Need Some Feminism with that Hip-Hop?: Understanding Women and Representation in Rap

- Veney vidi vici

In recent years, much attention has been given to hip-hop and the rap game for it's often misogynistic messages and representation of women. With the rise and rise and rise of mainstream feminism these genres specifically have been taken, deconstructed, torn apart, and deemed wholly disrespectful and inappropriate in its treatment of women. But while this message is repeated regularly and ever more vehemently, young women are flocking to castings and auditions for the "degrading" music videos, often creating their own booty-shaking content, and women are consuming these commercial and independent products just as much as men. If we are to believe that hip-hop and rap's only contribution to womanhood is the steady decline thereof, then why are so many women willing participating in these spheres?

        The answer is that it is not - and never has been - that simple. 

        First, it's important to recognize who is participating in the culture being critiqued and who are the critics. Typically, the men and women producing and being featured in commercial hip-hop and rap content are men and women of color (Black, Hispanic/Latin, Asian, etc.). Generally, the participation is consensual, though varying degrees of coercion are also present in the industry. The men and women in mainstream media who are critiquing these cultural products (because that's what they are at the end of the day) are predominantly upper-middle and upper class White Americans who practice a specific branch of feminism that does not account for the cultural difference experienced and lived by people of color in America. Much of the mainstream critique against hip-hop and rap are not simply anti-misogyny but also anti-black/anti-minority or at the vary least attempt to eliminate the concept of "color" all together. For example, mainstream feminism argues against sexual double standards that label girls who wear form-fitting or revealing clothing as sexually open, provocative, and even slutty. This narrative ignores the reality that women of color are - by the mere fact that they are an ethnic "other" - never had the opportunity to have asexual or innocent identities but have been sexualized from birth and that no amount of modesty in dress or behavior will prevent them from being seen and identified as sexual, erotic beings by men of all races and ethnicities. Leora Tanenbaum - a white feminist who came of age in the 60s - speculates (rather accurately) in her book, Slut! Growing Up Female with a Bad Reputation, that "it's the commodification of sex, not sexism, that troubles most of the offended" (Tanenbaum, 211). 

       Which leads to my second point - much of the critiques of hip-hop and rap's misogyny robs the women who take part in the media's creation of their choice and power in the industry. As hip-hop and Black feminist scholar Joan Morgan illustrates in her work Hip Hop Feminist, "Calling rappers out for their sexism without mentioning the complicity of the 100 or so video-hos that turned up - G-string in hand - for the shoot" is equivalent to victimizing those women and stealing their sexual power and control from them (Morgan, 418). As Shani Jamila highlights in her essay "Can I Get a Witness? Testimony from a Hip Hop Feminist" found in the anthology Colonize This! Young Women of Color on Today's Feminism, "Teaching women not to be sensual and erotic beings, or not to show that we are, is diminishing and subverts the locus of our own uniqueness as females" (Jamila, 393). This is not to say, however, that male hip-hop and rap artists should be let off the hook for lyrics and images that are clearly degrading and harmful to women. That would be ludicrous. Much like the artists Ludacris's track "My Chick Bad"as well as it's remix.

                                   Ludacris VEVO "My Chick Bad" [Original Version]

         

         In this video, Ludacris stylizes himself not only as the powerful rapper who's status is boosted by his "bad" chick who  is "badder than yours" and "[does] stuff dat ya chick wish she could", the rapper also presents himself in the position of the music video's director with total control over the set and the filming.  The female dancers who appear throughout the video are sometimes seen stretching in the background or are seen  in sexy costumes with their faces and all distinguishing features drowned out by tinted lighting so as not to distract from their dancing (which in itself is meant to be sensual if not provocative). Nicki Minaj, however, makes a very different appearance then everyone else on set. As usual, Minaj appears in a standout costume - this time as a female (arguably even feminine) Freddy Kruger - and while her position on the chair and the bondage wrappings can be read as sexual, Minaj is not passive in her sexuality but rather controls the gaze that is directed at her and often disrupts it. Similarly, Ludacris's remix of "My Chick Bad"  features female rappers Diamond, Trina, and Eve who all take control of the presentation of their sexuality and who's rhymes also proclaim their independence - emotional and financial. 

                            Ludacris VEVO "My Chick Bad" Remix ft. Diamond, Trina, Eve

         All of the women rappers featured in either version "My Chick Bad" from Nicki Minaj to Eve  can be identified as both Cheryl L. Keyes's "fly girl" and "sista with attitude" in that they all "deconstruct dominant ideology by wearing clothes that accent their full breasts and rounded buttocks and thighs, considered beauty markers of Black women" and "portray [...] an independent woman, but, additionally, an erotic subject rather than an objectified one" at the same time that they also "value attitude as a manes of empowerment and present themselves accordingly" (Keyes, 404 - 406). These women know that they are "bad" and use their status to their benefit. Though, it cannot be ignored that men - as well as other women - continue in their efforts to appropriate these women's bodies for their own ends.  To quote Shani Jamila again, "As women [and men] of the hip hop generation we need a feminist consciousness that allows us to examine how representations and images can be simultaneously empowering and problematic" (Jamila, 392). 

        What I am calling for is not a end to the challenge of the sexism that does exist in the hip-hop and rap industries, but rather a more critical reading of the content generated and the production and distribution forces behind them. To fully put an end to misogynistic tendencies that appear to be rampant amongst the genres, we must first understand what led to their development in the first place, as well as how they are being played out, treated, and addressed today. For example, in his book Decoded, published in 2010, Jay-Z lamented his past lyrics and the clear misogyny depicted in them. He stated that since his marriage to the famous and fiercely feminist R&B, soul, and pop queen Beyonce Knowles, Jay-Z was abandoning his former player/pimp status and refining his treatment of women in his work. However, here we are in 2014, and Jay-Z is negligently popularizing violence against women again. For those who can remember Beyonce and Jay-Z's Grammy performance of Beyonce's "Drunk in Love" on which Jay-Z is featured, the couple was censored live during their January performance; having the sound cut out on them whenever the word "shit" was to come up in the song. However, no one thought censor Jay-Z's verse where he makes several references to domestic violence; in particular, he raps:

                                               I'm Ike Turner, turn up, baby, no I don't play
                                               Now eat the cake, Anna Mae
                                               Said, "Eat the cake, Anna Mae!"

which for many should bring back uncomfortable memories of the violence inflicted upon Tina Turner (real name Anna Mae Turner) when ex-husband and former musical partner was visually documented forcing cake down Tina's throat and subsequently beating her during a celebration in the biopic What's Love Got to Do with It (1993). Instead most viewers were concerned with the eroticism of Beyonce's choreography or the disheveled appearance of her hair. Instead of worrying about her hair, we should have been wondering why she even allowed her husband to rap those violent lines on her track. And perhaps this is an example of what Morgan cites as women of color too often allowing "our back to [become the men's] bridges" in an attempt to protect the community and solidarity first (Morgan, 416).

           Leora Tanenbaum sums it up appropriately, "girls [and women] are not innocent bystanders in some grand, patriarchal battle for their souls" (Tanenbaum, 200). Neither gender is passive in the dissemination of the misogyny which is commonly decried in the hip-hop and rap spheres, and therefore we must not be complacent in our consumption but "question the lyrics and constructed identities" put forth by artists as Black Hip-hop feminist Gwendolyn D. Pough writes in her essay "Love my Feminism but Where's My Hip Hop" found in Colonize This! (Pough, 91). As Jamila writes:

                                         We shouldn't support each other to stupidity [but]
                                         demand accountability from each other [and] be
                                         cognizant of the power in this music and of how
                                         we are representing ourselves on a global and
                                         historical record (Jamila, 393).

We as a global hip-hop society must respect the multiplicity of our experience, care less about the hairstyles and wardrobes, and care more about the lyrics and images we internalize on the daily. Then - and only then - will we be able to negotiate and equality and freedom that is real, accessible, and inclusive of all men and women.