Shakira and a monetisable "revenge".

Women are calling Shakira's song a lesson of empowerment. But I question whether "revenge" is the way to go to build better relationships in the future.

Miranda was my favourite Sex & the City girl. A lawyer in a prestigious law firm in Manhattan, her secret pleasure was reading trashy gossip magazines while eating trash food alone and in peace. We share this pleasure. Perhaps, what I love most about going to the hairdresser is reading about Berlusconi’s last vacation and about how a long irrelevant star in Italy named her poodle. I shamelessly love gossip magazines. In fact, I think whoever bothers to declare they do not follow that stuff is an insecure intellectual who is not only losing a chance for reflection but also that of having sex with someone who isn’t perpetually high on Xanax. I met a few real intellectuals and one of them was able to find connections between the thought of Paris Hilton and Edgar Allan Poe. That’s real knowledge if you ask me.

So…with this premise in mind, I think the last two “revenge” songs from Shakira and Miley Cyrus provide a lot of food for thought. Let’s take Shakira. She moves across the ocean, leaving her career on standby because her hot football player husband is at his prime in his home country Spain. She even moves into a house neighbouring the house of her mother-in-law. Probably a request of Pique, a momma’s boy. While she is at the bedside of her ill father, he is in their own home, having sex with a 22-year-old. And he is so dumb or careless, or both, that he gets discovered because his mistress eats all the jam in the house. Shakira notices it because he never eats jam. Imagine the audacity. First of all, I have one thing to say to that young lady and in doing so I do feel an old aunt: girl why on earth do you go ruin a family for someone who doesn’t even bother, with all the money he has, to bring you to a nice hotel and fetch a decent breakfast for you? He is not only an indecent pig who brings you to the same house he shares with his wife and kids, but he is an indecent cheap man. But you are young and hopefully, you will learn it is not worth it. Actually, it is not worth it even if he brings you those nice things. But if you really have to do it…better set some standards.

Then, going back to Shakira. Contrary to some feminists that believe there is a conspiracy of men deliberately choosing to disfavour women, I think until now women have had to build their lives around the ambitions of their husbands for one main practical reason: men were those bringing more money to the household. That was the default choice. However, in a case such as this one, where both are extremely good earners, why it was still Shakira who had to sacrifice? Perhaps because of the nature of Pique’s profession? In fact, he retired from football just last year. And the relationship with a younger woman coincides precisely with this event. Can we call this extramarital relationship the middle-life crisis of a football player? Only time will tell. In any case, in a context where women hold increasingly important jobs, the equation “I, the woman, I love you and I adapt all my life to cater to your needs” is not going to be a given anymore. And this is going to cause riffle. Like any relationship that is lived like a power mechanism rather than an equilibrium where you try to accommodate each other. 

Perhaps it is this power imbalance that Pique was missing. You, a 35 years old guy can impress a girl who is 10 years younger, but not someone like your wife who is an internationally renowned pop star who is 10 years older than you are. Or, perhaps, I am seeing way too much in something that in fact is more earthy than that: Piqué was attracted to fresher meat. In the end, when there is no spiritual connection, we resort to more animalistic instincts. And seeing how they both handled their separation, there was really little loving feeling between them.

While I acknowledge Pique is a man of infamy, I am not a fan of Shakira’s reaction either. It made my nose twitch. While some applaud her song as an example of women’s empowerment, I see it as a classless act. All that talk about not objectifying women and then she goes and compares herself to a car and a watch. All that talks about sisterhood and then she goes and destroys that young girl instead of getting madder with her husband. In the end, he was the one married to her, not that girl. I do not see much empowerment, I see a woman being distasteful enough to wash her dirty laundry in public and profiting from it. It would be somehow less cheap if the man in question wasn’t the father of her two kids. These two kids seem to matter less than their parents’ attachment to brands and sponsorships. Some friends of mine, whose parents are separated said that in those situations it is practically impossible for parents to be peaceful with each other. And although I acknowledge reality for each one is based on personal experiences, I also know couples with kids who separated without destroying their kids’ views on their family. Drama sells more but loving families exist, they might be boring to some but they exist. 

Instead, I really liked Miley Cyrus’ song. It is not putting a brand on her grief and pain. The fact that she refers to her ex-husband is presumable but not so evident. She did publish it on the day of his birthday. And this makes it a refined “revenge”. Much more classy. It could easily be the anthem of any woman who has been in a relationship where she did not feel understood. However, what I cannot help but notice is that, in my opinion, women tend to forget that the men they are complaining about were their own choice. When they try to smash the image of whom they used to love, they are also destroying the part of them that loved them. In criticizing them, they forget that they are criticizing also themselves. A breakup is an occasion of self-reflection, before being a chance for revenue. Otherwise, the money we earn from sharing our pain will be used in therapy to recover from other breakups in the future. 

Vilma Djala