Why I Feel Justified in Hatin’ on JT

If you know me, then you probably know that I derive a (borderline creepy) sense of enjoyment from hating on Justin Timberlake. I mean, it’s no big deal. It’s just that underneath all that slick popstar packaging, I can’t help but see him as an agent of the deeply pernicious force of white supremacy seducing our ears, minds, and hearts into cultural submission.

His role in the Great Super Bowl Scandal of 2004 just about says it all: JT, in action, unleashed indecency upon America by exposing Janet Jackson’s tasseled boob. But it was Ms. Jackson’s body on the line, not his, and ultimately she shouldered all the blame for disgracing America. After all, it was her Black female body that radiated sexual transgression and libidinous temptation, whereas JT was absolved of any wrongdoing because it was completely “unintentional” on his part.

But his supposedly unwitting involvement also came at a perfect time. This was the era in which he was extricating himself from the womb of Disneyfied, boy-band sexless fame and establishing his image of cool, sexy masculinity. After all, the male pop star should make everyone (including “straight men”) want to offer him their panties. But he can’t look like he’s trying too hard. Or appear too overtly or threateningly sexual, like he might want to try the panties on or something weird while romancing you.

This is where the pawn of Blackness comes in. Rather than being blamed for scandalizing the nation, his innocence allowed him to gain sex appeal and naughtiness points through boob association–at Janet’s expense, of course. Later, JT even had the gall to diss Janet Jackson, thus earning the wrath of one Jermaine Dupri. (Dupri is Janet’s lover and best known for saying “Y’all know what this is” in the beginning of his So So Def produced songs. What is this, Jermaine? I don’t know! Please explain.)

This unabashedly skillful manipulation, exploitation, and abuse of blackness on JT’s part really rankles me. He comes from a long legacy of white cultural thievery in which white artists have called upon blackness to produce their success while simultaneously asserting their white male supremacy by degrading Black masculinity and femininity.

I present now my favorite case study: “My Love,” featuring T.I. and produced, of course, by Timbaland. Let’s consider the lyrics as isolated from their hip-hop packaging. “If I wrote you a symphony/ Just to say how much you mean to me/ What would you do?” “This ring here represents my heart?” These queasily romantic lyrics presented in any other form would probably make teenage girls barf. They sound like something your parents would show you in a note that your father wrote when he was desperately and adorably wooing your mother. And nothing says “unconscionably uncool” like Mom & Dad romance.

That’s where Timbaland and T.I. come in—to ratchet up the cool factor exponentially with their hip-hop produced beats and a requisite guest rap spot. (Hey, even Jojo utilized Bow Wow to mitigate her blinding whiteness.) But JT must also negate their sex appeal in order to sell his own. Note Timbaland’s sociopolitical location in the beginning of the video. Now, he’s not much of a threat to JT—he doesn’t offer competitive sex appeal. But he still stands behind JT in the video—he’s rendered sexless, mateless while JT grinds all up on an attractive female.

But TI does offer a threat in terms of sexiness. Note how shockingly incongruous his rap is in the context of such a shamelessly romantic song—whereas JT practically begs for the female’s love (even if it’s all a front), TI treats his object of lust with cruel standoffishness, telling her that “I’m patient, but I ain’t gonna try/You don’t come, I ain’t gonna die”; he’ll “forget your face” if you dare to turn him down. In doing so, he occupies white America’s worst fear about Black masculinity that they see as defined by misogyny, objectification, even brutality and violence toward women. But JT then plays upon one of our favorite tropes of man saving woman, especially white man saving brown, yellow, black, red woman: he sweeps into T.I.’s rap and whisks his woman away with the safety of his fantasies of walking down the beach hand in hand and other such nauseating romantic activities. Sick.

I realize that by now, I’ve probably earned your disgust for attacking one of America’s favorite pop culture heroes. I will readily admit that I have a few JT songs on my ipod–what, they’re good jogging songs! And I downloaded them illegally! There are probably other things I should spend my time whining about. But let’s just say that I think pop culture is also covered Marx’s suggestion that we ruthlessly critique all things in existence. Let the unshackling of the mind continue!