So Niche it Hurts: Blondie

Author: Sally Saban

Niche (noun): Suitable place for somebody: a position or activity that particularly suits somebody’s talents and personality or that somebody can make his or her own.

 

There are two kinds of people in today’s world. Nerds. [Quirk-stars, hipsters. Insert like word of choice].  And then…then there are the wannabes. The millennial generation is a boat-load of Cady (no, not Katie) Heron’s, selectively borrowing quirky trends. Different now means you’re doing something right. Dumbledore (Jesus, and the likes) are writing ‘how to’ guides on growing bird nests on their chin. They’re giving new meaning to the term hair extensions. I’m not even going to mention tofu.

 

I’m not lecturing the youth of our generation for being unoriginally original. I’m just as much of a culprit as anyone. But I’m here to tell you about actually interesting gems I find. Gems that niche. So niche, it hurts.

Hundreds of people are hooked on singer-songwriter Birdy. The British sixteen-year-old belts out the most astonishingly beautiful covers, far outreaching Alvin and the Chipmunks. She covers music from abstract indie bands such as “Fleet Foxes” to more widely known groups like “The Passenger”. She’s featured repeatedly on soundtracks like The Vampire Diaries and Pretty Little Liars. Why’s that? Birdy is obnoxiously good at tugging at our heartstrings, using only her voice to pull the most genuine tears out of the eyes of any listener. If she was around circa the production of Titanic, the soundtrack would sound a lot different. Birdy delivers to her audience, on a cleanly polished silver tray, a heart of glass.

Likewise, the 1970’s icon Blondie gives us a heart of glass. But not because she’s a tearjerker. That’s just the name of her hit single, “Heart of Glass.”  She’s quite the opposite.

Blondie. Blondie did not care about emotions, and that is why she is so fantastic. Blondie was a character created by Debbie Harry to send particular messages about femininity to the American public. Blondie was an alluring revival of the blonde bombshell, Marilyn Monroe. While Andy Warhol was painting Marilyn’s face on canvas, Debbie Harry was painting Marilyn onto herself. She appropriated herself as the posthumous American icon. Imagine as an equivalent an average American taking on the mission of becoming, from head to toe, Michael Jackson. Where would one even start?

Debbie Harry gave off no hint of emotion or sensitivity, and instead delivered doses of disinterest and audacious nonchalance. On behalf of Debbie Harry, I can say nothing at all. I’m absolutely sure she’s eaten her fair share of one-pint Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. Actually, I’d like to think Debbie is more of a Half-Baked kinda girl. What would I know?

Her pout was painted deep red and her tousled hair cut itself so abruptly at her sharp shoulders. Her white tank tops, slouchy t-shirts, and body gripping shift dresses tell us one thing. Blondie always “just had sex”. She brought seduction to a whole new level, inviting and threatening all at once. While performing, Blondie fixed her gaze on the crowd. She stood in one spot and caressed the sexily clothed curvatures of her body. She was beckoning her listener forward, while making it clear that she wasn’t going to move an inch. Blondie did not “meet you halfway”. She gripped her mic tightly and jerked her thin legs, adding a sexual tension that would “win a millionaire.”

Femme fatale was redefined, and the ladylike fragility of Marilyn evaporated. The businessman vibe, in all its boldness and audacity, had arrived at pop cult’s door-step. And it was dancing along the perfectly polished fingertips of a blonde Barbie doll. The juxtaposition in her recreation of femininity is so rare that I can’t help but dedicate a weekly column to its mentioning.

So, cheers, here’s my personal tribute to my blonde hero.

Must I say something of the way she catches your eye? Mona Lisa-ing the viewer without even opening her mouth. Because, mind you, Blondie is a musician. Yeah, you can google image her all day, but give her a listen. Start with “Heart of Glass.” Birdy can wait.

Then repeat after me: “Blondie, you are so niche, it hurts.”

80s, blondie, Music