Miley Ray Cyrus is the furthest thing from stupid. In fact, she’s far from desperation as well. Once the comfort of reruns and Disney contracts became unappealing, perhaps it was time for a new era to come upon her image. After effectively forging a career based on her persona based on her real life where she lives two lives, perhaps Miley grew frustrated with the pacifier of the public eye. Is it shameful? People grow up; discover their sexuality, act outlandish and irrational and uncaring of who sees.
The majority of people don’t lick sledgehammers ass-naked during puberty. But chastity be damned, we’re eating it all up.
I could easily begin by dissecting young Miley’s transformation into a hypersexualized caricature of a Black woman through Mike WiLL Made It beats and Juicy J guest appearances, but that’s been done and over. I could regenerate the Viacom-sponsored atrocities broadcast live to millions with Robin Thicke leg-shuddering and a misplaced Kendrick Lamar hockey jersey, but this is well documented for certain. There could also be an argument on how her success is a meta-commentary on us, the masses, who render such popularity via our own intrigue, but that’s quite alright. Or could just point out the simple fact that Miley’s new album is called “BANGERZ” with a ‘Z’ and that should be indicative enough to concern you, but it is indicative enough to concern you.
I’m numb to the spectacle. But I have found the lining. And it isn’t underneath the skin-tone or in the saliva she exposes each time she throws her tongue to the wind. Case and point: Miley Ray Cyrus can live the best of both worlds when no one else can because she has, as legendary comic Paul Mooney puts it, “the complexion for the protection.”
If we didn’t see this coming, we simply have not paid attention to history. We must trace the yellow brick road back down the line of child stars past and bask in the phenomenon that is “real life” and the possibilities for disaster are rather predictable: addiction, wedlock and identity crises galore. We forget Jamie Lynn and Britney and Aaron and Amanda and Lindsay and a list more of American sweethearts who reach the pinnacle of their success at youth and then regress into a fruitful adulthood. But none of the names I just mentioned break VEVO records overnight with 20 million views, and thankfully none of them hop on a French Montana remix.
I saw it coming. I swear to God and Viacom and Jackson Rod I did. And as a budding chapter member of the “Disgruntled Older Brothers with Younger Sisters Coalition,” I dreaded and awaited these days with glee. Not in a sociopathic fashion where I want someone to fail, I just giggled when I realized that Justin Bieber would one day write songs about him doing sexy things and the world would act shocked at the inevitable. It didn’t have to go here, though; her good-girl lane was too perfect for me to anticipate the 180 into her residency in faux-Blackness.
On one level, it seems as though we all felt the exact same way.
Miley has effectively channeled our expectations and left us thirsting for her antics. This is a bipartisan effort: The White mainstream will continue to cover her and purchase her records, while the Black sector of hip-hop (mainstream or otherwise) will allow her room in the universe to continue to flourish. Herein lies my confusion: When I hear the girl who thirsted for Jake Ryan assuring us, “Bitch, I ain’t worried ‘bout nothin,’” effectively animorphing for a Big Sean single and involving herself with the pseudo-political “Black Skinhead” remix with Yeezus himself, I honestly can’t call why she’s wedged into hip-hop ever so quickly. For the moment, all evidence is currently pointing to Miley utilizing her leverage to double her dividends. The Disney-fied white girl has entered a territory where she is deemed exotic and non-threatening, and she is playing her role to a tee. Her presence is a playing card, and her ass-shaking serenades reinforce the jungle fever dynamic to the perfect temperature.
Like I said, she’s far from stupid. And if she continues to play it off like she is being herself, I’ll absolutely believe her.
The allure of black culture is something that will never escape the White mainstream; music is the primary perpetrator of such. It is this same dynamic that creates a world where Justin Bieber and Lil Twist are friends, where Danny Brown can end up in the same sentence as Kathy Griffin and Chief Keef can somehow Twitter-beef with Katy Perry. These intersections are never new, but the possibilities are endless and forever intriguing due to the mindset that something inherently good can travel into a realm of something inherently dangerous. No matter where we stand, we love to watch these worlds blend and it makes for shocking every time.
But here is my absolute problem: Miley Cyrus can dabble into hip-hop all she damn well pleases and can easily cop-out down the road as it being a phase, a moment of misguidance, and an experience she had to get for herself. If she’s twerking on The View at 32, it will work for us. The current Miley, right now, has the privilege (you saw it coming) to regurgitate any culture she pleases and have her words be taken at face value. She’s just being ratchet. She’s taking a walk on the wild side. The wrecking ball shall swing another day. Her millions and future millions from the world and my little sister’s pocket will rise on the back of acting just enough black. Despite how hard the beat is on her new “Twerk” single, it is all-too-obvious how many of us are trained enough to see through the rouse. But how long will it continue, and how long can we watch before the red lipstick stains the psyche?
“Mix it all together and you know that it’s the best of both worlds.”
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