are linked to white supremacy and patriarchal norms.

As Adrienne Rich and Audre Lorde both argue, female connection and intimacy is received as threat to patriarchal control in a society where access to the female body is prized as the right of straight men. With the exception of a scene where Minaj performs a lap-dance on the rapper Drake, the “Anaconda” video occurs entirely in spaces with female or feminine bodies. Some of these spaces appear to be outside of mainstream society all together – either fantasy spaces, like the set where Minaj demonstrates an absurd parody of a cooking show, or places outside of our time all together, like the rainforest setting where Minaj freely plays with the buttocks of her dancers. Even the more traditional settings, like the exercise class, are clearly parodying or mocking ideas of a “realistic” setting. This could discredit the entire video as entirely unreal, but it also can suggest that we are seeing a fantasy space where Minaj is playing out her desires. Minaj’s lyrics further reference her own sexual pleasure; she playfully alludes to receiving oral sex and the necessity of large penises to achieve maximum pleasure.

Throughout the video, Minaj controls everything happening around her – including the curvy bodies of her dancers. Her playful jiggling of her dancers’ rear ends suggests both her ability to adopt the traditionally male role of accessing the female body and the potential for same-sex desire. Of course, as Adrienne Rich notes, we might also understand these moments as being like much “so-called lesbian pornography” which is “created for the [straight] male voyeuristic eye.” The video definitely offers plenty for straight male viewers, yet it also opens the possibility that other ways of viewing are encouraged and thus opens some space for other folks to desire the bodies shown in other, potentially more queer ways. We could easily read the entire video as performed for the male gaze, yet the actual male presences suggest a more queer relationship to the male viewer. When Minaj performs a lap dance for Drake, the male rapper is shown as entirely controlled by the female body on his lap and he is powerless to follow her when she chooses to leave him behind. She may approach him on her knees, but she walks away triumphantly and he is left seated and presumably unsatisfied. The absurd spectacle of Minaj’s cooking show culminates in her putting whipping cream on her cleave – either encouraging the viewer or referencing a woman’s physical response to pleasure. In this same segment, Minaj’s use of bananas obviously references the male sexual organ and her violent treatment of the bananas suggests that the penis – as representative of the patriarchy – can easily be cut into small pieces and devoured.

The United States has a long and nasty history of reading the African American female body as hypersexual and less than human. “Anaconda” could be read as participating in this stereotyping of Black women as overly curvy and sexually available, yet Minaj’s celebration of her rear end suggests she may have some measure of control over this image. She is choosing to celebrate her rear end and does not believe her ample curves disqualify her from access to ideas of classiness or success; we see her in designer clothes and we see her in workout clothes, suggesting that skinniness need not be the only goal for exercise or health. Minaj’s tirade against “skinny bitches” and celebration of larger women suggests a queer resistance to ideas of the ideal body that are linked to images of white femininity. Now, that does not mean that I think the video portrays an entirely progressive view of women’s bodies – these bodies are still petite with skinny waists alongside larger rear ends and breasts. Not all body types are celebrated, but this is a distinctly different vision from a more common ideal presented in mainstream popular culture. The song’s use of the sample from “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-a-lot similarly seems to mock or queer the idea that men, like the original rapper, should be able to have the last word on women’s bodies.

While I think that I have shown ways in which “Anaconda” queers ideas about race, gender, and sexuality, I am somewhat torn about the ways that the video relates to Cohen’s idea of “class exploitation.” Like many popular music videos, “Anaconda” is full of product placement, especially for Myx Moscato, a brand co-owned and endorsed by Minaj. The video’s visuals more broadly are clearly intended to draw in a large audience – controversy sells! – and thus boost views and sales. At the same time, we could argue that Minaj’s visibility as a woman of color in the music industry and her apparent control over much of her image messes with certain ideas about who belongs in higher-class society. Of course, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a lot of privilege, including access to the money that means she has a flawless appearance. Ultimately, the video reminds me that queer texts are complex texts and not necessarily just progressive (if they are at all).

Questions:

1.     How does spectatorship - or who is watching the video - determine whether or not we should read it as queer? Is this still a queer text if consumed by a straight man who simply objectifies Minaj’s body? Does the video resist a straightforward “straight” reading?

2.     Much of the video seems to rely on the female bodies all appear very similar; almost all are similar to Minaj’s body. What does this do the politics of the video? If we read the video as contesting one set of beauty norms, does it just replace them with another one? Is this progressive or just more of the same?

3.     How does the video relate to ideas about sexual desire? Are the “big butts” a stand-in for other parts of the body? Does the butt replace male desire or is it simply presented as being there for male pleasure?