Vox Lux might have assured us that pop music is a vacuous enterprise, but that doesn’t mean that some of its powerhouses can’t have a salient or political thing to say every now and again. Case in point being Miley Cryus, who, in addition to taking on the task of adopting John Lennon’s political Christmas message via the 1971 classic “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” as her own, has also freshly remade the Eartha Kitt hit “Santa Baby” with a very specific feminist twist.
In true millennial spirit, Miley is no longer having it in terms of taking formerly accepted sexist lyrics as “par for the course.” Even if Jimmy Fallon (on whose show she appeared to perform the revamped track with current favorite cohort Mark Ronson as part of the antics) insists, “These are classic lyrics. People love the original.” To this Miley brings up a valid point, demanding, “Has anyone ever actually listened to them? Look at this: ‘slip a sable under the tree for me’–do you even know what that is?” Jimmy postulates, “A sword?” Irritated but not surprised (for male stupidity is as much expected as it is balked at), she replies, “No Jimmy, it’s a fur and I’m vegan. And look at this, I’m asking for a car and a yacht and checks and literally the deed to a platinum mine–plus am I saying I’m gonna hook up with Santa if he buys me all this stuff?”
And yes, for decades, listeners of “Santa Baby” have pretty much taken the lyrics–declaring Santa as sugar daddy extraordinaire–with a grain of salt. A harmless “little ditty,” if you will. One to be cherished and appreciated with each Christmas season, along with rape culture go-to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”
But now, at last, Miley has declared, “No more fluff/I’ve had enough/And I can buy my own damn stuff.” Doubtlessly, in the twenty-first century, there has been no stronger assertion of female independence (ergo male non-essentialness) as accenting the fact that she has no need of his finances to get her through the various peaks and valleys of life as punctuated by material lust thanks to the indoctrination of advertising. Just as Kesha iterated in “Woman,” “I buy my own things, I pay my own bills/These diamond rings, my automobiles/Everything I got, I bought it/Boys can’t buy my love.” Miley, too, agrees with this evermore chanted by women in popular culture sentiment. For, yes, there can be no denying it used to be that cash and trinkets were pretty much the only way a girl’s affections could be secured (especially by a fat man with no hair like Santa). Jane Austen novels are certainly proof of that as well.
Of course, that the women making these grand affirmations are pop stars with a naturally higher pay grade than the average job available to most females who didn’t get the opportunity to sleep with (or be violated by) a producer somewhat cheapens the veracity of the message. Particularly when Miley wails, “Listen Santa to what I say, a girl’s best friend is equal pay!” Even so, it’s nice to have an advocate for (white) feminism shine through so uniquely in Christmas song form–because it is so often a holiday that those of a Trump constituent variety want to make solely about “Christ.” Yet how can it be so when every classic song from the Xmas catalogue has transformed into such a political hot potato (including the consumerist anthem basing the measure of love on things “12 Days of Christmas,” as well as 80s staple “Do They Know It’s Christmas?,” on which Bob Geldof and co. broadly generalize the idea of “Africa” and how it needs to be saved from itself a.k.a. Christianized in the most Western idea of this notion possible).
Knowing how averse some (most) can be to receiving the message of “women’s rights,” Miley realizes the importance of using humor as a way to get people to actually stop and think about the ridiculous original content of a track that has been overblown by the sex kitten type for so long (Mae West and Madonna both prime blond bombshell examples). A style that has only served to aid in pigeonholing the average woman as a materialistic, insatiable cunt rag who won’t put out unless she gets a gift that’s befitting the worth of her vag. Miley corrects the misconception with such urgings as, “Stop interrupting me when I talk”–well-timed for Mark’s cell phone to ring so as to bleep her out when she rhymes it with, “And stop texting me pictures of your cock”–in addition to, “Santa baby, I’d love to know my ass won’t get grabbed at work/By some ignorant jerk” (and yes, this can very much happen in the world of pop music if Taylor Swift’s illustrious lawsuit is any indication).
In the end, Miley wants men, Santa above all in his role as a symbol of patriarchy, to know that she (and most women) could be best served by one gift and one gift alone: “Just put away your chimney tonight.”
