The Problem Isn’t Female Rap Being “Too Sexual” — It’s the Monolithic Narrative Being Pushed
Sexyy Red and GloRilla’s recent XXL interview brought attention to a persistent critique: the claim that female rap is “too sexual.” They rightly called out the double standard in how women’s explicit lyrics and visuals are scrutinized while men in the same space are celebrated. It’s a frustrating and hypocritical reality, one that needs to be addressed. However, this isn’t just a battle about double standards; it’s about the systemic ways the music industry reinforces a singular image of Black womanhood—one that centers hypersexuality—and the consequences of that narrow representation.
The Freedom to Be Sexual
Let’s be clear: women deserve the freedom to express themselves however they please. Sexual expression in music has always been a tool for empowerment and reclamation of agency. From Lil’ Kim and Foxy Brown in the ‘90s to Nicki Minaj’s internet-breaking “Anaconda,” female rappers have used their art to reclaim ownership of their bodies and desires. Artists like Sexyy Red and GloRilla are continuing that legacy, unapologetically speaking their truth in a way that connect with their audience. That freedom should be protected and celebrated.
The problem isn’t sexual expression. The problem is that sexualized Black womanhood has become the only form of Black womanhood being heavily commercialized and promoted in mainstream female rap. While we celebrate the success of women like Megan Thee Stallion, Cardi B, and of course Sexyy Red and GloRilla, we must also question why the industry seems to only uplift this specific archetype.
The Industry’s Narrow Lens
Black women are not a monolith, yet the music industry has boxed them into one. The hypersexualized narrative of Black womanhood dominates not because it’s the only valid expression, but because it’s the most profitable for an industry hooked on sensationalism. As a result, other expressions of Black womanhood are erased, locking us into yet another mold.
We see this imbalance reflected in the lack of mainstream opportunities for artists like Rapsody, Tierra Whack, and Noname. These women challenge the mold by exploring themes of self-reflection, activism, and vulnerability. Rapsody’s lyricism centers Black women’s complexity, Tierra Whack’s whimsical and experimental artistry refuses to conform to industry norms, and Noname’s politically charged narratives tackle everything from capitalism to racial injustice. Their work proves that Black women’s stories are far more expansive than the industry’s narrow lens suggests.
The Duality of Representation
The hypersexual image of Black womanhood is so normalized in the industry that it’s even used in non-musical spaces for political gain. Megan Thee Stallion’s July 2024 performance at a Kamala Harris campaign rally in Atlanta—complete with crop top, twerking, and viral hits—was electrifying. It energized younger voters and connected with a demographic often left out of political conversation.
Here’s the thing: while such performances can bridge the gap between politics and pop culture, they also highlight the ways this singular image has been amplified and commercialized. Why must hypersexuality be the default mode of engagement with marginalized communities? Is this really representation or just another way the industry sidelines alternative narratives?
Erasure Through Overexposure
The industry’s push for representation ironically reduces Black women to one-dimensional caricatures, creating a new kind of erasure. For every Black woman who sees herself in the liberated, sexually expressive image popularized in female rap, there are countless others who feel unseen. Where are the mainstream stories of the intellectual, the introvert, the mother, or the activist? This hyperfocus on one archetype not only silences alternative narratives but also limits the ways Black women can exist in public spaces.
Addressing the Double Standard
Sexyy Red and GloRilla are absolutely right: the double standard in rap is real, and it has been for years. Male rappers have long used explicit lyrics and provocative imagery without facing the same criticism. From Future’s endless odes to toxic relationships to Rick Ross’s infamous lyric in "U.O.E.N.O.", their sexual expression is normalized and celebrated. Meanwhile, women are chastised for doing the same.
Simply calling out hypocrisy isn’t enough. The solution requires a collective effort to combat this double standard and demand greater diversity in representation. This includes:
Amplifying Alternative Narratives: Supporting artists who bring something different to the table. The success of Janelle Monáe and Little Simz proves there’s an audience for multifaceted Black womanhood.
Holding Gatekeepers Accountable: Record labels, streaming platforms, and award shows must be challenged to expand their definitions of marketable talent.
Encouraging Fans to Diversify Their Support: Fans have immense power in shaping the industry’s priorities. By streaming and sharing music from underrepresented artists, they can help shift the narrative.
A Call for Representation
The issue isn’t about suppressing hypersexuality in female rap; it’s about ensuring it’s not the only narrative being championed. Black women’s stories are vast and varied, and they all deserve to be told. If we truly believe in the mantra that Black women are not a monolith, then we must hold the industry accountable for reflecting that truth.
Sexyy Red and GloRilla’s voices are crucial in this conversation. Their critique of the double standard is valid and necessary, but it’s also a starting point. The bigger challenge lies in creating space for all forms of Black womanhood to coexist and thrive in music and beyond. Only then can we truly celebrate the diversity and complexity of female rap.
I like your perspective on this, and I definitely understand the point about the industry or the “system” promoting these women’s music. However, I have another take: what about accountability within our own culture? We are the ones consuming this music and giving it the attention that keeps it at the forefront.
Instead of blaming the system entirely, we need to ask ourselves why we continue to support and prioritize this one image of Black womanhood. There are so many other Black women out here creating music, art, and stories that celebrate our complexity—women who are intellectual, introverted, or focused on activism—but we don’t give them the same energy. If we really want change, we have to start making different choices about what we consume and uplift.
This isn’t about tearing anyone down or saying these artists don’t deserve success. I just think it’s important hold ourselves accountable for what we engage with and asking if we’re truly supporting the “diversity” we say we want to see. At the end of the day, the industry can only profit off what we give attention to, and that’s where we have power to make a difference.
I feel like there’s also something to the way sex + sexuality is discussed within the music and lens it’s under. A lot of it is very male gaze-y to me a performance that feels less empowering and more “competitive.”