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Trippin On Tip Drill
Article by:
Harold Clemens
 In just about every article concerning misogyny in rap and/or rap videos’ poor representation of black women, the author mentions Nelly’s “Tip Drill” video as the flagship for rap’s perversion. Since it is the most explicit, best produced, popular “booty video” in rap’s short history, “Tip Drill” (“T.D.”) is a sensational, effective example for someone out to portray rap videos as offensive. Although the reporters’ intentions are usually good, their indictment of “T.D.” is inaccurate because other, subtler videos are more degrading. In fact, Nelly’s masterpiece, taken by itself, isn’t that objectionable.
“T.D.” is a song about booty clubs for booty clubs. Unlike what many mainstream writers, who don’t know issh about hip-hop, have speculated, “tip drill” is a term that refers both to the performers and the patrons at these establishments. According to Nelly, a performer he met conceived the word herself. Appropriate to the song, the video features real-life strippers, doing things one would expect to see at a good strip club.
A lot of men could testify, probably to the dismay of wives everywhere, that plenty bachelor parties get raunchier than what takes place in those blissful, controversial six or seven minutes of footage. Taking this comparison a step further, “T.D.,” from beginning to end, seems just like a frenzied bachelor party, albeit with a ridiculous amount of money and fantastic looking dancers one would expect a multimillion-dollar rapper to have access to.
Again, the lyrics in the song give perfect context to the money throwing and giddy, mischievous behavior from the fully dressed men (e.g. the infamous credit card swipe through White Chocolate’s ample butt cheeks) and the lewd behavior of the nearly naked women in the video. It’s obvious that the St. Lunatics and crew are paying the ladies to dance. Nelly and company simply put on camera what they do as a past time. The dancers simply performed their on-stage antics in front of a lens. That said, unless one has beef with exotic dancing, especially the southern, black variety, (s)he should have little beef with Nelly’s video.
 But that’s where it gets sketchy. Judging from their arguments, opined in articles, on message boards and listservers, at college forums, in casual convo, and elsewhere, ‘nuff critics of “T.D.” frown upon stripping as an occupation and detest hip-hop’s adoration of strippers. Instead of calling for better working conditions, more benefits, and respect for sistahs in this simultaneously glorious and infamous employment, they push for Victorian-fashioned, feminine, sexual modesty. They rehash sexist notions that overtly sexual women are only so because of character defects or male abuse.
Thus the dancers in “T.D.,” when referred to, are almost always described as “exploited,” “dumb,” “poor,” “desperate,” and/or straight up evil “hoes.” It’s impossible in many folks’ minds that some women actually enjoy their jobs as strippers, despite the views and actions of some ignorant, hypocritical customers and the need for reforms in the industry. Consequently, it’s also impossible for them to believe that the ladies in “T.D.” actually had fun wildin’ out, making good paper, while performing for/with Nelly, himself a sex symbol who doesn’t mind getting half naked in front of cameras.
Regardless of how disgusting some people think “T.D.” is, at least the ladies in the video play an active, assertive role. That’s in addition to everything about their presence and performance, from their scanty attire to their skillful bootyskakin’ to their feigned lesbian sex to their actual occupations, fitting in perfect context with the song’s theme. The dancers make constant eye contact with, make faces at, and sing the last verse of the song for the camera. They also playfully interact with the Nelly and crew throughout the video. There are even two breaks in footage where a comedian tells them jokes, at which the ladies laugh well. Sure, this stuff seems corny and elementary, but these simple actions characterize the dancers as subjects rather than objects.
Contrast this presentation of the performers in “T.D.” to that of ladies in other videos whose only purpose is to decorate the set, who do not support the contexts of the songs, and/or who seem to be underdressed for no reason. For example, recall Chingy’s video “Balla Baby Remix.” In the last scene, when Boozie raps, there are several women in lingerie lying down behind him, supposedly sleep, on the bed he’s sitting on. Their presence is so random and out of place that one barely notices they are there. Further, their feigned sleep prohibits them from interacting with the rapper or the camera, thus giving them an inanimate appearance. The models effectively become decoration, objects placed within view only to portray Boozie as rich and powerful, like an expensive watch or ring.
 A new video by Da Back Wudz, “You Gonna Love Me,” also exemplifies this model as decoration trend that’s so popular nowadays. In one segment of the video, there’s a female dancing in front of one of the group’s members with her back facing the camera. She touches and lightly grinds on him while he raps, but the rapper pays her absolutely no attention. Someone could erase her image from the screen and his actions would be no different. The model seems no different from the rimmed-up SUV the rapper leans against, just another material item in a shot to convey his power and prowess. Predictably, it’s unclear what the hell the wack lapdance he gets in the video has to do with the theme and lyrics of the song.
It’s even more unclear why Ludacris has so many scarcely clad women in “Numba One Spot.” He, Mini Me, and 72 year-old Quincy Jones definitely couldn’t handle all of them by themselves. Ludacris’ is one of the best, recent examples of a video with totally irrelevant, superfluous eye candy. There are only four men in the video, but seemingly countless women, strewn all about the first set, then just standing in the background in others.
Obviously, neither the Austin Powers theme of the video nor the song itself provides a conceptual cover for the amount of skin seen. (Esther Baxter and her gigantic puppies get nearly as much camera time as Ludacris himself.) Similar to the others mentioned here and countless other videos, the only plausible reason for the abundance of beautiful women is to communicate that the artist “has madd women.” (“Has” more in the ownership sense of the word.)
Their relative lack of clothing in comparison to him and their constant presence somewhere behind Luda also give the models a servile appearance, contributing to the impression they are veritable property. We are supposed to understand unconsciously that the ladies are there to serve him. Again, since he barely interacts with them and they themselves don’t directly interact with the camera, the models become virtual scenery. They really could be buxom statues or androids, instead of humans.
As a matter of fact, Lisa Raye’s role in “Numba One Spot,” is a sharp contrast to the other ladies we see. She is overtly seductive too, but since she makes constant eye contact with the camera, smiles, winks to the beat of the song, and does a silly, seated dance along with Luda, among other things, we grasp her sexual allure, but still recognize her as a subject. Further, her position beside Ludacris in a car, as opposed to other models’ standing behind him while he sits, signifies some semblance of equality between them. She seems like the rapper’s sexy girlfriend, instead of one of his nubile stable. The realistic scenario of a woman sitting next to a man while he drives adds to this perception.
 With so many videos like these that play nearly all day and night, yet contain myriad, subliminal, offensive messages about black women in relation to their men, it’s foolish that “Tip Drill,” which has a clear, specific purpose and airs only within an obscure one-hour block (3 and 4 a.m. at night), gets so much attention. Perhaps because many people simplistically assume more flesh equals more degrading to women, they fail to recognize the difference between sex objects and sexual subjects. The dancers in “T.D.” fall into the latter group, despite the fact they wear far less clothing and behave more licentiously than any other “video chics” in recent memory.
Unfortunately, since a subject/object distinction is never highlighted or explored, conversations about misogyny in rap, which mention “T.D.,” remain banal, ineffectual morality sessions. Rappers will continue to cite freedom of speech, “sex sells,” and parental responsibility as cop-outs for the troubling images of black women they reinforce. Meanwhile fed-up sistahs, traditionalists, and opportunistic chauvinists will continue to push for unrealistic, regressive measures that limit artistic expression and circumscribe women’s behavior.
In their shortsighted, bland indictment of “Tip Drill” folks have missed the subversive potential of the video and the groundbreaking discussion that it could inspire. Though it admittedly contributes to an atmosphere of unfavorable images of black women, when examined in isolation, the video presents an example of how a production can be less problematic and less charged than its less explicit, less sensational counterparts.
Harold M. Clemens is a staff writer for We The Voices Magazine (www.we-the-voices.com). He also blogs regularly at http://ghettouprising.blogspot.com.
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