Since reading this essay a few weeks ago, I've thought about it a lot. That might be because Fiona is my soul sister (like her, I'm a nerdy feminist Hot 97 addict who feels kind of guilty about listening to misogynist lyrics for hours and hours every day), but it might be because her essay is interesting and original. Do I just identify with Fiona, or is her essay truly fascinating? Read on and decide!
"Running booty, running booty/ right there, and I ain’t goin’ nowhere/ running booty, running booty/ go for me, go for me, go for me!" starts my favorite song of the moment. The lyrics are rapidly rasped, sung, and yelled over an unrelentingly fast and bass-heavy beat that knocks like a robust and energetic mechanical heart. The song is a rarity on the internet; you’re more likely to find it in an overcrowded club in the back streets of New Orleans blaring live from the speakers than on any blog. Around the artist, you’re just as likely to find a large group of young women dancing in a manner so sexual that its legality seems dubious at best. In short, the track is the pinnacle of “lose-yourself-in-the-beat” perfection. The only problem with my choice is that I’m a middle-class female nerd living in the suburbs.