(for your reference, the Blurred Lines video… might be a tad NSFW depending on your work. Ok, fine it’s totally NSFW)
Hearing this song (one hundred thousand years after the rest of the general populace, scientifically speaking) has created a dilemma in my girl-guts, which I pondered while mopping up the (both arousal and fury induced alike) sweat from my drivers seat: Am I able to appreciate an element of pop culture while being hyper-aware of the negative implications of said culture? How do I reconcile my love of all things Pop and my commitment to Girls First/Ovaries Before Everything? Why, by creating a guide to help navigate such a conundrum, drawing on the very lyrics that inspired my introspection, of course! Resources both hot and educational for the lady who loves cool, cool jams but also retains a belief in the, you know, basic humanity of women.
Consider the following with the attitude of your eighth grade English teacher who always bent over the desk with those low-cut tops but once she had your attention made damn sure you knew how to whip out five paragraph essays (god, did I just discover my spirit animal?).
1. Chant, “I know you want it, I know you want it” while forcing this report into the hands of anyone who tout Thicke’s lyrics as harmless.
You know they’re just being coy and are REALLY after the big D (D being Documented Effects of Casual Rape Rhetoric on Rates of Sexual Assault, of course).
I’ll feel so much better about my fantasies of Robin Thicke holding me down if I am able to pass the same sort of action onto my fellow man in the form of scientific evidence that proves rapey dialogue becoming part of the mainstream does in fact impact actions. You still get the light S&M, but with a side dish of awareness. Win/Win.
2. Claim temporary disability when viewing the video/any live performances. Them: “Hey, come check this out.” You: “No, I seriously can’t, maybe I’m going blind?” Them: “Ok, forget it.”
Sometimes, you must pick and choose how you enjoy problematic yet INSANELY CATCHY pop drivel. My heart sank straight to my pulsating crotch when I saw the video to Blurred Lines, witnessing Robin Thicke awkwardly soft-shoeing around gangly nude ladies, throwing downright disgusting know-it-all-looks to the camera. This made me want to strangle him (and, to be fair, I also had some thoughts of him strangling me NO ONE’S PERFECT). Instead of being in on the fun, I was suddenly just a lady who didn’t get it, which created a visceral repulsion that simply listening to the song hadn’t evoked.
Bottom line: Avoid being shown your perceived worthlessness in a visual narrative. Let’s just keep to that DOPE BEAT.
3. When faced with Robin Thicke-alikes in the flesh, whisper “Just let me liberate you with this intelligent conversation acknowledging there are two sides to every issue.”
While I have angrily reread the lyrics to Blurred Lines countless times, I admit I had zero protest when first hearing the song. For weeks, I devoured articles about the Atrocities Against Womanhood this song committed, however when I was groovin’ on my way to work I had no idea I was listening to THAT ONE HORRIBLE SONG. Is it possible Robin is pulling some thicke wool over our eyes (SNAP)? Could he in fact be presenting a complex performance art-style piece, criticizing the Daddy/Little Girl narrative that often dominates the pop and R&B charts, the narrative we ignore in favor of a good tune? IS HE A GENIUS OF EPIC PROPORTIONS?
Sure, it’s possible. Regardless, it’s important to note his song has created dialogue surrounding some important issues, whether intentionally or not. Remember, the mind is like a parachute (or legs!): Both work best when open (oh look, it’s my hot teacher spirit animal manifesting herself again, providing a sexy yet useful snippet of wisdom from that one poster at everyone’s middle school. Minus the bit about the legs, of course).
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Don’t get me wrong — I have a solidly non-ironic appreciation for most pop music. But I also enjoy basking in the eerily perfect scenarios created therein which represent the attitudes of our society at large. And in a perfect world, Robin Thicke could not only remove my pants but my brain as well so I could enjoy said de-pantsing without garbled feminist-101 diatribe-like protests. But as modern technology has not yet reached such dizzying heights as to allow the turning-off of lady-brains for a nice go ‘round, I have to retire “Blurred Lines” (the video, at least). The boner express is de-boarding, people. Errrybody get up.
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Written by Kelly
Kellyʼs Current Obsessions: Sad bastard poetry (aka bad poetry). Copy-catting Jennifer Herrema’s wardrobe as closely possible, piece by piece, no matter how long it takes and no matter how obnoxious Jennifer would find this lame imitation of bad-assery. Contemplating the cost of surgically fixing her distracting underbite. Michael Pitt’s underbite. Smoking.
You may know her from: Her brief but well-recieved stint as a groupie for several little-known bands in the Lexington, KY area circa 2005, or her wildly popular personal blog, written under a nom de plume (as to not offend the sensibilities of her Ma) that she will only reveal upon strenuous and obscene begging.
