Sabrina Carpenter and the Feminist Case for Being on Your Knees

I saw the Sabrina Carpenter album art, and I felt a little turned on.
A little disgusted.
A little bored.

It’s trying to flirt with something real—this submissive archetype—but it doesn’t quite cut it. It’s performative, not primal. Posing, not surrendering.
It seems like she’s trying to make fun of it, but it doesn’t quite land—because it sits somewhere in between.

Maybe that’s why so many are frustrated by it.

We’re surrounded by this aesthetic of sexy submissiveness—open mouths, undone buttons, smeared lipstick—but no one wants to talk about the part of it that’s actually real.
The part that lives in the body.

Here’s my truth:

I’m a feminist.
I vote. I think. I work. I pay all my own bills.
And I rage at injustice.

And guess what?

Sometimes, I really want to be told what to do.

I want a man to lead.

I want my hair pulled.
I want to be on my knees.
I want to look up at someone who makes me feel safe to be controlled.
I want to feel it.

Not because I’m disempowered—because I’m tired.

There’s something relaxing, even healing, about letting someone else lead for a moment—when it’s safe, when it’s chosen.

Especially in bed, I don’t always want to be the one making the rules.
I don’t want to perform confidence or pretend to be in control.
I want to surrender into trust.

That, to me, is power. And powerful.
It’s a gift when I find a man who actually allows me to feel this way.

I remember once, my stepmom told me:
“If you want to keep a man, you have to learn how to be on your knees for him.”

Now, that’s the type of thinking people are right to be afraid of.

Because what she was saying came from a different place.
She was in an abusive relationship with my dad.
He screamed at her regularly.

Their dynamic had a kind of power play, yes—but not the kind you choose.
It was rooted in fear, not fun.
Control, not consent.

I’m not advocating for that.
That’s the danger people are trying to avoid, and I get it.

But it’s not the same thing.

There’s a world of difference between being dominated—and playing with domination.

You can be playful.
You can tease.
You can explore these roles with someone you trust—and still be fully in your power.

That’s not betrayal.
That’s embodiment.

And maybe Sabrina is making fun of all this.
Or maybe she’s just cashing in on it.
Who knows?

But the larger context is what’s missing in the conversation around her art—and honestly, that’s the problem with almost everything these days.

There’s no space for ambiguity.
No space for paradox.
Everything is literal and black-and-white.

And that’s not true to the human experience.
Not a single person on this planet has ever lived without contradiction.

Truth lives in the grey.
Desire is layered.
Power shifts.
And all human-beings contain contradictions.

Sex isn’t less feminist when it includes submission.
It’s only less feminist when it lacks consent.

You know, in your body, what feels good and what doesn’t.
You know when you’re playing—and when you’re being played.
And if you don’t, I invite you to reconnect with your center.
So you can feel, truly, what’s right for you.

If you’re on your knees in front of someone you trust—
Someone who knows how to hold you, see you, lead you in a way that makes your body exhale?

That’s not degradation.
That’s sacred, devotional, and fun.

If we were more connected to ourselves and our bodies, we could hold nuance.
We wouldn’t be so quick to shame one woman’s attempt to find meaning—and a sense of power—within the patriarchy.