The Pop Feminism Paradox: Still Singing About Men
Beeld door Jules van Beurden
Trigger Warning: themes related to violence toward women are going to be described in this article. Please read at your own discretion.
Celebrity obsession
The obsession with celebrities is a phenomenon that has its roots in the era of the advent of mass media. Let's think about the so-called Beatles Mania, where young women threw themselves on the floor and pulled their hair due to their inability to control their love for the Fab Four. The boyband phenomenon started developing at the point of becoming so invested in celebrities' personal lives and developing parasocial relationships. This phenomenon shifted and adapted to the changes in the music industry: from the so-called MTV era, it is mainly female pop stars who began rising in popularity and becoming icons with extremely loyal fandoms. Nowadays, there are female pop stars whose influence has been compared to that of national leaders, with millions of followers who are highly influenced by their messages. Yet, their comments about politics and feminism are bland, dull, and somewhat fence-sitting. This Girlboss-coded sense of empowerment became the central tenet of pop “feminism.”
Much of this plastic, branded feminism establishes itself through slogans such as I don’t need a man; but somehow, men are still all these figures talk about. There are different examples of figures that have been under the scrutiny of feminist critique lately. The cover of Sabrina Carpenter's new album, Man’s Best Friend (2025), has received much criticism. The public is divided between those who defend its supposed satirical intent, seeing this cover as a mockery of how men imagine the perfect woman, and those who see it as yet another product made for the male gaze’s pleasure. While this album is ironic and, in some ways, critical of men, many feminists wonder how being in a sexually provocative position would upset them in any way.
Taylor Swift’s career has largely been based on breakup songs and ballads in which men are described as deceitful, unloyal, and superficial. However, it has been commented how a considerable part of the marketing surrounding her persona is built on her personal relationships, making this “misandry” feel much more like capitalising on a supposed relatability.
Pop stars’ entourages found a great spot in social media feminism, where being #BossBabes is comparable to activism. Most women crave sisterhood and the sense of belonging to a community, in a world where nobody is safe from misogyny and where most women have had bad experiences with men. Having a conventionally attractive, successful woman voicing the same thoughts you have feels comforting. The problem is when the music industry understands and exploits this human fragility, using pop stars (which most of the time fit the narratives of Western, white-centric beauty and celebrity culture) as pawns to generate profit. And more bluntly speaking, wondering whether female celebrities truly have other options to maintain their popularity while challenging these tropes becomes spontaneous. While as an artist you should be aware of having responsibilities to your public, if the system around you is not dismantled, it truly feels like tilting at windmills.
The history of sharing this type of sentiment
Criticising men from a female perspective is far from being a novelty in the music landscape. In her 1992 Gli Uomini Non Cambiano (lit: Men don’t ever change), the Italian songwriter Mia Martini describes in a melancholic and delicate tone how powerless men can make you feel, from your lovers to your own father. Coming from the punk-rock world, much stronger and aggressive titles such as Death Men Don’t R*pe by Delilah Bon (2022), became an anthem of exhaustion, rage and anger toward systemic violence and injustice that women have to suffer. Vivir Quintana, in her powerful Latin-folk anthem Cáncion Sin Miedo (2020), bravely speaks out about gender violence in Mexico, confronting men not to look back while women are being abused. Whether it was a political protest song or just an open-hearted confession, the genuineness, passion, and vulnerability of these songs made women who were going through the same experiences feel understood and less lonely.
Men-hating or just baiting?
If openly criticising men is so common across genres and historical eras, why do contemporary pop songs feel so inauthentic while doing so?
The themes of feminism and female empowerment are wrapped up like a gift to please everyone. “Men are trash” is a product to sell, not to create female solidarity but to bait the general public. Even when mocking, rejecting, or criticising men, the narrative still positions them as the central subject. Feminism becomes yet another time a marketing strategy. At the same time, feminist, woman-centred art that foregrounds selfhood without men tends to attract much less commercial buzz.
Using the newfound popularity that women (allegedly) have in the music industry to prey on women’s desire for representation, in the name of a non-existent feminism, feels like betrayal. Capitalising on female desire for comprehension and solidarity, while doing nothing to (at least) challenge the male gaze, is truly being… men’s best friend. More than men-critical, the pop music system is men-obsessed. Pointing the finger toward the singular pop stare case is useless: to de-centre men, there is a need for genuine critique and storytelling, and we need to overcome overly repetitive, super digestible tropes and slogans surrounding heterosexual relationships.
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