Female Singers And The Sexual Market

Reader PA provided a springboard for a post when he mused about the male archetypes found in the lyrics of love songs by female singers.

Love songs by female artists about each of VoxDay’s [male SMV] ranks.

Alpha – Carly Simon “You’re so Vain.” He’s a legend and a lady killer who always takes what he wants, he never wants it for too long, and she will never forget him.

Beta – Whitney Houston “All the Man that I Need.” The title alone tells you that he is not larger than life. But her physical and emotional satisfaction is total.

Delta – Taylor Swift “You Belong with Me.” He’s literally the boy next door. An attractive girl plays him, but a plain girl wants him.

Gamma – That was a tough one. How many girls sing love songs to John Scalzi? Best I can think of is Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” A drab woman pleads for mercy to a seductress that wants to toy with her loser husband just because she can.

Omega – Concrete Blonde “Joey.” He is broke. He is drunk. He is laying in a pool of vomit. No, he is not Keith Richards.

Sigma – Heart “Magic Man.” Nobody can make heads or tails of the attraction; it’s like, WTF? But it’s like out of a dream.

Lambda – ?

I’ll assume a lambda is a gay. Have any female singers crooned about a gay man? Here’s one:

It was tough to dig up that video. For all the talk about women routinely falling for gay men unbeknownst, in reality most women have pretty good gaydars. At least the hardened urban slut cynics do.

One thing that’s interesting about female singers is that you can obliquely track changes in the sexual market by the themes of their songs. One big change has been the anhedonic increase in faux tankgrrl posturing by mainstream twat-rockers.

Women used to sing, authentically, about their vulnerability and heartbreak, often at the hands of callous badboys. Their songs reverberated with truth, because they sang with honest self-appraisal instead of posturing feminism. Even the “tough girls” of the past, like Pat Benatar, singing about daring a man to “hit me with your best shot” (i.e., game the living tingles outta her), aimed many of her punches at her own sternum.

Well you’re a real tough cookie with a long history
Of breaking little hearts, like the one in me

In the 90s, the GineVibe started to oscillate along an anti-human, pro-androgyne wavelength. The first fully-flowered feminist singers made man-hating propaganda a focal point of their songs. Many of these girlpower/girlvictimism songs were based on carefully constructed lies. (Tori Amos was never raped.)

Since then, the trend among female singers has been accelerating to more absurd and ridiculous phony Sandbergian “lean in” power postures. Today, we have the spectacle of fatties like Elle King (Deuce Bigalow’s daughter) singing about all the studs who can’t get enough of her doughgirl rolls and chase her around like puppy dogs.

Older, current female singers are in on the zeitgeist too. Sia boasts of her time on the party circuit and cock carousel as she hides her cracking face under a veil for live performances and calls it a symbolic blow against patriarchal oppression.

Even within female singers’ careers, there’s a trend away from honest self-assessment and feminine vulnerability toward chest-beating theatrics that would challenge the antics of the horniest male rocker. Taylor Swift morphed from a smitten, naive romantic to a fortified fembot “shaking it off”. Katy Perry roars, without a hint of irony. Miley Cyrus milks her femininity-disavowing sexual ambiguity for profit.

Female singers have started aping and co-opting the caricatured masculine themes of promiscuity, emotional distance (implied or revealed), and middle finger majesty, without any of the poetic discordance in feelings or slipped confessions of humility that male singers often drop into their songs.

It’s bizarro world with these aggrochicks, and it sells today. But why?

Maybe as a nation/country/world bazaar declines, its “””people””” need to cling evermore tightly to delusions about the sexes, about the races, about the classes, and about the tribes. And maybe that’s why we have the Elle Kings and neo-Taylor Swifts selling their fake-outs to millions of thirsty femme ears, to both transparently faux-bragging fatties and meekly acquiescing manlets alike.

Or, maybe the modern sexual market has become so alien to women — rife with jerkboys, betas, delayed marriage, childlessness, and Diversity-fueled social disconnection — that the only way they can comprehend it is to pretend to be like men, swinging their clitmores and hewing testicles for sport.