The Ironic Manipulation of Popular Culture, of Why We Should Worry About Karmin

Popular culture has induced women to literally beg for sex. I’m not exaggerating. I may be wrong, but from my modest education I cannot recall any time period or culture that drove women to this level. I’m pretty sure the men were always the aggressors. I’m pretty sure that very intelligent women have always realized their sexuality is a very pricey commodity either to be treasured or capitalized upon.

Until now.

As I grew out of adolescence and into analytical maturity I consistently questioned the dynamics of that veritable god of popular culture.

Most frequently I wondered whether popular music, etc. reflected the desires of the masses, or if the masses imitated popular culture and thus received its preferences from such persons in positions of power.

I came at some point to the conclusion that the dynamics of popular culture can be illustrated by an tautological symbol: At one point of a radius popular culture tells the people what they should want, and on the other point of the radius popular culture depicts the reaction of the people who have followed popular culture’s lead.

Allow me to illustrate.

Let us look at the movie Friends With Benefits. Fortunately for my individual sanity and unfortunately for this blog, I have not watched the film. However, the plot is predictable enough: Two friends decide to have sex with no strings attached, and end up falling in love and having a relationship.

Lets analyze the subliminal message to girls: your key to a relationship is to have sex with no strings attached.

*This concept deserves a nod to its matriarch-the feminist movement-that tells girls repeated equality is consummated by emulation, and that they should emulate the animal behavior of men, denying emotion, in order to be equal to me. Have open sex, don’t sit around and hope some guy will come around and court you.

We can assume that if girls believed the plot of Friends With Benefits to be an accurate portrayal of life, they would participate in casual sex and hope to gain a relationship.

Let us flip to the opposite side of the tautological symbol.

Karmin’s music represents the reaction of girls who attempted to get a relationship by giving free sex. Let us examine the lyrics of the o-so-overplayed “Broken Hearted”:

“Waiting for my phone to blow . . . I’ve been waiting all day for you to call me baby. . . honest baby I’ll do anything you want to . . . don’t leave me broken hearted.”

Let’s examine the situation. This girl is begging, blatantly and a little pathetically. But what is she begging for? In the 1800s, she would have been begging for marriage. In the 1950s, she may have been begging for dinner and movie, and affirmation that her company is desired.

At one point men were thought to be spoiled when women let them cohabitate with a marriage licence. But men are far far far more spoiled now.

In 2012, she is begging for a guy to drive up to her house, sleep with her, and leave. An the girl gets to hope that maybe, just maybe, she can be the girl he picks tonight.

Wait. Popular culture has brought women to the level of begging for sex. For decades feminists have scoffed and ridiculed women who refused to sleep with a man until marriage, and now they have educated generations into thinking that they have to beg men to sleep with them.

This is why I say popular media and its incorporation of the feminist agenda is ruining modern girls.


About Eva

OVER WINE by Wisława Szymborska He glanced, gave me extra charm and I took it as my own. Happily I gulped a star. I let myself be invented, modeled on my own reflection in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance in the stir of sudden wings. The chair's a chair, the wine is wine, in a wineglass that's the wineglass standing there by standing there. Only I'm imaginary, make-believe beyond belief; so fictitious that it hurts. And I tell him tales about ants that die of love beneath a dandelion's constellation. I swear a white rose will sing if you sprinkle it with wine. I laugh and I tilt my head cautiously, as if to check whether the invention works. I dance, dance inside my stunned skin, in his arms that create me. Eve from the rib, Venus from foam, Minerva from Jupiter's head- all three were more real than me. When he isn't looking at me, I try to catch my reflection on the wall. And see the nail where a picture used to be.
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