My favorite part of the Gaga Super Bowl halftime show is when the black guy demurely holds the microphone for Gaga while she’s surrounded by white men in jackets that make them look huge and very white (6:00 min). Lol. He’s literally a piece of furniture. Here, black guy. You be the microphone stand because racial justice or something.
I watched the whole 13:33 halftime performance, and Lady Gaga totally kicks it, physically. This is a woman in very fine physical condition. There is no question she is in top shape, but as the fat acceptance movement will have you know, one can be fit and fat, thank you very much. It’s a total joke to call Gaga fat, as she is about as far from fat as any woman can be, but there is no denying that Gaga had a belly going on. And hoo boy, I was not the only one to notice that! Social media wasted no time weighing in on Gaga’s muffin top.
After three eight pound urchins, my tummy is never going to see flat, taut days again, and yes, that kind of bums me out. I’m a very fit woman, but my days of crop tops and booty shorts are behind me, and dammit, I missed taking advantage of them! I was never a crop top and booty shorts kind of gal. Those of you who remember the #FreeTheNipple campaign know what I’m talking about. I have the same soft middle as Gaga. What I don’t have is the hundreds of millions of dollars crammed in my bank account and legions of fans who expect to see an aspirational ideal prancing around the Super Bowl stage, because that’s what they paid for! Tom Brady doesn’t get to wag his saggy gut all over the field, either, toots.
The idea that Gaga should be able to capitalize on her appearance to the tunes of literally hundreds of millions of dollars, and yet somehow be seen as some kind of hero challenging beauty ideals for being too lazy to put down the doughnut and hit the gym rankles me. It makes me want to scream a big ‘fuck you’ on behalf of her backup dancers, none of whom appear to have an ounce of extra fat anywhere to be found on them. If Gaga is so devoted to diversity of body types and fat acceptance, where are all her fat dancers? Where is the disabled dancer? The amputee dancers? The heaving, out of shape back-up singers?
Seems like Gaga herself is the only one allowed to slap on booty shorts a few sizes too small and roly-poly across the stage. I call bullshit.
Gaga is a good singer, and a decent song-writer. Whoop de do. There are lots of those kicking around. Watch her sing the national anthem from the 2016 Super Bowl. Very nice.
But let’s be honest. If she were a freckled, fat ginger lass with moles and unfortunately frizzed out hair, she’d be a wedding singer in Hoboken, competing with another ugly, but marginally talented vocalist. Stephani Germanotta escaped that fate because she’s pretty, white and slender. There is an interesting conversation to be had about the fairness of tying appearance to artistic success, one to which boy bands, no doubt, have a lot to contribute, but that’s not the conversation I want to have at the moment.
Question: If Justin Timberlake whipped off his shirt to reveal a flabby gut and then proceeded to flounce around in a skimpy speedo, would he be lauded as a hero? As a role model for flabby boys everywhere? As inspirational?
No, he would not. Try being an actor who gains a bit of weight. Yeah, no mocking or approbation or derision earned there. Here’s the bottom line: entertainers get paid to entertain us. We don’t want to hear their political opinions, their views on climate change science, their preferences for the Oval Office.
Shut up meat puppets.
If we paid you to sing, then sing. If we paid you to pretend to be someone else, pretend to be someone else. If we paid you to catch a ball and throw it, then catch the ball and throw it. And if we paid you to get up on stage and shake your tits and ass, then get up there and shake it. And if your muffin top is getting out of control, buy a corset and pick a better costume. And then hit the gym.
It’s not like you can’t afford it.
Lots of love,