Recently, esteemed cultural critic Camille Paglia declared that pop icon Lady Gaga heralded the death of sex. And you know, Paglia may be right, though not in the way she thinks.
Paglia is a talented writer and critic, and honestly, much of her reading of Gaga was spot on. The conclusions she draws from her reading of Gaga’s performance, though, are baffling to say the least. Paglia wants us to believe Gaga is a sexual regression when compared to the likes of early Madonna, but it is Paglia’s own pronouncements about sexuality that ultimately come off as regressive.
At one point she complains that “Gaga isn’t sexy at all—she’s like a gangly marionette or a plasticized android.” The problem with this complaint is that what follows the m-dash doesn’t in any way clarify or provide evidence for the assertion that precedes it. Is there something inherently un-erotic about marionettes or androids? Large swaths of otaku culture beg to differ. Later, Paglia has the audacity to declare that Gaga’s trip to a gym in fishnets and a bustier “isn’t sexy—it’s sexually dysfunctional.” A comment meant to provoke, it instead induces an eye roll. Really? That’s what you want to call sexual dysfunction? “Sexually dysfunctional” is such a slippery and loaded term, and Paglia’s blithe use of it is surely an emptier provocation than any of Gaga’s.
Paglia makes other sharp observations—namely, that Gaga is a liar, that everything about Gaga’s life is scripted and “over-conceptualized,” and that she is a “ruthless recycler.” All true. All obvious statements. All part of the point. And so why are these things bad? It’s never made particularly clear; we’re simply meant to take for granted that artistic recycling is bad.
Lady Gaga is a postmodern icon. She is a living, breathing bricolage. Lady Gaga is a calculated persona, though she would deny this. She is collected bits of music and fashion. She is a series of precisely planned catwalk poses. She is, as Paglia puts it, a “manufactured” persona. But what is important is that she is self-manufactured.
Yes, yes; it’s true: Gaga has the help of a major label and the media. But it’s clear that, as much as any celebrity can be, as any individual can be, Gaga is just that—an individual. She is independent. It’s certainly not her label’s idea to have her parade around in full drag queen regalia, fanning the flames of rumors that she’s actually a man. It’s not her label’s idea to have her posing as a man for Vogue Hommes in Japan
As for the media, well, Gaga plays it far more than it plays her. Details about her private life end up splashed in the tabloids far less than other much less famous celebs. And this is precisely because Gaga has successfully dissolved the private/public dichotomy. Lady Gaga is a persona, but, then again, so is Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta.
Paglia also notes that, having been on near continuous tour, Gaga has made herself “a moving target who has escaped serious scrutiny.” Here, Paglia’s reading actually falls a bit short. Her observation is correct, but she stops too soon: Gaga’s aesthetic has also evolved so rapidly that she has been impossible to pin down. It’s all wrapped up in her self-given name—Gaga. An homage to Queen, but, at the same time, childish gibberish, a phrase and name devoid of specific denotation, bestowed with only the meaning she gives it.
All this is to say, where perhaps early Madonna was a crucial feminist icon, Gaga proves to be perhaps the quintessential queer icon. Her identity is a gleeful performance and she is not one Gaga, but many. Just as we are not one self, but selves. Our corporeal form is misleading. It gives the appearance of unity (though even this breaks down on a cellular and atomic level), but we all know that we struggle daily to know ourselves. We struggle to process all the different facets there are that make us up.
What Gaga teaches us is that we’re all performers in our own ways. To look for our “authentic” self, to look for some essence that makes us, us, may prove futile. Instead, to live authentically, perhaps what we must do is authentically wear our facades. To fashion our facades as we see fit. To self-manufacture. To self-actualize. This is the queer goal—labels are reductive, they are society’s and tradition’s attempt to manufacture us. To place us in neat boxes.
Paglia once wrote that “feminism says ‘no more masks.’ Madonna says we are nothing but masks.” Certainly, it seems clear this is a message even closer to Gaga’s heart, but I’ll give Paglia this one. Still, Gaga takes it further, because who has ever worn the masks with more glee and more fervor than Gaga? Maybe Madonna did teach us that we’re all but masks; Gaga reassures us, once and for all, that that needn’t be an empty or terrifying revelation. You are what you wear. You are that mask, and that’s a joyous thing.
So does Gaga herald the death of sex? Perhaps what she really heralds is the death of sexuality as most currently conceive of it. She is not un-erotic, but rather, she asks us to redefine that term, to find multiple eroticisms. She asks us to be the million indefinable things that we are. We are all indefinable. We are all untranslatable. We are all gaga. We just don’t all know it yet.
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