If you had to think of a current artist who most embodies self acceptance and self love, few seem more befitting than Lizzo. Since 2016, she’s been the poster girl for body positivity, fronting campaigns supporting body acceptance, collecting a People’s Champion Award and even producing and starring in her own Emmy-winning Amazon Prime reality show called Watch Out For The Big Grrrls, in which fat women compete to be dancers for an upcoming tour. Empowering lyrics like “Boss up and change your life/ You can have it all, no sacrifice” and “It’s bad bitch o’clock, yeah, it’s thick-thirty” have helped propel her to a stratospheric level of fame (this year she won her fourth Grammy award and won critical acclaim for her Glastonbury performance). Lizzo is, for many, symbolic of being unapologetically Black and fat; inseparable from the message behind her music.
Serious allegations made this week paint a different picture of the pop star in private. A lawsuit from three of Lizzo’s former dancers (Arianna Davis, Crystal Williams and Noelle Rodriguez) filed a lawsuit against the singer alleging sexual, religious and racial harassment, discrimination, assault and false imprisonment. According to the 44-page suit, Davis claims they were pressured into participating in “sexually denigrating behaviour” such as attending sex shows and interacting intimately with the dancers, and did so fearing it “may harm her future on the team” if they didn’t comply. They also allege Black dancers were “treated differently” and racially stereotyped as “lazy, unprofessional, and having bad attitudes.”
Other senior team members were also implicated in the lawsuit. In addition to the accusations against Lizzo, her dance choreographer Tanisha Scott is also alleged to have fat-shamed Ms Davis on tour by questioning her commitment to the role and “giving her the impression that she needed to explain her weight gain and disclose intimate personal details about her life in order to keep her job”. The dance team’s captain, Shirlene Quigley, allegedly pushed her Christian beliefs on performers, derided those who engaged in premarital sex and openly discussed one of the former dancers’ virginity. (Quigley publicly denied the allegations on her Instagram, calling the accusations “baseless” and “profoundly hurtful.”)
In response, Lizzo released a statement to Instagram: “Usually I choose not to respond to false allegations but these are as unbelievable as they sound and too outrageous to not be addressed,” she stated in the post. “These sensationalised stories are coming from former employees who have already publicly admitted that they were told their behaviour on tour was inappropriate and unprofessional…”
The statement, which received more than one million likes, continues: “Sometimes I have to make hard decisions but it’s never my intention to make anyone feel uncomfortable or like they aren’t valued as an important part of the team. I’m hurt but I will not let the good work I’ve done in the world be overshadowed by this. I want to thank everyone who has reached out in support to lift me up during this difficult time.”
The news has certainly surprised a lot of us — the idea that the most prominent Black plus-size female artist could be engaging in behaviour that goes explicitly against the values she purports to have seems extremely sad (though, as it is, the bar is pretty much in hell when it comes to celebrities). Other, more insidious, online reactions have also made the situation even worse, with some using the lawsuit as permission to double down on their own barely latent prejudices about fat Black women.
Just because someone occupies a certain identity, it doesn’t guarantee a get-out-of-jail-free card — oppression operates with much more complexity than that. No one is immune from internalising forces of oppression, and that influence can easily manifest into tangible abuse when you occupy a position of power with little accountability.
banseka kayembeThe ridiculous claims that fat women are inherently bad people as a response to the accusations of body shaming, or making them the crude punchline of a joke, ironically perpetuates the same culture of violence that is being alleged by her former employees. Social media is too often an opportunity for people to centre themselves rather than empathise with others. Nyome Nicholas, a plus-size model who has campaigned for body equality, told Unbothered, “Fatphobes already had a problem with Lizzo so this was a reason for them to double down on their fatphobic rhetoric and racism. People should stick to the allegations but commenting on her weight has nothing to do with what she’s [allegedly] done.” The knee-jerk urge to knock Lizzo off her pedestal by shaming her appearance shows what many of us are co-opted to believe — through racism and patriarchy — that a fat Black woman couldn’t possibly be joyful and proud of how she looks, that it must have been a facade. Clearly, these systemic issues go well beyond Lizzo.
With that being said, we should also be wary of simplistic arguments that claim the allegations must be false because Lizzo is fat and Black. In Lizzo’s statement, she said: “I know what it feels like to be body shamed on a daily basis and would absolutely never criticise or terminate an employee because of their weight.” Yet, in the same way being Black and fat doesn’t make you inherently bad, it can’t mean you are inherently good either; actions must count for something. Similarly, just because someone occupies a certain identity, it doesn’t guarantee a get-out-of-jail-free card — oppression operates with much more complexity than that. No one is immune from internalising forces of oppression, and that influence can easily manifest into tangible abuse when you occupy a position of power with little accountability. As a hugely famous popstar and their employer, the power dynamic between Lizzo and her former employees is ripe for potentially problematic behaviour. Equally, discourse that overly fixates on the contradiction of a fat woman bodyshaming another person ignores the other allegations against the singer that go beyond fat shaming (which is bad enough) to include religious discrimination, assault, sexual harassment and false imprisonment.
In a culture where a few individuals are placed at the top of the totem pole, celebrity and activism is so regularly conflated, it’s almost inevitable we’ll be disappointed if they fail. Culturally, we may be coming to the realisation that there are serious limitations when it comes to individualistic interpretations of liberation. As Nyome told Unbothered, she was unsurprised by the allegations because “I don’t really put anyone on a pedestal and know that people are human. I was disappointed, yes, but not surprised.” One of the dancers stated that she now feels Lizzo’s activism is “performative” due to the disconnect between how she was using her platform and her alleged treatment of her dancers in private. The horrendous fatphobia and racism Lizzo has faced during her career shouldn’t be downplayed, but there are also real financial incentives to successfully curating a personal brand that chimes with progressive values. Lizzo’s music came to the forefront as body positivity, self love, and wellbeing movements were gaining momentum, and she was able to capitalise (whether consciously or not) by making these self empowerment style values the centre of her art.
At a time when many workers are fighting for fair working conditions, especially in creative industries, it’s for the benefit of all of us that we allow these women to have a fair hearing and for due process to uncover the truth — whatever it may be.
Don’t get me wrong: self empowerment can be a joyful pick-me-up (who doesn’t want to believe every now and again that they are the most incredible thing on this earth?), but on the flip side of the coin, it can encourage a perspective of looking too inwardly all the time, and not recognising when it’s important to listen to others and to be held accountable. In some ways, the narcissistic tendencies imbued in uncritically loving yourself was always there; in a verse from “Rumours” that may come back to haunt her, Lizzo raps: “Had to cut some hoes loose, yeah/ NDA, no loose lips/ Now them hoes tryna sue me/ Bitch, I don’t give two shits.” It’s worth considering that a cavalier attitude to accountability may not pay off if you’re not white, thin or male; it’s very likely Lizzo will be given far less grace.
Whilst we should allow due process to take its course, it feels imperative that we remember how challenging it can be for former workers to come forward about alleged mistreatment and oppressive behaviour. They could be facing being blacklisted from the industry, as well as the harsh court of social media scrutiny. As Davis mentioned in an interview with NBC News, “our experience is not an isolated experience, sadly when it comes down to…how the industry is run.” How unfairly they are treated during this time could have a real impact on others coming forward in the future. At a time when many workers are fighting for fair working conditions, especially in creative industries, it’s for the benefit of all of us that we allow these women to have a fair hearing and for due process to uncover the truth — whatever it may be. We should be holding space in our minds for creative people who entered what they thought was a safe space, and consider what it must be like to have that dream turn into something different.
Rather than over-revelling in the potential downfall of allegedly problematic celebrities, let’s keep the focus of the story where it belongs.
