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?