the breast stroke

Yesterday afternoon, I signed onto AOL to check my most shameful email account, and I noticed a small photo on the home page. At first, it looked like a Star Wars publicity still: Hayden Christensen, trying to look menacing, but really just looking like he had a camp-fire-flashlight propped under his chin. Upon closer examination, though, the photo was authentically disturbing: it was Justin Timberlake trying to look menacing. I don't keep up with popular music, but I thought Justin was widely acknowledged to be about as hard-ass as gummy bears, as spiritually dark as a newborn albino koala. He has even less right to a penis than my kid brother; Justin is sexually nascent, under-ripe, and my body intuitively knows that he's irrelevent.
His inability to spark sexual chemistry, already obvious, was exaggerated by his pairing with Janet Jackson at yesterday's Super Bowl Halftime show. Corseted in Hellraiser leather, Jackson exuded about as much natural voluptousness and hot-bodied willingness as a mechanical wind-up toy -- all hard edges and an unresponsive fidelity to planned choreography. Timberlake, on the other hand, was dressed in boyish street clothes, and humped and grinded her like a drunk clubber who refuses to acknowledge his dance prey isn't moving. Then, in a move meant to convince us that the Halftime number was more bawdy than embarrassing, Timberlake reached for Jackson's bra cup and stripped it.

Watching on my low definition TV, I saw a pale blob flop into the scene, but I couldn't make out details. Journalists and bloggers said they saw a pastie, giving credence to the idea that the unveiling was intentional. From a NY Times article: "… some Janet Jackson fans were, no doubt, disappointed to see that a body part they were eager to see was obscured behind a silver star, more evidence that Jackson might have been planning ahead." (That article, by the way, is particularly icky, kicking off with the question, "How do you keep well-lubricated viewers in front of their televisions…?")
Cleaner close-ups, though, revealed that Jackson wasn't wearing a pastie; her nipple was uncovered and surrounded by a nipple shield, keeping in place a barbell piercing. If it was intentional, it was also intentionally ambiguous; Timberlake looks surprised, but he obviously had instructions to remove some layer of clothing (while, btw, singing, "have you naked by the end of this song"). And while Janet's outfit had a snap-on-snap-off bra cup, she has the expression of a real victim in the photo, right. (Though, admittedly, even intentional flesh contact with Timberlake might be traumatizing.) Either way, there's no joie de vivre in this unveiling -- no sexy daring or fuck-you pride. The sensationalism, if intended, is lazy, as if sensationalism were nowadays more a fact than a performance. Britney and Madonna's kiss, at least, still enacted cultural tropes, virgin bride and whore. Timberlake and Jackson don't even wear matching outfits, or dance well together. If Timberlake wanted to top his ex's public display of sexuality, and Jackson wanted to rejuvenate her pop icon status, they should have at least tried to make their effort sexy.

Posted by nchicha at February 2, 2004 03:39 AM