Because if you love Nicki and Beyoncé, it’s important to appreciate the artist who paved the way

Text Kat George

Before Beyoncé performed in front of a neon “feminist” sign, before Lady Gaga had an artist throw up on her on stage to expose sexism and before Nicki Minaj twerked her ass to subvert the male gaze, Missy Elliott was bringing feminism to mainstream music. Over her impressive 25-year career, Elliott’s message has been clear, and that’s that women, whether conforming to heteronormative gender binaries or not, are equal to men, as important as men, and as powerful. She’s been devoted to promoting the idea that women can act, rather than just appearing, and that a noisy woman with an opinion is a valuable thing, and moreover, that this woman has nothing to apologize for. Carving out a niche for women in hip hop in the early 90s along with Lil Kim and Queen Latifah, Elliott has maintained a strong feminist voice in an industry and genre that thrives on misogyny and homophobia; bigotry that is directly antithetical to everything she stands for. From body and sex positivity, to being a champion for women-supporting-women, Elliott shouldn’t be forgotten when we talk about feminism in pop. Indeed, she should be celebrated for carving a path to it, revered for her take-no-prisoners attitude to feminine autonomy, and, moreover, you should be irrepressibly excited that she’s got a new album coming in 2016.

Feminism is a predominant dialogue in the current pop music landscape, and accolades are poured upon any artist who jumps on the bandwagon. But what we see on screen and in music can often feel like a vapid gesture ­– feminism harnessed to create headlines, rather than purposefully directed to upheaval of the status quo. For instance, the aforementioned Beyoncé, who used part of a Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s TED Talk on feminism in her 2014 track “Flawless” (a song which also asks women to “Bow down, bitches”), also released a song, on the same album, where she allowed her husband Jay-Z to rap about how he was going to beat her up like Mike Tyson or Ike Turner. Of course, we can’t expect our pop feminists to be perfect, but sometimes it feels suspiciously like feminism is being used to sell albums and concert tickets rather than push an actual political agenda. For a generation that sees “Anaconda” as the pinnacle of pop music feminism, it’s important to remember what came before so that we can view everything else through a critical lens. That is, to understand that right now feminism is a hot commodity, and that sometimes it’s the buzzword that’s needed for an artist to garner the right kind of critical attention. Elliott, a pioneering woman in hip hop, wasn’t looking for the approval of the court of popular opinion (although being ridiculously talented and creating amazing music, she obviously got it anyway), and she wasn’t looking to be a trending hashtag. We often give artists like Nicki Minaj and Beyoncé applause for championing body positivity, because as “curvy” women of colour, they’re presenting an “other” in a predominantly skinny-centric, whitewashed industry. “Elliott has always favoured personal style and self-confidence over male-dictated beauty ideals” That does have some truth to it, of course. These women are different and interesting – to an extent. But they are both still preoccupied with feminine aesthetic perfection, and both project an image that is largely in keeping with traditional masculine desire. Elliott, on the other hand, addresses body positivity from a much more (and I use the following language for lack of a better word) authentic, or at least genuine angle. That’s not to devalue anything Bey and Minaj have achieved in subverting gender norms, but just to say that Elliott did so without ever having patriarchy-approved sexiness at the epicentre of her campaign. For instance, in the video for “I’m (Really) Hot”, Elliott appears in parachute pants and puffy jacket or jeans and a hoodie, perfectly comfortable rapping about how gorgeous she is without ever feeling like she has to conform to pre-prescribed notions of beauty. In “The Rain [Supa Dupa Fly]” she appears in her now iconic, inflatable, body encompassing suit, while in “Sock It To Me” she wears cartoonish, form contorting costumes. Elliott has always favoured personal style and self-confidence over male-dictated beauty ideals. As a result, she makes beauty something highly individualistic, and in the process, empowers body image to be whatever the wearer of that body chooses it to be.