In July 2019, producer Jermaine Dupri was on the receiving end of public backlash for his comments about the current generation of female rappers, including but not limited to: Megan Peet a.k.a. Megan Thee Stallion, Doja Cat, Cardi B, Kash Doll, City Girls, CupcakKe, Tierra Whack, and Kamaiyah. When asked who his favorite female rapper was at the moment, he said that he couldn’t arrive at an answer “...because I feel like they all rapping about the same thing. I don’t think they’re showing us who’s the best rapper. For me, it’s like strippers rapping.” Dupri is referring to the current wave of artists who deliver self-possessed lyrics about sex, money, image, and partying—not much unlike their male counterparts. After the clip of his People Magazine interview went viral, Dupri later clarified that he was referring to the artists that were specifically named by the interviewer—that is, Cardi B, Nicki Minaj, and Megan Thee Stallion—despite making a categorical claim about all female rappers and disregarding artists who either choose not to foreground their sexuality in their lyrics or whose sexuality is not meant to attract cisgender, heterosexual men. In his interview, Dupri cited Da Brat as the artist who paved the way for the following generations of female rappers, naming her as the first female rapper to go platinum—and to be good enough to be part of his camp. She credits her early rise and image to Dupri’s collaboration, so it follows that she would defend his comments because, according to her, he started a conversation that centered around female rappers. But why should the conversation begin at the expense of their allegedly scant lyrical skills?
Da Brat is more than familiar with the “stripper rapping” that Dupri disparages—at the very least, she is familiar with cashing in on the benefits of leading with her sexuality. In her 2000 single titled “What'Chu Like,” produced and co-written by Jermaine Dupri, Da Brat does not take the position of changing herself to attract a man but operates from the premise that her looks are already going to get her what she wants, however she wants it. As the leading vixen, Da Brat lies on a table at the beach being massaged by a muscular man, whose face is of so little importance that it is cut out of the shot. In this first shot/verse, she asserts that “Ain't nothing in the world that Brat can't do / She attractive to them, him, her, and you shit.” Forgoing a litany of reasons why she should be desirable to men, she instead makes it clear that it is up to her to do the choosing: “I like 'em brown, yellow, Puerto Rican or Haitian with / Good conversation plenty big faces.” Perhaps intentionally avoiding gender-specific terms in this verse, she makes a double entendre by gesturing around the curves of an imaginary big ass at the tail end of this line. She knows that this image of her, dressed seconds from being naked, will attract the likes of Tyrese’s character, “Due to the content I suggest you'll like this,” because she’s curating a persona that will get her exactly what she wants. Dupri is not only aware of the kind of wordplay and visuality that Da Brat (and other female rappers) used to attract a male gaze to her music via her body, he is an architect of this image. The visual dimension of Dupri’s discography, and most of hip hop music videos, relies on using women’s bodies to make their lyrics come to life. Their audiences are not immune to this overdependence on the body, with fans exclaiming how pleased they are with Da Brat’s use of her feminine side, alluding to their lack of interest in her dressed in formless, masculine clothing.
Five years later, Da Brat makes a striking reversal of this image in her featured spot on Dem Franchize Boyz “Oh I Think They Like Me,” also featuring Dupri and Bow Wow. Notably, the music video uses black and white lighting to regulate any one person’s image from outdoing each other’s hood grandeur. Even in dressing like one of the guys, she still cues up her audience to direct their attention to her body: “I’m so icy that my earlobes hurt for what its worth / Don't test me I got the four fifth under the skirt / Thick in the thighs can't tuck that.” She soon drops her jeans and shows the part of her body that is always gendered and can’t otherwise be hidden because someone is always guessing about what lies underneath. So, why not show it? What is even more interesting is how she ends her verse: “JD pays me, I’m such a fucking lady.” This verbal foreplay alludes to the trope of the pimp/ho relationship where Dupri, in this case, is a major gatekeeper of the music industry. And with the social capital he has, he can make (and did make) a woman like Da Brat succeed in the music industry. Brat tips her hat to the So-So Def producer, but not without intentionally discrediting the persona(s) she has been coaxed into adopting for the sake of success. She notes that, despite the posturing she has to commit to for her career, she is still the “same chick” in the “same clique,” because what it comes down to is not the industry but the people she carries with her on her journey. As scholar Kevin Quashie discusses on the role of community in a model of selfhood, “…the aesthetic of the girlfriend subject obsesses neither on white masculinity nor heteronormativity but, instead, centers a Black female subject and her permutations, a model of subjectivity that operates from her sometimes plural and always volatile self-center” (70). Da Brat’s performance may grant Dupri some emphasis in her career but she prioritizes her desires, effectively leaving him as an afterthought by ironizing his role in making her a so-called lady.
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