Just like there is a girl version of a bro, there is a girl version of a douche. Her name is Ke$ha.
She paints glitter all over her face. Her clothes are “artfully” disheveled. She gleefully espouses the party lifestyle. She describes herself as “hot and dangerous.” She has killed at least 75 chickens to obtain the ridiculous amount of feathers she threads into her hair. She is like a super sparkly hipster who has an unhealthy obsession with whiskey and Mick Jagger.
Even though she has a decent voice, Ke$ha relies almost entirely on talk-singing and autotune, imploring her listeners to “take it off,” preferably in a club that has dirt and glitter on the floor (but then, what club doesn’t?). When she’s not stomping through a club fighting until she sees the sunlight or insisting that she’s a a superstar, she’s strolling through the Sonoran desert of California, surrounded by various animals from the African Sahara. Really? I’m all about convergent evolution, but elephants and Joshua trees simply do not exist side-by-side.
Guys, I used to be her most vocal opponent. When one of her songs came on the radio, I’d immediately switch stations. When my friends and I went to Vegas last year, I banned Tik Tok from our iPods. I laughed at her inane lyrics and wondered why she felt obligated to clarify that she had a pedicure on her toes. Where else would she get a pedicure? Her face?
I was fine with this. I was content to hate on the hot mess of a party girl blowing up the charts. Until one night, after imbibing maybe a few too many jello shots and quickly on the road to becoming a bit of a hot mess myself, I found myself singing along. To Tik Tok. And dancing. And LOVING IT.
The same thing happened with Your Love Is My Drug. By the time Take It Off was released, I had given up. You guys, Ke$ha embodies and espouses the “freshman in college” experience. I think we can all relate to her lyric
And now we’re lookin’ like pimps in my gold Trans Am. Got a water bottle full of whiskey in my handbag. Got my drunk text on, I’ll regret it in the morning but tonight I don’t give a…
…and you guys? Neither do I. I can’t help it. She just speaks to the part of me that wants to wear ripped jeans and put feathers in my hair and smear glitter on my face and get trashed all the time. She makes me wish I were a hot, hot mess.