OHM #4: Upgrade? Really?

Here's the thing, Beyonce.

I've been reading a lot of women's magazines lately. To clarify for the Babetteers who know me well, I don't mean Ms. or Bitch magazine, but Glamour and Cosmopolitan. I now know the 30 Things Every Woman Should Know About Sex Before She's 30, as well as how to apply eye make-up for an evening out on the town. I also know, Beyonce, that you are well-loved by the editors of these magazines. You've got "star-style," which I suppose means you can get away with wearing a satin mini-dress that just barely covers your assets (if you know what I mean--and I think you do).

Listen: I am no hater. Okay, I am a hater, but I don't begrudge you for knowing how to style your hair or design your own clothing. I can even swallow the fact that I worked my way through college and graduate school, all so I can work a thankless job for minor ducats, but you have millions of dollars because you can hum a few bars while simultaneously shaking your well-toned ass. No, I'm not bitter about that at all.

I'm writing this hate mail because I don't think you're being particularly responsible about the message you're sending your largely female audience. Let's take a look at some of the lyrics you wrote, shall we?

I promise you (Promise you)/I'll keep myself up (Oh)/Remain the same chick (Yeah)/You fell in love with (Yeah)/I'll keep it tight, I'll keep my figure right/I'll keep my hair fixed, keep rocking the hottest outfits/When you come home late tap me on my shoulder, I'll roll over/Baby I heard you, I'm here to serve you.

Really? How about these lyrics?

I know it ain't easy, easy loving me/ I appreciate the love and dedication from you to me/ Later on in my destiny I see myself having your child I see myself being your wife and I see my whole future in your eyes.

No, really? I don't know if anyone told you this, Beyonce, but there was a women's movement a few years back. Oh, it was a good time. A whole bunch of us got together and started defining ourselves outside of our roles as wives and mothers. There was a cheese plate--wish you could have made it. And it's not that I have a problem with marriage or motherhood. I fully intend(ed) to marry Trey Parker, Jake Gyllenhaal, and/or Mos Def and have the funniest, indie-est, free-stylin'est and most adorable babies on the planet.

However, I see my future when I look into my own eyes--and if I'm "keeping my figure right," it's because I don't like feeling winded when I climb the stairs.

You're beautiful. You can sing and kinda dance. And you're smart enough to do business. Now, stop pretending you're some dude's arm and eye candy--and encouraging us to do the same.

Yours,
Sam