After weeks of restless promotion and the release of her lead single Manchild, on the 11th of June, Sabrina Carpenter posted the cover for her new album on her social media, and the response has been nothing short (and sweet) of controversy.
At the centre of the picture, Carpenter, in a tight black dress, is on her hands and knees, looking at the camera through her perfectly curated, doll-like makeup. A piece of her blonde hair is being pulled by a faceless male figure, towering on the far side of the cover, as though he is holding her on a leash. On the back cover, the track list spreads across the golden fur of Carpenter’s puppy like an eloquent, confessional secret. The now-infamous album title is written on its gold, heart-shaped tag: “Man’s Best Friend”.
The reveal sparked an immediate heated internet conversation, blindly decontextualising the image and the artist’s vision behind it. Fans have been calling Carpenter’s work tone deaf in the light of the scary rise of right-wing ideals within the current political climate. Some fans fear that the cover may promote a conservative viewership of women just to provoke the audience and boost album sales. The truth is, art needs to be provoking; in fact, it has always been.
In 1964, Yoko Ono (performance artist) invited the audience to cut off her clothes. Initially, they handled her with grace and respect. Yet, by the end, her garments were torn off, leaving her naked and vulnerable on stage. This performance reflects upon the woman’s body and the power held against it, critiquing violence and patriarchal injustice. “Cut Piece” was set in an oppressive political environment where women held even fewer rights than now, and because of it, it became a staple reference for second-wave feminism.
Photo: Pinterest
It is toxic and tasteless to crucify a woman because her art isn’t “feminist enough”, as if all a woman can do is be a messenger of the movement, and not simply a human with complicated emotions and messy actions. It’s also dangerous to assume that if a woman poses on a risqué cover, it’s because she had no voice in the creative process, normalising the idea that she was forced to do it and it isn’t her own choice, when, in fact, it was.
Calling out Carpenter for seemingly feeding into a male fantasy, while actively ignoring the satirical central messages within her past work and current lead single, “Manchild”, is, fundamentally, inappropriate. She becomes a “man’s best friend”, a dog, because she blindly continues to trust men who, eventually, hurt her and embarrass her. Alluding to the idea that by submitting, she’ll finally find “the one”, Sabrina acknowledges her self-destructive tendencies.
The reaction to Carpenter’s cover goes to show that women in the music industry simply cannot be enough. There’s always something they can do better; their art can never just stand on its own. “Man’s Best Friend” holds up a mirror to this big problem faced by female figures in the spotlight. Even someone like Carpenter, who has been working in the industry since she was a young girl, won’t be able to survive the pressure of being scrutinised for doing her job. She found herself fighting the backlash by releasing three additional covers for the album, elegant depictions of her looking like a haunting 1960s actress, cheekily commenting on how these are the ones “approved by God”.
Now more than ever, consumers need to understand the complex nuances of a provocative work of art. In an age where everything and anything is neatly boxed into obnoxiously detailed labels, it’s important to leave something like “Man’s Best Friend” as it is: messy, different, and niche. It’s neither progressive nor conservative. Instead it’s a 12-track pop album where Sabrina Carpenter calls the men she continuously dates stupid and useless, comparing them to pigs and murdering them in true American technicolour.
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