Opinion Piece
June 4, 2025
Britney Spears in her “Oops!... I Did It Again” red catsuit (2000)
“What the hell is happening to Olivia Rodrigo?” someone commented under a TikTok of her performing at Lollapalooza back in March – it’s a seemingly common take, according to the comment section. Rodrigo marked her Lollapalooza debut in a Ferrari red bodysuit and matching lipstick. Her performance took social media by storm: “Olivia’s Miley Cyrus era (crying emoji),” another TikTok user wrote.
Every generation has had its core it girls. If you take a look at the 2010s, Miley Cyrus comes to mind; crank the lever a decade prior, and Britney Spears was at the forefront of what it meant to be an it girl in the 2000s. When researching the topic of sexualization among female stardom, both names appear relentlessly as case studies, but with differing portrayals.
The rampant sexualization of Britney Spears began as soon as she dropped her first hit, “...Baby One More Time.” Dressed in a schoolgirl look– a pleated skirt and button-up blouse – she emoted the ‘good girl’, innocent, virgin image that the male gaze devours.
As for Miley Cyrus, her “Wrecking Ball” music video in 2013 raised hellfire, as she sported a rebellious look that seemed to be Miley’s third strike for the public, following the controversy of her 2008 Vanity Fair photoshoot and her release of Can’t Be Tamed (2010).
In 2023, she addressed her Bangerz (2013) era during an interview with British Vogue, stating, “I was creating attention for myself because I was dividing myself from a character I had played.” She continues, “Anyone, when you’re 20 or 21, you have more to prove. ‘I’m not my parents.’ ‘I am who I am.’” Releasing edgier music, wearing minimal clothing, and adopting a bolder style were all way to break away from the bubblegum pop persona that Miley had been both prescribed to and personified by her as Hannah Montana.
These two cases represent the varying dimensions that sexualization entails, sexualization, and self-sexualization. The former would fold out in instances when a person’s value is reduced to their sexual appeal, equating them to an object for another’s sexual satisfaction. Since the start of her career, Spears had been marketed in ‘provocative’ clothing and pressured to base her persona on a sexualized image, despite her young age. The distinction between this and the concept of self-sexualization is that it occurs when the subject capitalizes off their own body attached to the value of their art, or, in Miley’s case, to challenge the status quo.
In comes the criticism that celebrities are public figures, and while their self-sexualization could be an act of empowerment, their visibility in the public sphere makes their behaviour potentially harmful to the general audience, as it could encourage young onlookers- particularly girls - to adhere to beauty standards that promote presenting themselves in a sexual manner.
But this begs the question: wouldn’t this framing reduce artists to objects of desire in public eye, rather than maintain the integrity of their agency as individuals?
An argument that persisted throughout my research is that we have shifted from a war against genders. It’s no longer solely about men objectifying women, it’s also about women joining in on it, too. In Female Chauvinist Pigs, Ariel Levy talks of raunch culture, a culture that promotes overtly sexual representations of women and directly criticizes it, stating that women are perpetrators of their own sexualization and objectification.
Just how similar are the times of the early 2000s compared to today? In her book, Toxic: Women, Fame, and the Tabloid 2000s, Sarah Ditum recounts the stories of nine women whose experiences encapsulate the hellish reality that female celebrities faced in the 2000s. This period was a ruthless time when the public enabled the exploitation of the women featured in both the book and the limelight. The book has its shortcomings, but it’s sparked conversation. Published in 2023, Ditum concluded her work by saying that compared to 20 years ago, female stars are more in control today. With social media, they can communicate directly to their audience via their own platforms, bypassing traditional media gatekeepers like the tabloids or press. They have the means to clarify, contextualize, and even challenge what is said about them, and ultimately set more boundaries, create narratives, and defend themselves in real time.
Perhaps it all boils down to agency and our perception of sexuality today. There is a difference between pornographic referencing and the simple embrace of one’s sexuality.
As model Emily Ratajkowski writes in her essay for Lenny Letter, many believe that, “To be sexual is to be trashy because being sexy means playing into men's desires.” To Ratajkowski, it’s important to create a space that embraces sexuality. She raises the question, “Where can girls look to see women who find empowerment in deciding when and how to be or feel sexual?” She acknowledges that, “if being sexualized by society's gaze is demeaning, there must be a space where women can still be sexual when they choose to be."
The expectation in the 2000s of female stars to uphold a puritan image has led to women being shunned when they actually choose to embrace their sexuality.
Take Sabrina Carpenter, whose latest album, Short’n’Sweet, centers sex as a main theme in the songs “Bed Chem” and “Juno.” Despite being a 25-year-old woman, she still receives criticism for provocative performances and writing about sex. This isn’t new to Sabrina; she’s been having fun with innuendos since her 2022 album, emails i can’t send and her viral “Nonsense” outros, long before Short’n’Sweet. While Carpenter appeals to the male gaze, her fan base is mostly women, whom she is primarily performing for. It is the comforting presence of a feminine audience that allows Sabrina’s sensuous performance to be seen as an act of empowerment, since she is in complete control and treats it lightheartedly.
Women are sexualized against their will, regardless of clothing choices, and as soon as they choose to embrace their sexuality, it is used against them. Billie Eilish, who famously sports a rotation of baggy looks pioneered by Hip Hop culture, sat down with Variety in 2023, discussing the media’s obsession with her body image. “I have big boobs. I’ve had big boobs since I was nine years old, and that’s just the way I am. That’s how I look.”
Like Ratajkowski, Eillish wishes to claim her sexuality, “I’m literally a being that is sexual sometimes.”
Billie’s case highlights a double-edged sword in which women’s bodies are scrutinized, whether or not they dress provocatively. Eillish’s opinion echoes a common desire for female artists: the desire to reclaim ownership of their bodies. However, this path to repossession of one’s self elicits different responses from the public, and one factor that unfortunately affects reactions is an artist’s race and ethnicity.
Take Megan Thee Stallion, whose music and image embrace sexuality unapologetically, but is often not taken seriously. Megan is to credit for,“Hot Girl Summer” a recurring ethos that rolls around every summertime and encapsulates, “being unapologetically YOU, having fun, being confident, living YOUR truth, [and] being the life of the party,” as she stated on X in 2019.
Her feature in Cardi B’s “WAP” in 2020 received praise, but also an overwhelming critique. It’s seen as though the sexualization of black female artists isn’t as “shocking” as that of their white peers - is this because their sexualization is deemed as a given?
In her opinion piece for The New York Times, Megan affirms her agency, stating, “I choose what I wear, not because I am trying to appeal to men, but because I am showing pride in my appearance, and a positive body image is central to who I am as a woman and a performer.” As a black woman, Megan Thee Stallion faces a double standard.
She receives criticism for her attire that celebrities of different races and different body shapes often wear without backlash. She raps explicitly about sexuality, which her male rappers have been doing for decades, but still, she is seen as crude and too sexual. What Megan faces is a prime example of misogynoir: the dual discrimination of both racism and sexism that black women face day in and day out.
Another black female artist who has faced similar treatment is Aya Nakamura, a French-Malian singer who has accumulated more than nine million monthly listeners on Spotify. Known for her songs “Djadja” and “Copines,” she was asked to perform at last year’s Olympics held in Paris. Despite being one of the most-streamed Francophone musicians in the world, talks of her appearance in the Olympic opening ceremony incited controversy for several months prior due to her Malian roots. Nakamura received criticism and racist remarks from the public and politicians alike, and was deemed “not elegant enough” to represent France. Despite widespread concern, Nakamura gave an amazing performance and paid homage to France’s beloved Charles Aznavour, while intertwining her most well-known titles into it with the French Republican Guard by her side. A perfect slap in the face for critics.
To say that all female artists indulge in self-sexualization and that they must use their bodies or act sensuously to reach success would be a sweeping generalization. The reality is, every artist’s experience is different. Some female artists choose to express themselves in a sexual manner, and others don’t – in an ideal world, both would be accepted.
It comes as a given that at the end of the day, the music industry upholds hierarchy: it is inherently capitalist, patriarchal, and racist. Women both in the spotlight and behind the scenes strive for equal treatment to their male counterparts.
Some artists use sexuality as a way to break free from old perceptions as childhood icons to take control of their own narrative, while others are sexualized by the industry or the public against their will. For women of color, the challenges are even more complicated as they face double standards aggravated by both sexism and racism.
It is by amplifying varied and unique experiences and ensuring that women’s voices are heard rather than perpetuating generalizations that the industry can move toward true change. Maybe it’s time we stop judging women in music for how they present themselves and focus on their talent as artists.
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