If you’ve seen the cover of Sabrina Carpenter’s new album Man’s Best Friend, chances are you had to look twice. The image of her on all fours, gently touching the leg of a man who’s tugging on her hair—well, let’s just say it stirred up more than just fan excitement. Across social media, in TV debates, and even in group chats filled with eye-roll emojis and hot takes, everyone’s asking: is this cover feminist power-play or just plain problematic?
Even the ladies of The View couldn’t resist weighing in. Alyssa Farah Griffin, never one to shy away from pop culture hot potatoes, chimed in with, “It reminds me of Britney Spears in the ’90s.” And just like that, the discussion took a sharp nostalgic turn.
Griffin’s reference to Britney wasn’t random. Back in the early days of teen pop and low-rise jeans, Britney straddled that uncomfortable line between being idolized and objectified. Think of …Baby One More Time—the schoolgirl outfit, the suggestive glances, the virgin-meets-vixen dynamic. Britney wasn’t just a pop star. She was a battleground.
So where does that leave Sabrina?
Well, according to Griffin, squarely on team feminism. “If you’ve actually listened to her music,” she said, “you’d know she’s a feminist.” She pointed to Manchild, one of the singles off the new album, which is basically a catchy takedown of man-babies who refuse to grow up. “I mean,” Griffin laughed, “my friend had to remind her Tinder date to brush his teeth. That’s not romance—it’s unpaid childcare.”
That’s the genius of Sabrina. Her songs never scream “activism,” but the message is there—wrapped in sugary melodies and cheeky punchlines. Feather is about feeling emotionally lighter after a toxic man “accidentally” dies. Nonsense ends with a flirty, often risqué line that changes at every performance, turning girl-next-door energy into something delightfully unpredictable.
So, is the cover provocative? Absolutely. Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily.
Some critics have accused her of objectifying herself. Others argue she’s flipping the script on what it means to be seen. That pose—the submissive position, the pulled hair—it’s uncomfortable. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe she’s not being complicit in the image. Maybe she’s mocking it.
It’s not unlike what Madonna did decades ago. Remember when she made out with saints in Like a Prayer or wore a cone bra on tour? She turned her body into a battlefield—and dared the world to deal with it. Madonna once said, “I’m tough, ambitious, and I know exactly what I want. If that makes me a bitch, okay.” Sabrina isn’t Madonna, of course, but she’s part of the same lineage: women who refuse to play nice with other people’s expectations.
Even outside the charts, this tension is everywhere. Lena, a Brooklyn-based indie music producer, talked on her podcast about the pushback she got after choosing a bold, high-slit red dress for her first EP cover. “My dad texted me asking if I was afraid people wouldn’t take me seriously,” she said, laughing. “I told him I’d be more afraid if they listened to the music and didn’t think I earned the dress.”
Art—especially in pop—isn’t here to be safe. It’s here to poke at the cultural bruise until we flinch. Man’s Best Friend as a title is cheeky, too. It can mean “man’s loyal companion,” or—more subversively—“what men think women should be.” It’s a wink, not a bark.
So maybe the problem isn’t the picture. Maybe it’s our eagerness to categorize women as either empowered or exploited, Madonna or martyr, saint or siren. What if Sabrina is neither? What if she just wants to mess with you a little?
Because sometimes, the art isn’t about giving answers.
Sometimes, it’s about making sure you ask the right questions.
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