With the recent surge in risqué  music videos (i.e. Lady Gaga’s “Telephone”, Erykah Badu’s “Window Seat”, etc.), you’d think we’d be used to, or at least not surprised, when another unsettling or inappropriate video hits the airwaves.  But when I heard Kiely Williams’ new song “Spectacular” and shortly thereafter saw the accompanying music video, I was confused and disgusted.  Could this really be the Kiely Williams I’d grown up with? The same girl that my younger cousins admired and loved?

Kiely Williams, former member of the girl pop group 3LW, and the famed Disney Channel-spawned foursome The Cheetah Girls, has recently decided to change her image…dramatically.  3LW’s songs were flirty and playful, but never explicit or improper.  And with song titles like “It’s Gonna Be Alright” and “Girl Power,” the Cheetah Girls were about as positive and squeaky clean as you could ask a musical group to be.  But Kiely’s newest song is a complete departure from the qualities and themes that used to characterize her music.

“Spectacular” is all about casual sex, alcohol abuse, and partying.

While this subject matter is not uncommon in many of today’s top 40 hits, I was distressed by the explicit nature of the music video, especially since many of the singer’s fans are young girls.  Some may ask why I’m being so hard on Kiely when many of her counterparts (like Katy Perry or Rhianna) are broadcasting similar messages.  My answer is that Kiely has more influence over a younger audience (tweens) than the other performers because of her past affiliations, and those affiliations should hold her to a higher moral standard.

If you were to visit Kiely Williams’ website, you’d see that she is still profiting from Cheetah Girls’ music, memorabilia and merchandise and that she still attends events as a representative of the group.  Williams also has a regular vlog called “Dear Kiely” in which she answers questions from young girls who write to her asking how they should handle their life and relationship problems.  So, not only is Williams still affiliated with Disney and the Cheetah Girls (whose target audience is undeniably very young); her fans, all presumably pre-teen and teenage girls, write to her for help with problems they can’t even speak to their parents about.  I’m no expert, but I think Kiely should really stop and take a look at her recent decisions, and ask herself if she’s being as socially responsible as someone in her position should be.

Fortunately for parents, teachers and concerned individuals like me, the song has not yet become very popular. It has, however, been quickly gaining popularity online.

YouTube is riddled with hundreds of people weighing in on how surprised they were to see Kiely’s new video, and with titles like “Cheetah Girls Gone Wild,” the general consensus seems to be in agreement with me.

Whether or not you’ve seen the music video, I want to leave you with a little food for thought: Where does social responsibility begin and end? Should it be acceptable for a young woman to represent herself as Kiely does in this video when she knows younger girls will be watching? And lastly, is this kind of representation of women in mainstream media really ever ok?

Below is a recent news story dissecting some of the issues and questions I raise above.  It includes a brief interview with Kiely herself, as well as the news anchors own reactions to the video.

Me, age 11. 5'2" and 90 lbs of greatness.

From kindergarten to sixth grade it was my height and weight: I was taller (and skinnier) than all of the boys and most of the girls throughout elementary school. In class pictures from those years, I stand awkwardly on the back row of the bleachers in the gym; my pink, frilly dresses an anomaly next to the clip-on ties and black suit jackets worn by the boys who flank me on either side. They called me Olive Oil, after the super-thin character from the Popeye’s cartoon, and I endured endless taunts including the dreaded “You’re so skinny you could hula-hoop with a cheerio!”

In middle school it was my boobs. I was what one might call an early bloomer: by the end of sixth grade, I was wearing a full B-cup and by the summer before eighth grade I was spilling out of a C. Boys stared, pointed, and giggled. Girls made assumptions about what I had, and hadn’t already done. And I didn’t know what to do with them.

By the time I reached high school, I thought I was finally over it all. The other girls began to fill out, so my breasts weren’t so impressive anymore. I stopped growing, and the boys hit growth spurt after growth spurt, so I wasn’t “too tall” anymore. And in high school, being skinny was a good thing. But instead of high school being a place where I finally wasn’t so out-of-place, my peers found something brand new that was “wrong” with me. Apparently, I “talk like a white girl.”

As a dark-skinned, African-American girl from the city, I guess I was supposed to sound a certain way. Whatever “typical” black speech pattern, diction, or pronunciation everyone expected from me, I didn’t deliver.

The burden of this societal expectation would follow me through college. Guys I met at bars or frat parties asked me where I was from and whether I went to a private high school. They were always overtly surprised to learn I’d grown up in the inner city and was a product of public education. Societal judgments were written all over their faces: Black girls from the hood weren’t supposed to sound like me. Black girls from where I’m from don’t normally speak so well.

My speech surprised people. My speech made me stand out. And as ridiculous as it may seem, my speech forced people to reconsider their understanding of the “Black” box, because I just didn’t fit.

But don’t think this issue is just black and white.

Growing up outside the box happens a lot more often than you might think. Any kid who is a little different–who isn’t athletic enough, popular enough, or eventually, sexy enough; who doesn’t have the right clothes, the right hair cut, or who isn’t into the right music–has, at some point, been made to feel alienated or uncomfortable because they deviate from what’s typical. And any attack on those essential parts of who someone is, whether it’s the way they speak, their hobbies or tastes, or even the people they choose to love, can be more hurtful and harmful than other forms of teasing. Forcing someone to question who they are and whether they should be different based on societal stereotypes or norms can have far reaching consequences.

Friends since 1998 and still going strong.

In Rosalind’s Owning Up Curriculum, she emphasizes three things you need to successfully navigate the pressures of “Girl World”: One adult ally you can go to for advice, one friend, and one thing you’re good at. I think my ability to come through school (mostly) unscathed was because I found, and embraced, those three things. My mother was my adult ally. I talked to her every night after school about what had happened that day and took the advice she gave me when it came to situations I couldn’t handle on my own. I was lucky enough to have two real friends: Girls who supported me unconditionally and who would never dream of asking me to change. I met them in seventh grade and even now, more than a decade later, they remain the best friends a girl could ever ask for. And I found that writing was something I was very good at. I wrote poetry and stories, and I read constantly. I surrounded myself with words and it really helped me focus on the positive and block out all the negative.

But perhaps the most important step I took as I was growing up outside the box was my own personal decision to be okay with who I was. While outside support from my family members and my friends definitely helped me make it through school, self-acceptance is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Once I decided that I knew who I was and, more importantly, that I loved who I was, I quickly overcame the pressure I felt to be like everyone else.

And finally, after years of standing out, I’ve started to like it.