SABRINA CARPENTER
Sabrina Carpenter’s Man’s Best Friend album cover continues to evoke strong reactions. Featuring the singer on all fours with her blonde hair held by an unseen male figure, the image has often been described as ‘regressive,’ ‘degrading,’ and ‘anti-feminist’ by many who believe it glamorises submission and objectification. However, these critiques may have oversimplified both the image and the woman behind it.
To me, the artwork does not necessarily signal a regression in feminist ideals; instead, it challenges and reinterprets them within a modern framework of agency, irony, and control.
The opening track, Manchild, sets the tone of the album: a cheeky, pointed anthem that mocks the emotional incompetence of the men in her life. Its lyrics reveal the immaturity she has encountered, flipping traditional gender roles with sarcasm. This ironic perspective is reflected in the visual language of the album. The cover is not about submission but reads more like satire.
In a candid interview with Zane Lowe, Carpenter shared how she crafted the cover photo. She tried five different male models because none could hold her hair as she envisioned. ‘They were all pulling it,’ she explained, noting that the grip often appeared forceful rather than playful. The final shot captures what she intended: an airy, performative moment that is both physically and emotionally self-aware.
During her Short n’ Sweet tour, most audiences (with few complaints) seemed to embrace the bold visual and lyrical themes—particularly during live performances of Juno, where sexual positions were depicted with striking clarity. But why does discomfort persist when a female artist keeps exploring this territory in her art?
Like many female pop artists before her, Carpenter sings and writes openly about sex, perhaps not to provoke, but because it is honest, personal, and enjoyable. Yet, when female sexuality is expressed without apology, the novelty of it quickly fades. And once the initial shock wears off, what remains is something more enduring and threatening: a woman who is fully in control. That is where real discomfort begins. Carpenter is not performing to satisfy a specific audience but embodies it on her own terms. In doing so, she challenges a culture that still expects women to package their sexuality in a digestible and palatable way.
Ultimately, this cover adds to the endless cycle of society's unease with women taking control of their narrative—especially when they do so with irony, boldness, and biting humour.
Sabrina Carpenter’s pose is not about submission; it is about questioning the optics of dominance. Even on all fours, she commands the scene entirely. She understands the performance of it all, but the real question is, do we?
