The pop culture world is jolted with the news of one of its most famous and glamorous present generation actresses, Sydney Sweeney, launching a limited edition, luxurious soap in collaboration with the men’s personal care brand Dr. Squatch – except it is not some ordinary soap but, in Sweeney’s own words, ‘a very real, very limited-edition soap made with my actual bathwater’. Netizens are torn asunder at this move by one of Hollywood’s most hypersexualised actresses – while some are praising it as a smart and cheeky commercial move, in effect profiting from the unwarranted sexualisation of her body that has been stuck to her brand image, there are also calls of a certain rhetoric being echoed repeatedly, ‘She sent feminism back 100 years.’
Amidst the variety of perspectives and discourses, one thing is unequivocally clear: this move from a commercially famous, white, and conventionally attractive actress like Sweeney, who amasses considerable influence in pop culture, definitely concerns larger implications that would inevitably send across messages in the culture that would be beyond the actress’ control and intentions. An influential woman like Sweeney resorting to self-objectification in hopes of making profit – what does it reflect about the broader questions of objectification, desire and agency, words that have concerned feminist activists and scholars for years?
A feminist move or neoliberal capitalism disguised as choice feminism
Netizens who seem to applaud Sweeney’s self-objectification for profit as an emancipatory and subversive move can be said to be instead praising the uncanny lookalike of feminism, which is neoliberalism that informs our present world order. Feminist theorists have long pointed out the hijacking of the radical, political and socialist ideals that informed the second wave feminist movements by forces of neoliberal capitalism, where wage labour now becomes valorised, and making profits becomes emancipatory for women when given the cloak of empowerment.
Quoting feminist theorist Nancy Fraser, ‘Disorganised capitalism turns a sow’s ear into a silk purse by elaborating a new romance of female advancement and gender justice.’ (Fraser, 2013) Attributing some higher meaning to this individualised, flexible capitalist approach when adopted by women is instead counterproductive, since we know that beneath this façade of progress and empowerment lies a modern system of inequalities and subjugation, not simply of women but of other workers, which appears impersonal but rather is embedded within the logic of capitalist commodification.
Sweeney had been outspoken against her sexualisation by the industry and audience on multiple occasions. Now, it seems to be a reclamation by Sydney Sweeney to make money and break headlines by choosing to self-objectify and turn this into her legitimate brand.
Sweeney seems to adopt this ‘neoliberal ethos’, which is not simply the reality of the amoral and capitalist world which we live in but also a way of life, where it concerns itself with not simply ‘the market but also the State and the public square, the bedroom and the body of individuals’ (Lemus, 2021). Sweeney’s move can certainly not be celebrated as ‘feminist’ in this sense, since it is driven by the neoliberal concern for profit and not a commitment to the political cause.
‘Choice feminism’: the illusion of empowerment
One then may say that not everything needs to be a political statement, and Sweeney was not looking to be political with her bathwater launch but simply to make a profit. If that were the case, then many critics had been quick to point out how in her earlier interviews, Sweeney had been outspoken against her sexualisation by the industry and audience on multiple occasions. Now, it seems to be a reclamation by Sydney Sweeney to make money and break headlines by choosing to self-objectify and turn this into her legitimate brand. For some, it also seems like she is abandoning her personalised politics for a pragmatic stance, but we connect it to the strand of ‘choice feminism’ and realise that it isn’t really the case.
When Sydney Sweeney says, ‘I pitched it’ about her campaign, the language of choice adopted here in this discourse, much like the previous language of profit, seems to give the illusion of emancipation – that she is now not passively objectified but an active subject. What the language of choice does instead is to subvert the earlier foundational principles of feminism, that the personal is the political, that any choice by a woman by virtue of being chosen by her cannot be oppression.
Back then, her critical stance resonated with women who felt objectified for their curvy bodies, and it created a collective solidarity of women fans against this oppression. Now, by choosing to abandon her previous stance critiquing the industry for her sexualisation and instead resorting to profiting from the same objectification, Sweeney has individualised and depoliticised her persona – perhaps driven by the fear of politics, in hopes of staying relevant and to maintain the appeal to her target audience, which comprises heterosexual men, which will not be the case if she stuck to the critique of her objectification by the same men.
Sydney Sweeney appears to be in the tradition of many Hollywood female stars like Marilyn Monroe, Megan Fox, and Britney Spears, who got stamped with the patronising label of ‘sex symbols’ and struggled to rid themselves of it throughout their careers.
The commodification of her body by definition then makes it fit for a mass appeal, especially to men. This ‘choice’ to appeal to and profit from the male fantasy can be said to be manufactured, considering her earlier stances and motivated by the culture that commodifies a restrictive idea of female sexuality and passes it as ‘sexual liberation’, a culture which is moreover shaped by pornography. Individualising these choices then also absolves the society from taking any responsibility in a matter of personal liberty and also relieves women, especially influential privileged women like Sydney, from considering the broader implications of their choices. In a similar vein, if one criticises and politicises Sweeney’s decision to self-objectify, it is seen as ‘oppression’ because it should not concern anyone else – she has individualised a systemic oppression.
The male gaze and hollywood’s history of objectification
Sydney Sweeney appears to be in the tradition of many Hollywood female stars like Marilyn Monroe, Megan Fox, and Britney Spears, who got stamped with the patronising label of ‘sex symbols’ and struggled to rid themselves of it throughout their careers. Female public figures like the ones mentioned above have predominantly been portrayed in media and cinema from the male gaze, which, according to feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey, attaches itself at every stage of production of the film, then even at the moment of consumption in theatres by audiences, and afterwards beyond the screen in the personal lives of the actresses.
The bodies of these women exist for their “to-be-looked-at-ness” – only to be perceived voyeuristically, commodified and unwittingly become their brand. Except, unlike her predecessors, Sweeney at least superficially appeared to be taking active control of her brand. But how much control has Sweeney actually been able to exercise over her sexualisation? Suddenly came the news that the bathwater soap had a hole in the middle – which was quickly debunked as a hoax but became another shock-value marketing moment in the bathwater campaign. On sites like eBay, the soap is being resold for prices ranging from $119 to $1600 (INR 10k to 1 lakh). The campaign seemed to have quickly transformed into a fetishised commodity by forces of the market, in the heart of which lies Sweeney’s fantasised body.
Privileges and the pornified culture
The ‘pornification of culture’ that Sydney Sweeney is playing into is a culture with blurring lines between traditional sex work, virtual sex work and influencer culture. In this space, women existing online, especially social media influencers, are demanded by audiences to create an account on OnlyFans and give access to their bodies. There are multiple layers to this phenomenon, which impacts women and other marginalised communities involved in these sectors very differently.
That same culture of detachment which is benefitting Sweeney’s self-objectification is marginalising others: POC women, trans and queer people, fat women, and disabled women who depend on this system for sustenance, not profits, who do not have the privileges to opt in and out of this system, nor attempt a satirical performance, or garner clout.
On the other hand, virtual sex workers on these platforms also deal with varying levels of privileges and inequalities while marketing their sexuality and bodies, owing to their positionalities, where some resort to the profession as a means of survival, and others have the privilege to opt in and out of this secondary source of income as they please. Notably, traditional sex workers bear the worst brunt of it, while their virtual counterparts enjoy a lesser-stigmatised, protected and democratised space; traditional sex workers continue to face criminalisation, stigmatisation and violence.
This is not to suggest that Sydney Sweeney is involved in the profession of sex work, nor to villainise her individually, despite her choice of a feminist approach that may locate the problem otherwise. However, the reception of this campaign and the culture it is profiteering from can only be understood within the ambit of the broader digital economy of sexuality. This self-objectification is palatable or ‘empowering’ simply because it adheres to a marketable, softcore, and ‘classy’ pornographic aesthetic featuring a blonde, white, and curvy cisgender woman.
Who benefits from self-objectification?
That same culture of detachment which is benefitting Sweeney’s self-objectification is marginalising others: POC women, trans and queer people, fat women, and disabled women who depend on this system for sustenance, not profits, who do not have the privileges to opt in and out of this system, nor attempt a satirical performance, or garner clout. It speaks volumes about the politics of desire, desirability, visibility and its constructions, where the latter group of marginalised creators would not receive the same reactions or profits if they attempted to mimic Sweeney’s approach. It may seem obvious to some that ordinary creators would not have the same appeal as the brand of Sweeney’s specific embodiment.
The point of this article has been to problematise the bathwater campaign as an individual ‘choice’ and question the claims of the discourse surrounding it by columnists like Julie Burchill, who hail it as an empowering feminist move that is an “in-your-face” moment for ‘fake feminists’ who want to question the larger implications of such choices. The point has been to rather recentre the conversation on what these personal choices signify about the broader culture, one that both Sydney Sweeney and we inhabit
About the author(s)
Sarah (She/Her) is your local student journalist and writer pursuing her Bachelor's in Literature from Delhi University. She seeks to strike a balance between a chaotic chronically online gen-z and an insatiable learner. At the risk of coming across as cheesy, she quotes Oscar Wilde on being asked to introduce herself, "To define is to limit."
