Graphic by Markus Spiske
Content notice: Discussion of rape via song lyrics.
One afternoon in 2013, I’m living the traumatic reality of every tween: trying on clothes with my mom. She’s decided it’s time for me to graduate from JCPenney’s Junior Girls’ section to its “TG” one, which apparently stands for Total Girl and definitely not très grande. An impending mental breakdown looming with piles of painfully unflattering clothes on their way, life can’t get much worse for 12-year-old me . . . then I hear it. Over the store’s PA, the introductory beats kick in, then the quarter note piano chords start up and the whole JCPenney is launched into three minutes and 41 seconds of Sara Bareilles’ “Brave” damnèd earworm. Bareilles begs me to be brave as I wriggle into an ugly pair of rhinestoned jeans, and after an eternity, the song is eventually over. I think I’m safe, but about 10 minutes later (while still trying to shove myself into denim), I hear it again. Those same beats, those same chords. I steel myself for another round of “Brave,” for Bareilles’ voice to slither its way into my brain again . . . but why does it sound different? Hang on — this isn’t “Brave”; it’s a doppelgänger. It’s Katy Perry’s “Roar.” But that’s the same thing, right? How can two songs sound so similar and literally be about the same topic without someone noticing? Have I gone insane? I think, forcing those stupid jeans to button shut. No, I’ve just begun to notice the perils of commercialized feminist music.
Perhaps such visceral reactions to objectively positive and empowering songs are unwarranted, which is a valid point. Both songs really are innocent; Bareilles simply calls for the listener — the world, at that — to take pride in themselves, to live to their full capacity despite hurtful words that may have been hurled at them or situations where it feels as if there’s no hope left. Perry takes something of a more personal approach, singing about her experience of finding self-confidence; she has done exactly what Bareilles advised. So then what’s the problem here? The problem comes in the way that these sorts of songs present their messages. Looking back at the lyrics of each, there isn’t a single time that women are told to do anything more than take it upon themselves to feel better. Actually, neither song explicitly addresses itself to women in the first place, but we make this connection because we know women are usually the ones forbidden from saying what they want to say or being fighters. The songs don’t tell us this, and the songs also don’t make any direct efforts to speak to the systems that keep women from doing these things.
What tracks like “Brave,” “Roar,” “Girl on Fire” and Kesha’s “Woman” have in common are their incredibly vague lyrics on empowerment. Each calls for the listener to live in the way they want to, forget about the “haters,” and believe that they are, in fact, beautiful and strong. This is the epitome of being a “girlboss.” A girlboss is exactly what it sounds like: A girl who is also a boss or, more accurately, a boss who just happens to be a girl. A girlboss is not concerned with subversion of societal and/or gender norms; they — and their music — are simply empowered individuals who, because of the safety of that newfound empowerment, do not openly criticize any system or advocate for change outside of the female self. This is what “girlboss music” does; this is what leaves the feminist movement in an ignorant contentment called inaction.
When you think of feminism (specifically third-wave), what comes to mind? The 2017 Women’s March? Pink knit hats, maybe? The image of Kamala Harris being sworn-in as the first female Vice President (among a slew of other firsts for the office)? These all make sense; the imagery of feminism in the late 2000s and early 2010s is distinctive because the movement took place in the public sphere. It can be reasonably argued that history has not seen a feminist movement as widely accepted as third-wave feminism. Women were empowered in a way not seen before, from traditionally “unfeminine” behavior being normalized to being allowed to pursue careers women never dreamed of in decades past. It all seemed very progressive, like the entire glass house had been shattered, nevermind the glass ceiling. Miley Cyrus crashed through on a wrecking ball, Taylor Swift showed an edgier side in “Look What You Made Me Do” and Hillary Clinton won the popular vote. The masses had every right to constantly say “yaaas queen!” (no matter how cringe-inducing it was). But what we’ve considered to be massive steps for all women have, in reality, only widely applied to able-bodied, cisgender, heterosexual white women, despite efforts to make the movement intersectional. It is a feeling of contentment with the progress of the past that stops such efforts from effectively impacting the movement. Though it may be a compliment to call Clinton or Swift “girlbosses,” it is crucial to recognize that in being a girlboss, they inhabit that safety of empowerment stopping progressive criticism of systemic issues.
Music has much to show us about our values, especially our sociopolitical ones. While a random Sara Bareilles song may not seem to be this important, it can actually reveal the ways in which we represent movements like feminism. What makes a presumably feminist track like this one “good” and other, more radical ones “bad”? For starters, the audience of these songs are those very same able-bodied, cisgender, heterosexual white women who have already become empowered, making them less ground-breaking than others. I believe this concept is explained best in the chapter “Low Theory” from Jack Halberstam’s “The Queer Art of Failure.” Halberstam defines “more acceptable forms of feminism,” or the girlboss-ness I previously discussed, as “oriented to positivity, reform, and accommodation.” This definition applies to all the songs listed so far, as well as the girlboss-ness exuded by the phrase “yaaas queen.” They all maintain a positive outlook and preach about the importance of having the strength to overcome struggles. So, if this music of positivity and palatability is what gives us a feeling of stasis post-third-wave feminism and thus a horrific lack of intersectionality, what can the opposite do? Halberstam also brings up the concept of “shadow feminisms,” which “have long haunted the more acceptable forms of feminism.” As you might imagine, shadow feminisms do not reach their goal through the same methods as those other forms do. Instead, they make use of “shady, murky modes of undoing, unbecoming, and violating,” which is to say, they are not given that positive light in popular media we see for girlboss feminism. Too angry, too radical, anti-men and vulgar might be words used to describe the music that falls under the umbrella of shadow feminism, all of which are precisely its goal.
The methods, style and, of course, music of artists like Babes in Toyland, 7 Year Bitch, Pussy Riot, G.L.O.S.S. and many, many more (check out the playlist here!) reflect the haunting quality of shadow feminism that Halberstam points toward. What they all have in common is a clear and unwavering critical view of societal sexism, one that manifests in violent, vulgar lyrics and, sometimes, actions. This is the radical feminism unpalatable for wider audiences and therefore given little to no media attention. In terms of lyrics, take a few lines from 7 Year Bitch’s song “Dead Men Don’t Rape”: “I don’t have pity not a single tear / For those who get joy from a woman’s fear / I’d rather get a gun and just blow you away / Then you’ll learn first hand / That dead men don’t rape.” This is quite a different approach to empowerment than that taken in “Brave,” where Bareilles simply says, “Honestly, I wanna see you be brave.” Instead of telling women to be strong, 7 Year Bitch goes to the root of the problem, calling attention to how completely removing the force that keeps women subordinate is a much more straightforward approach than trying to make women feel strong against the “haters.” Concepts of femininity and its presentation are also directly challenged by shadow feminists through their performances and behaviors, which are quite different from those of “girlboss” artists.
Unsurprisingly, musicians of the shadow feminism variety often go undiscussed both because of the message their music sends and the way they conduct themselves. Groups like Bikini Kill and Babes in Toyland use their clothing to attack what we see to be feminine, from a skin-tight dress that says “KILL ME” across the chest, to kinderwhore styles that tie innocent girlhood to vicious lyrics and actions. Artists like Rico Nasty and Nova Twins use their style in a similar way, shocking the viewer with striking outfits and hairstyles, as well as their songs that are often far from the palatable empowerment played on the radio — all of which make a louder statement as they are women of color. Smashing guitars, opening pits and writhing around onstage are not out-of-bounds for any of these artists. Taking their subversion to the streets isn’t unheard of, and the Russian punk group Pussy Riot immediately comes to mind. Known for outwardly criticizing Vladimir Putin, the Russian Orthodox Church and for staging musical protests, the group has been arrested for their work. It goes without saying that this is not how a girlboss would act, and that is a very, very good thing.
So, how do we handle these two conflicting presentations of feminism in music? Just because more striking acts of subversion happen outside of popular culture’s field of view doesn’t mean that it is not possible to make such strides in that space without being labelled a girlboss. Shadow feminism is called such for a reason: because it is off-radar, living in the shadow of girlboss feminism. As one might be able to gather, however, from the artists featured in the playlist and current strides being made toward intersectionality, the heyday of girlboss music is slowly coming to an end. As we enter into an age of fourth-wave feminism, we revive some of the action characteristic of the second-wave. Soon, shadow feminists will no longer haunt palatable forms of feminism. Perhaps they will move to possessing them, taking the reins to completely undo the status quo.