The Blurred Lines of Cultural Consumption
It was my fault. I should've noticed the "unrated version" warning in parentheses before I clicked on the link, but when my friend told me about her new summer jam, I hurried to check it out.
It sank even further when I watched on the "rated" version, which somehow managed to be even more offensive—"degrading" according to Thicke himself. No longer caught up in the boobs on my screen, I noticed the performers' leering, creepy eyes that couldn't unglue themselves from the female dancers' (covered) butts.
My heart sank because I recognized the song. Without knowing the name or artist, I'd already gotten hooked on Thicke's "Blurred Lines," with its infectious melody and dance-a-licious groove. My kids and I had ...1