I'll Love Some Littler Things
Representation, Commodification, and Mitski Miyawaki
Originally written in 2017 and self-published on Medium.com, updated November 2022 for Substack
I push aside all my marginalized identities to accommodate those in power. Even alone, it’s easy to forget that I may find joy in this world, too. There are few moments in life as powerful as feeling represented through the art and labor of women of color. Mitski’s live performance in Des Moines, Iowa, on July 17, 2017, was one of them.
It was a sticky Summer evening in North Philadelphia. We were drinking cheap malt liquor in a concrete backyard, and we started talking about Mitski. While I gushed about her lyrics, openness, and humor, the men I was with didn’t. They took time to belittle her talents, discuss the technicalities of her chord progressions, and press their desires onto her. That night, I saw how differently we were enjoying the music. More explicitly, I meditated on how men always rely on misogyny to dismiss relevant and reverent artists. They wish Mitski would be more silent about her pain, smile more in photos, and talk more about her life during her performances. They beg for her labor and vulnerability to mold to their dampened emotional intelligence.
I can only wonder how it could be to listen to someone else’s truth and demand inclusion.
In her book, “Citizen”, Claudia Rankine talks about how Black women are willed invisible by society while being used as vessels of entertainment. Older men leer at me on the street, and I pass infrequent glances with other commuters, but it is rare that I am Seen—that gentle reminder I am real and validated
Even through the many faces of the sold-out crowd, Mitski made me feel Seen. I felt a change, a rush, a smallness, and a largeness move all inside of me during her performance. One part of me beat so strongly and the other stood still to let the perfectly crafted moments happen exactly how she was giving them to us that night.
Watching Mitski play feels like experiencing the golden hour, the heavens moving through a memory while you drift to sleep. It can be too loud in your head, to be you, to be invisible. But through Mitski’s focused and poised performance, I have something to carry with me whenever the world wills me invisible.