American Booty: Nicki Confirms That All the “Super Freaky” Shit Happens in Suburbia

With a song that speaks to sexual freakdom, no one should have been surprised that Nicki Minaj’s concept for the “Super Freaky Girl” video would be centered around suburban-oriented kink (something Fergie also knows about). Which, as Desperate Housewives emphasized to us long ago, is evidently necessary in order to keep things interesting within the stifling confines of this particular milieu. Unless burying bodies in the basement is more your coping mechanism.

Obviously, for Nicki, being a “certified freak, seven days a week” (to borrow a term from her nemesis, Cardi B) is no issue, regardless of what environment she might find herself in. However, the “perversion” of one’s sexuality feels titillatingly augmented in a setting that’s supposed to be “pure” and “deviancy-free.” And, according to white people, “POC-free” (see: Them). Nicki blows the lid off that antiquated trope as she showcases neighbors of all colors after appearing atop a hot pink and yellow countertop wearing her standard-issue Barbie getup (the one she’s brought back with a vengeance ever since performing a medley of her hits at the 2022 MTV VMAs, where she also accepted the Video Vanguard Award).

Alexander Ludwig, who plays “Ken” to Nicki’s Barbie in the scenario (wonder why she didn’t get her own Ken[neth] to do it—could it be because he’s her equivalent of Kevin Federline, and no one really cares for him?), looks like a willing enough domestic servant. Which is something of a flip-side view of the usual suburban setup wherein the wife is “the docile one.” What’s more, with Olivia Wilde’s upcoming (and fraught-with-bad-publicity) Don’t Worry Darling riffing off The Stepford Wives, it seems suburbia hasn’t gone the way of the dodo, relevancy-wise, just because the pandemic is “over” and many supposedly “rushed back” to the big city to get their alleged excitement again.

Beyond just the sexual freaky deaky proclivities of the suburban realm, Nicki also alludes to how boredom can lead to murderous rage as she brandishes a knife with a little too much gusto, as though she might use it at any moment to stab her precious Ken if he doesn’t comply with her “needs,” whether related to trinket- or head-receiving. Nicki then takes things outside as she walks an animatronic cat along the length of a white picket fence. But this ain’t Lana Del Rey’s version of Americana (and, speaking of that, director Joseph Kahn uses the same “vintage-y” camera aesthetic to ironically play up that there’s nothing “sweet” or “nostalgic” about wanting to get railed).

As Nicki “walks the cat” (a euphemism that came in the form of “walk the dog” in Dawson’s Creek to signify masturbating), everything suddenly turns into an opportunity for sexual innuendo. Like passing by a man humping his “bush trimmers” before a cut to another man in a cowboy hat lounging with a beer that just happens to “explode” as Nicki walks past. The same shtick is again used for a man standing on his porch with a cup of milk (?) that he lets spill out right in front of his groin. Bottom line: Nicki’s milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. And if Ken doesn’t like the adulterous and/or “swinging” tendencies that might bring forth, Nicki will just shove her pink panties in his mouth to silence him (which she does).

It doesn’t take long for signs of Nicki growing disinterested in her man to materialize via a random dance sequence out on the street with other female neighbors likely sick of the same ol’ tired dick as well. And as Ken barbecues some meat on the front lawn, it builds up to Nicki wielding a flamethrower (Rick Dalton-style) on her “beloved” as he walks down the path in a suit (indicating he’s in “on his way to work” mode). Soon enough, Kahn cuts back to the two barbecuing with the “dream house” now going up in pink flames—all while they play a game of patty cake (a phrase every rapper, even Beyoncé, likes to use).

As Nicki concludes the video in piggyback pose on top of her Ken, the two smile while the house continues to burn. If that’s not a metaphor for the falsity of the American dream, nothing is. At the very least, however, they can still get super freaky among the ruins.

Genna Rivieccio http://culledculture.com

Genna Rivieccio writes for myriad blogs, mainly this one, The Burning Bush, Missing A Dick, The Airship and Meditations on Misery.

You May Also Like

More From Author