Nudity Is the New Submission

Froma Harrop on Feb 12, 2026

Some listeners who are not entirely sold on Chappell Roan's artistry brush off her songs and bawdy stage persona as "campy and loud." They see a flashy, attention-grabbing circus act. And even as Roan markets herself as an over-the-top lesbian, the styling still reads as catering to the male gaze. At the recent Grammy Awards, she drew maximum notice with exposed breasts and rings punched through the nipples. From those contraptions hung her dress straps.

"I want to hear the music," a rock critic told me. "I don't necessarily want to see the bazooms." (He's seen lots of them, he says. More than he can count.) "The really great female performers don't do that," the critic added.

Packaging symbolic acts of submission as a mark of sexual power takes some serious mental gymnastics. For starters, having holes punched through one's nipples and sticking metal objects through them is a painful process and a risk for infections. Pierced nipples are said to be an emblem of nonconformity. So would driving a rod through your hand.

Award shows have turned into a kind of runway contest in boundary-pushing nudity. How much of the pubic area can they show? How much rear end can be revealed? And how little can be stuck over the breast and still count as "dress"? The spectacle often feels inversely related to the talent on display.

Men aren't expected to sell themselves that way. At the Grammys, Bad Bunny showed up fully covered in an elegant black velvet tuxedo from Schiaparelli couture.

I recently joined friends at a hip urban restaurant on a brutally cold night. All the men and smart-looking women were dining bundled up in sweater layers and puffy vests, some with wool scarves still wrapped around the neck. In walked six young women in sleeveless shift dresses that ended about mid-thigh. They wore heels you wouldn't want to test on the ice outside.

It was a Saturday night, and fellow diners speculated that "the girls" were there to get picked up by some of the well-to-do male customers who frequent the place. The pretty young women looked quite available, but they left the restaurant unescorted. If they were looking for a date, they'd probably have done better browsing the stacks at a nearby bookstore. At the very least, they'd look less desperate.

Valentine's Day has a way of exposing the lopsided gender bargain. It's supposed to be a dressed-up night out -- reservations, candles, the whole thing -- yet far too often, only one half of the couple gets the memo, the female half. The woman arrives dolled up in a sparkly dress and spiky sandals. Her hair and makeup are done, her nails freshly polished. Her male companion? He's frequently in a sweatshirt and scruffy jeans. I've seen male partners in white-tablecloth restaurants with backward baseball caps and bellies spilling out. No lie: I've even seen men in ribbed, sleeveless "wife-beater" undershirts.

And this inequality will continue through summer's water play. The girls will be wearing tiny patches of cloth on their breasts and bottoms, while the boys romp freely in baggy surfing shorts. The shorts' looser cut is built for movement, comfort and coverage. But note how the girls on surfboards are still in that barely-there swimwear.

I'd bet that, come Valentine's Day, some women will get nipple piercings to make themselves seem more desirable, at least in their minds. Then they'll be told to watch for redness, swelling, fever and yellow-green ooze. Sold as rebellion, it's the high price that some women pay to satisfy someone else's fantasies. Hurting yourself to play sex toy reads less like empowerment and more like submission -- at least to me. But what do I know?

Follow Froma Harrop on X @FromaHarrop. She can be reached at fharrop@gmail.com. To find out more about Froma Harrop and read features by other Creators writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators webpage at www.creators.com.

----