She Kneels, but Never Submits

On the cover of Sabrina Carpenter's latest album, Man’s Best Friend, the pop star is on all fours against a backdrop of white curtains, dressed in a short black dress tied with a giant bow. A man’s hand, the only visible part of him, grips her luscious blonde hair and tilts her head towards the camera. Her gaze is wide and her lips parted, showing a mix of playfulness and quiet rebellion. The scene feels straight out of one of her stage sets, where classic burlesque allure meets sitcom absurdity. 

It’s sparkly, exaggerated, and revolutionary enough to make you second-guess who’s really in control. Many critics call the cover a performance for the male gaze. I see something else: a woman taking back the narrative.

Carpenter’s control isn't limited to the cover of Man’s Best Friend; it runs through everything she does. I can feel it in her lyrics, her visuals, the way she dominates every song she sings. She’s redefining femininity for the 21st century, even if some critics still don’t get it. People love to call her provocative, but to me, she’s not performing for the male audience; she’s performing because she can and owns it. That’s female dominance right there. 

I see Carpenter’s control most vividly throughout her music videos. "Taste," her third single from Short n’ Sweet, is the perfect example. She and Jenna Ortega kill off a cheating man, turning revenge into a cartoon fantasy. I love how she makes anger look glamorous, as if this heartbreak is something she can just sing her way through. She’s not mourning him; she's mocking him. 

In "Feather," she takes it even further. A man (played by Milo Manheim) secretly tries to sneak a photo up her dress,  and she traps him with his own tie as the elevator doors close. She smiles the whole time, and I can’t help but cheer because it's confident and dangerous in the best way. 

It’s fascinating, daring, and widely satisfying to see the bold statements this female pop artist is making. 

Then there's "Manchild," where she calls out immature men. Every lyric and every eye roll feels like a dismissal to men everywhere. She's clearly over it and isn’t afraid to express it. Everything she does is masterfully done, and yet widely misunderstood.

Carpenter’s femininity is loud and unapologetically sexual, but it's never submissive. I love how she embraces it and turns it into control. Although her songs revolve around sex and desire, she’s not doing it to please men. She’s doing it to reclaim her femininity and show that sexual agency is feminine.

Although some of the songs described above are from other albums, they show exactly why Man’s Best Friend shouldn’t be judged the way it has been. Carpenter's whole body of work demonstrates her resistance to the expectations placed on women to be quiet, submissive, and willing to be caretakers. That’s what makes Carpenter iconic: unlike other rising pop artists, the once Disney Channel star now dominates headlines and reshapes our patriarchal world. 

Carpenter and her female audience hold the power: the men are just props. Calling Man’s Best Friend an appeal to male desire only feeds century-old stereotypes about women. Carpenters' seventh album is more than just another pop album. It is a statement of femininity, passion, and sexual agency. She might be on her knees, but she’s running the show.