Man's Best Friend And Why The Album Cover Actually Doesn’t Work
- Dema Raye
- 4 hours ago
- 6 min read
Sabrina Carpenter's seventh studio album, Man's Best Friend, had a highly anticipated release following the roaring success of her previous record, Short n' Sweet. However, the singer faced a barrage of backlash after revealing the cover art of her newly announced record in which she stood on her hands and knees whilst a faceless suited man pulled at her hair. While some critics deemed the cover politically tone-deaf and degrading, others viewed it as an expression—and even a celebration—of her sexuality. The singer's devoted fans were quick to rally to her side, urging everyone else to consider the satirical and layered context of her work; they pointed out how her music videos often feature men as her victims, challenging claims that her work often caters to the male gaze. As the think pieces and viral TikTok videos persisted, many speculated that Carpenter intentionally chose such a provocative image to spark interest and grab people's attention, assuming she actually had a subversive play up her sleeve. However, following the release of the record, it became clear that was not the case.
The letdown of the album should have been expected when the singer posted multiple alternative covers on her Instagram, which she passive-aggressively captioned as "approved by God." This, I believe, did more harm than good. By releasing multiple album covers in an attempt to please the general public, the singer did not stand firm in her decision to choose the provocative cover as the statement piece. After all, cover art should be precisely that: a clear statement of the record, one image that perfectly encapsulates the body of work, with or without context. Think of Charli XCX's iconic neon-green brat or Taylor Swift's infamous polaroid-style cover art for 1989. These images were meticulously chosen to be the face of the album, an invitation to the world that the artist is building with their record; thus, when multiple images are associated with an album, it ultimately loses its impact. So, what exactly is the world that Sabrina Carpenter is inviting us into with Man’s Best Friend that separates itself from the cheeky pin-up '50s girl aesthetic of Short n' Sweet?
And ultimately, what is the album's statement?
When Carpenter appeared on Good Morning America to promote the album, she seemed already exhausted by the discourse surrounding the album cover, predictably stating that the cover art is "open to interpretation." Unsatisfied with the neutral response, interviewer Gayle King pressed her to reveal what her personal interpretation of the cover is, to which the singer responded, "a metaphor for being in control” and “being in on the lack of control." That makes sense for this specific image: she's looking straight at the camera with a sensual look and a cheeky, subtle smirk. She doesn’t appear uncomfortable in the least. But, where do we see that statement in the record?
Listeners were ready for more power-hungry songs that capitalise on the sassy and confident voice we heard in one of Short n' Sweet's deluxe tracks, ‘Busy Woman,’ where she sings about not having time to mess around with men who are playing games with her. When asked at her Spotify album celebration in Hollywood what alternative title she would give the album, the singer said, "Man's Worst Nightmare." But is she really a man's worst nightmare? Because Short n Sweet was much more biting in comparison to the new record. In fact, the former record held numerous tracks that would be considered a nightmare for any ex. Starting off with the taunting opening track, 'Taste,' and the sombre yet ruthless 'Dumb & Poetic,' where she rips her ex into shreds by essentially saying, 'You're not deep; you're actually dumb.' These are the type of songs that scream confident, hot, sexy, and "men are scared of me"—and they should be. Man's Best Friend, however, is almost saying the opposite: men don't want me. ‘Manchild’ is perhaps the only outlier where she is, in fact, calling men out on their immaturity. But if we look at ‘My Man on Willpower,’ the third track on the record, she's complaining about her man not wanting her anymore, no matter how much she tries to grab his attention: "My slutty pyjamas / Not tempting him in the least"—that"'s not really screaming “Man's Worst Nightmare.” Then there’s the dreary ‘Don’t Worry I’ll Make You Worry,’ which gives us the impression that it’s going to be a cheeky cutting jab towards her lover, but unfortunately, it falls flat. Even in a song that sets itself up easily for a play on control and being the person in power, Carpenter doesn’t stick the landing; the verses attempt to portray the singer as the one messing with the guy’s head and keeping him on edge, saying she’ll make him worry like no other girl can, but the track sounds morose and despondent, nowhere near taunting or powerful like she’s trying to depict. As an artist who's saying she's a “man's worst nightmare” and a “man-hater,” there is no real insight here that extrapolates that beyond "men suck!” It's fun, sure, but then there shouldn't be a conversation about power dynamics or control if it’s meant to be just a fun way to vent about heartbreak. Even heartbreaking lyrics can get stale when there is no valuable or cathartic insight.
When asked in an interview with Ottenberg from Interview about why she chose the title Man's Best Friend, she replied with an anecdote about a flight attendant asking her the same question, as she said, "Honey, you're going to have to listen to the album." This answer should be enough if the work could speak for itself, but it doesn't—there isn't really one song that correlates to her interpretation of the album cover as a metaphor for her being in control or lacking it. The singer tells Ottenberg, "There are so many reasons why I called it Man's Best Friend, and there are so many layers in the experiences that I was going through at the time where, emotionally, I felt like one." It's very interesting to hear that Carpenter actually felt like that in her past liaisons with men; she's ultimately saying she feels as if she's at their beck and call and always there to entertain them while they take her for granted. This kind of self-concept, no doubt, must have caused severe psychological damage. This is what people were looking for and what the album unfortunately lacks. Carpenter goes on to comment on her chart-topping single ‘Manchild’ that it's not necessarily the "man children" who find her coincidentally but rather that she willingly lets them every time, stating, "This is what I'm trying to get across—it's not just those people finding you, it's you allowing them to find you. It's taking accountability." This is deeply compelling. What does it feel like when we actually feel like a man's best friend? Always jumping on them with wide eyes and bushy tails to grab their attention? There are numerous psychological and emotional threads to explore here. Yet, it seems the singer is barely scratching the surface of it.
Sabrina's voice in pop music is fresh because she's doing what no one else is: incorporating tongue-in-cheek sexual innuendos. Think of ‘Bed Chem’ and the ‘Juno’ positions on her tour; those are fun and the most exciting moments in the tour that go viral on social media platforms. So many people love the fact that she sings about sex in such a fun and liberating way. "I might let you make me Juno," she sings in "Juno." It's absurd, hilarious, and 100% relatable. So, the issue is not the sexual implications; in fact, that is her selling point. The problem arose when she attempted to pair that niche with a critique on control but failed to deliver it effectively in the songs. The art does not speak for itself, and it seems that the creator cannot discuss it either. Art is definitely open to interpretation, but what does it say when the creator of the product does not have a clear understanding of her own work?
The album cover by itself can be interpreted as a critique of control, but the content of the album is not. In fact, it's more of a lament. It's the album you play when you're thinking about your ex after a night out drinking and ruminating on what happened, then thinking of calling them, like she does in "Go Go Juice." It should be noted that Carpenter does not need to release songs that critique and explore gender or sexual control in a relationship to be impactful; she is more than capable of writing about the fallout of her relationship or belting about being raunchy like in "House Tour," which is a lyrical highlight on the record. However, if she is using a controversial album cover that churns discussion on control and power, then I believe that the content of the album should revolve around that concept. In that case, we have every right as consumers of pop culture to critique the album and its visuals when they do not correlate to one another, and to expect our pop artists to have a more focused direction and a clear, cohesive vision for the records they are selling us.
Edited by Mahak Naddafi, Co-Music Editor
