Now days we have a minefield of emotional triggers that we must tiptoe over in order to appease that Left. If you’re like us, you don’t really tiptoe, so you get yelled at from time to time. Here’s the latest thing that we are being scolded for.
The flavor of the season seems to be a lame, paranoid interpretation of the classic holiday tune “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” which first appeared in the 1949 film, “Neptune’s Daughter.” What’s most interesting is that in this case, both the Left and the Right seem to have pushed each other so far to extremes that they have met up at the 180-degree mark to shake hands in agreement: a 1940s song with flirting and a little sexual innuendo must be scrubbed from all playlists.
Plenty of folks are arguing and even unfriending one another on Facebook over what is deemed as insensitive enjoyment of this holiday classic, with a declaration that it is a “creepy” theme song for rape culture. We are told that in the 1940s, women were not yet empowered or even capable of resisting such dominant attention from men, that saying “NO” was not yet in a woman’s accepted vocabulary, and so it must follow that this song cannot possibly be relevant or enjoyed in this day and age.
The Huffington Post, standard bearer of liberal and often revisionist news, pretty much sums up the politically correct understanding. This “Line-by Line Take Down” subjectively intuits that the female likely is under-age, that the song sanctions date rape and roofies, that it is rife with sexual double standards, and that men’s sexuality is nothing but a matter of pride.
Of course, rape is nothing to brush aside or to diminish—it is a violent crime in which the perpetrator deserves nothing less than a long prison sentence. But there is something deeply amiss when there is a call to censure, ban, or even rewrite a song because our culture fears and detests what amounts to an incorrect interpretation.
Do these same adults pay attention to the lyrics their teens listen to on a daily basis? There is far more fodder—for pearl clutchers of both the Right and the Left—to discover in today’s pop radio lyrics. Indeed, a little attention to those might actually do some good! For instance, here is a song wildly popular right now among the teeny-bop set, much more deserving of outrage. Enjoy some lyrics that the middle school girls in carpool can sing verbatim, from a current hit song by the group “Chainsmokers.”
So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover
That I know you can’t afford
Bite that tattoo on your shoulder
Pull the sheets right off the corner
Of the mattress that you stole
From your roommate back in Boulder
We ain’t ever getting older
Rational defenders of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” have tried to explain its history, decipher the actual intent of the lyrics, and encourage listeners to understand the song in its proper context: a time when a woman didn’t worry that her boyfriend might put a roofie in her drink, and red-blooded men could pursue the attentions of a particular woman (and vice versa) without his actions being declared a “booty call.”
But clearly this is not enough to convince listeners to lighten up and just enjoy the song. What would be enough? Evidently, once the New Puritans attacked it, the song became taboo. The Left has spoken, the weak sister Right has responded, and now it is unlikely that this song will have airplay. Those who do listen to it are uninformed or are labeled cave-dwellers. Those who enjoy it are on the defense, perhaps will never again play it at parties for fear of offending sensitive friends, and might only listen to it in secret—like some guilty pleasure. 50 Shades of Gray (50 shades of dominance, submission, and sadism) was a best-seller among adult women, teen girls are piping along with sexual song lyrics, but a classic Christmas song from the 1940s is the cause and celebration of sexual depravity. Gotcha.
A “chaste” rewrite of the song is going viral, demonstrating a more “acceptable” and “proper” dating dynamic, as if yet one more educational tool for instructing men how to behave around women will do the trick. We don’t have to worry about raising sons to be men or to concern ourselves with teaching our daughters how to receive improper advances; we can just beat men over the head with metaphorical sticks when they get out of line, and all will be well.