Some people have accused Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” of merely “hinting” at the glorification of sexual assault. Hinting? That’s a gross understatement. With the repeated line of “I know you want it,” the disturbingly addictive tune hints at supporting rape in the same way that the film “Snakes on a Plane” hints at reptiles on an aircraft.
“So what?” you may ask. “It’s just a song; no one’s forcing you to listen.” Well, the song’s millions of listeners are the “so what.” The lyrics aren’t exactly kept in a locked box for only mature adults who’ve already solidified their viewpoints on appropriate sexual behavior to hear; it’s a worldwide hit that is infecting radio waves nearly everywhere on Earth. Teens, adolescents and young children dance to a man belting out his misogyny.
Oh, how I miss the days of the Spice Girls and their hopeful anthems of girl power. Those brave, talented women truly impacted my self-esteem as a young girl, making me believe that I too could conquer the world. I worry that Thicke is making young impressionable boys believe in a blotted sense of unyielding power, building them up to act upon a delusional right to conquer the female body — consent the least of
their worries.
And consent is my primary concern. I’m not saying that I believe Thicke is a rapist. I don’t imagine that the son of beloved TV dad Alan Thicke is hurting women nightly on tour. But he’s clearly trivializing — actually, wholly dismissing — the importance of consent. You don’t even have to listen to the lyrics to realize this; the title “blurred lines” sounds exactly like the mantra of rape apologists, wrapped up in the delusional existence of a “gray area.”
Well, listen up to these words instead, gentlemen: the lines are solid. If a woman “wants it,” she’ll tell you, not deny it repeatedly under the desire to be seen as a “good girl.” Women aren’t a game or a mystery to be solved through an R&B song. We know the words “yes” and “no” and aren’t afraid to use them truthfully. “Just let me liberate you,” you say, Thicke? No thanks. I can liberate myself just fine, using an oh-so-magical, feminine quality called freedom of expression. Wait until the object of your lust, who you so eagerly insist “must wanna get nasty” clearly says that she does. And no, prancing around in plastic wrap for a music video doesn’t count as consent.
Many people have waved away the accusations of sexism hurled at Thicke by pointing out that he’s been married for eight years. But a marriage license isn’t a misogynist’s license. He may share a bed and a life with a woman, but that says nothing about the sexism he shares with the rest of the world; his song speaks louder than his wedding vows. Being married doesn’t magically wipe away his degrading words in the same way that no one should automatically receive a get-out-of-racism-free card by saying, “Of course I’m not racist; I have
black friends!”
In regards to the song’s racy music video, Thicke told GQ, “People say, ‘Hey, do you think this is degrading to women?’ I’m like, ‘Of course it is. What a pleasure it is to degrade a woman. I’ve never gotten to do that before. I’ve always respected women.’”
In Thicke’s twisted world, not respecting women is a joy, a privilege to be granted to the usually-nice male. That’s gross. As someone with a bachelor’s degree in creative writing, I wish I could think of a more eloquent word to describe the quote, but every time I read it, I feel as if I just vomited inside my own mouth or spotted a vile insect. His song insists that, “But you’re an animal, baby, it’s in your nature,” painting women as wild creatures whom men have the responsibility to tame and satisfy. Degrading another human being is a fun adventure, kids! Gross, indeed.
Perhaps the most repulsive aspect of Thicke’s creation is that the tune is undeniably catchy, invading listeners’ ears and minds with memorable beats and quirky pronunciations. It’s as if Carly Rae Jepsen sung a little ditty called “Sexually Assault Me Maybe” or NSYNC released an upbeat single celebrating Ted Bundy.
In early August, Thicke told the Associated Press that, “What’s really important about music and entertainment is to entertain and make people feel good.” Sorry, but trivializing sexual assault — no matter how quick the beats or high-pitched the falsetto — doesn’t make me feel good. I’ll admit to snapping my fingers and moving my head along anytime I’m reminded of the song, but I’m jamming out in a very un-fun way; dancing to shame, anger and disgust with every “hey,
hey, hey.”
I realize that “Blurred Lines” is far from the first song of this century — this year, even — to cross far over into the line of sexism. But that doesn’t mean we should just throw up our hands and accept or ignore that within the bubbly, fun tune lie vile lyrics. Being a woman is hard enough; I don’t need the summer’s supposed hottest hit sending cold chills down my spine.
