Doja Cat has been problematic for a while now, yet, like all problematic “things” that happen to churn out bops, we prefer to ignore these aspects for the sake of, oh, TikTok. And what makes Planet Her a bit icky right out the gate is the fact that the record is released through Dr. Luke’s Kemosabe Records (still linked to him no matter what Sony’s claims of “distancing” itself from the producer are). Her first two albums, Amala and Hot Pink, were as well–with a large chunk of songs co-written by “Gottwald” himself on the latter. Yet after a few years in the business, one would have thought Doja might have gotten wise to the importance of female solidarity in the entertainment industry. But it really doesn’t seem that way with the kickoff track bearing the name of a Kesha song: “Woman.” It feels almost like a derisive parody of feminism.
Nonetheless, Doja is happy to chant over the afrobeat-tinged song, “Woman/Let me be your woman/Woman, woman, woman/I can be your woman.” Never mind that this formation of the sentence structure completely reiterates the longstanding messaging of a patriarchal society. Doja apparently doesn’t think that maybe “You can be my man” would be a more empowered way to phrase it, but then, she wouldn’t have been able to call the first song something theoretically “female-centric” for an album named Planet Her when, in fact, the entire composition is an homage to the subjugation of women. Case in point, Doja gleefully chirping, “I got delicious taste, you need a woman’s touch in your place/Just protect her and keep her safe.” This 50s take on womanhood (in the same pantheon as “Born to Make You Happy,” “Cater 2 U” and “Good For You“) isn’t really negated later on just because Doja talks some more “femme-positive” bullshit with, “And you will never know a god without the goddesses.” Once more, this gives way too much power and credit to men, but what does one expect from a record on which Dr. Luke also produced two of the singles, “Need to Know” and “You Right”? Or someone who follows up “Woman” with “Naked”—not to be mistaken for Ava Max’s recent single of the same name.
With its dance-pop beat, it’s easy to ignore the internalized misogyny Doja Cat exhibits as she continues to fulfill some kind of twentieth century male fantasy with the assurance, “Heels on, waitin’ at your door/I don’t wanna play no more/Leave everything on the floor.” The chorus then offers, “Boy, can we take off all our clothes?/Can we take this off and get naked?” While some would try to argue this is Doja Cat showcasing her own agency and being a female who is comfortable with her sexual appetite, it feels decidedly like, once again, she’s trying to appeal to some retro male fantasy pulled from Playboy. Toward the end, she even dares to rip off Mariah with the lyrics, “Touch, touch my body/Just touch, touch my body.”
Being a veteran collaborator with Ariana Grande (who also appears later on the album) by now, “Payday” featuring Young Thug is something like her own “7 Rings” as she declares, “‘Cause I just keep addin’ up and they run it up/And then add it up, and they run it, run it.” It’s also her “gratitude” song regarding the fact that she was able to make dropping out of high school work for her and become famous. Hence the “praise Jesus” sentiment, “I just can’t believe I got what I wanted all my life, now we go/Oh yeah, yeah, yeah/Getting paid e’yday, yeah/All this money on me.” Lovely, just what people want to hear about to fortify ultimately hollow aspirations.
Borrowing once again from Ari’s “signature” yuh catchphrase (which she stole from Black culture anyway), “Get Into It (Yuh)” specifically references Grande with the rhyme you’ll never be able to unhear: “I mean, y’all bitches better ‘yuh’ like Ariana/If they ever tryna knock her, put my foot up in your caca.” Also calling out another well-used Ariana collaborator, Nicki Minaj, Doja tries to style herself as the “modern” version (as though roughly a decade ago, when Nicki’s debut came out, is no longer modern). And even if no one tends to agree, she’s sure to lock down the comparison at the end by saying, “Thank you, Nicki, I love you/Got that big rocket launcher.”
At the very least, Doja cleanses our listening experience on that with “Need to Know” (again, tainted by Dr. Luke and a video that pretty much steals from The Fifth Element and Blade Runner while also making life on another planet seem just as prosaic as the one on Earth). Still, Doja’s lyrics are, not to be a total puta, often indicative of someone who never finished school at the high school level as she shouts things like, “Tryna see if you could handle this ass/Prolly give his ass a panic attack.” Look, repetition in poetry works—but this isn’t poetry.
A song called “I Don’t Do Drugs” (missing a chance to add “…I Am Drugs” to it) is the moment where Grande makes her cameo. Not the first people to compare love to a drug (does Kesha really need to be mentioned again via “Your Love Is My Drug”?). Produced by Sully and Y2K, the turn-up-the-bass beat accents the fraught lyrics that declare, “Love got me fucked up/Got me on stuck, chasing that rush/Had to give in, couldn’t give up/I just want you, but I don’t do drugs.” An expert by now on the euphoric feeling caused by being in love, Ari’s vocals greatly enhance the song—just as they recently did on remix version of The Weeknd’s (he, too, will put in an appearance on Planet Her) “Save Your Tears.”
The slowed down pace of the subsequent “Love to Dream” is, yes, deliberately dreamy, but still ties in to the “love is a drug” motif of the previous track as Doja laments her inability to give herself over entirely to the erstwhile boyfriend she now can’t stop fantasizing about, even though she wasn’t as into it as she could have been while they were together. Hence, “I know what you mean, you don’t fuck with randoms/I got everything, everything but real love.” So here it is that she tries to pepper in that old cliché about money not being able to buy love, despite her perpetuation of capitalistic mantras throughout the album.
Even “You Right” featuring The Weeknd has a capitalist bent as Doja wonders if she might not be able to find something better in another man (a.k.a. more orgasm-inducing sex). For that’s what the capitalist does: searches for more and “better,” never satisfied with or grateful for what they have. Continuing the dreamy sonic motif of “Love to Dream,” all one can think about is Dr. Luke raping or abusing some ingenue while he thinks, “Can’t help it/I want you.” And no, even the video doesn’t help to erase that image, complete with flagrant “wet ass pussy” allusions.
In a similar vein to “You Right,” “Been Like This” also expresses doubt about the current relationship Doja is in. As The Weeknd phrased it, “And I know your history, met him before your peak/He’s so connected to that woman that you used to be.” Evidently, becoming uber famous makes one question their suddenly blasé-seeming romance. Thus, the chorus, “Since you’ve been like this/Baby, I don’t really wanna be in like this.” “This” could mean any number of things: jealous of her boogie, bad in bed, inattentive, an overall broke ass, etc.
The tempo returns to its earlier upbeat nature on “Options” featuring JID (who recently appeared on Dua Lipa’s “Not My Problem”). While “I Don’t Do Drugs” explores being addicted to love, “Options” is more about being addict to sex with a particular person. Referencing how they both have options in other people to bone, they also have options in terms of the milieu they choose for their trysts (e.g. “Kitchen, island, bedroom”). JID’s urging, “Lay on my bed like a vegetable” has some particularly foul connotations as we think of someone in a coma a.k.a. too incapacitated to fight against any unwanted advances. But that doesn’t seem to bother a person willing to work with Dr. Luke.
With an opening that bears a tinge of Frank Ocean’s “Super Rich Kids,” “Ain’t Shit” is purely in the spirit of “No Scrubs” by TLC, also freshly “emulated” by Billie Eilish, known jobist, with “Lost Cause.” This, too, being another song that essentially says, “Niggas ain’t shit, come up in your crib/All up in your fridge, can’t pay rent” (and yes, Billie would probably say that based on her “Tourette’s-fueled blaccent”).
Not concerned with what “belongs” to John Lennon (and neither was Ari), the next song, “Imagine,” relies on its infectious beat to mitigate still more capitalistic messaging about the wonders of imagining all the riches she could one day have coming to fruition. So it is that she sings, “Imagine, imagine/Put the studio in the mansion/Pull up in a new high fashion.” These prosaic objectives in life, spread to yet another generation, seem to be totally unconcerning to Doja, content to be basic in her fetishization of wealth despite living on some theoretically utopian planet (and yes, as is very obvious, she snatched this idea from Lady Gaga’s Chromatica).
The most acoustic track, “Alone,” will remind some of a slowed down version of Jessica Simpson’s “With You” as Doja once again offers up a breakup track regarding a man who can’t handle her newfound fame. Rather than building her up, he seems only to try tearing her down as a result of his own insecurity. This prompts her to finally realize, “I ain’t wanna share my dreams when it involves you/Not the man I need/Started feelin’ like I failed my team/Missin’ gigs for you, bet you never felt like me/Different levels to the game, that’s fast/Spendin’ bands last week while your ass act cheap.” To that last point, it wouldn’t be Doja (or any woman in pop) without making a guy feel like shit about his financial situation.
The concluding “Kiss Me More” featuring SZA—the single that launched us into the so-called world of Planet Her in the first place—is the best track to end the album with. For it has that “song of the summer” feel everyone so desperately wants after a year spent “locked inside” (something that didn’t happen in the U.S.). Even if the video takes overtly from “Oops…I Did It Again!”
As her third record, this is the one Doja is calling “fully her own.” Incidentally, twenty-five—Doja’s current age—is the time when they say you’re fully formed. But if this is the formation at hand, feminism still has quite a bit more fighting to do.
