The news of Sydney Sweeney, one of today's most recognised and glamorous actresses, partnering with men's personal care line, Pop culture has been rocked by Dr. Squatch's decision to produce a limited-edition, opulent soap. However, Sweeney herself describes the soap as "a very real, very limited-edition soap made with my actual bathwater." This move by one of Hollywood's most hypersexualised actresses has left netizens inconsolable. While some are applauding it as a clever and sly business tactic, effectively making money off of the unjustified sexualisation of her body that has been affixed to her brand image, others are calling for a specific rhetoric to be repeated.
Despite the diversity of viewpoints and discussions, one thing is certain: this action by a commercially successful, white, and conventionally attractive actress like Sweeney, who has a significant amount of influence in pop culture, undoubtedly raises issues with wider ramifications that would unavoidably convey messages in the culture that are outside the actress' control and intentions. What does it say about the larger issues of objectification, desire, and agency—words that have troubled feminist activists and academics for years—when a powerful woman like Sweeney turns to self-objectification in an attempt to make money?
Bathwater Soap by Sydney Sweeney: Brilliant Marketing or Continued Objectification?
Let's begin with the obvious: from a marketing perspective, this is a daring and calculated move. However, the discussion goes beyond effective PR. The fact that men make up the majority of comments only serves to highlight how a well-known figure can become a victim of the objectification loop to remain relevant and afloat. Indeed, the product raises questions since it plays straight into the sexualised male gaze, even though it is probably tongue-in-cheek. Bathwater-based soap? Hurry up. It is possible to argue that internet users who appear to support Sweeney's self-objectification for financial gain as a liberating and revolutionary action are lauding feminism's striking resemblance to neoliberalism.
Feminist theorists have long noted how forces of neoliberal capitalism have appropriated the radical, political, and socialist ideals that shaped the second wave of feminist movements. Under the guise of empowerment, earning profits becomes liberating for women, and wage labour is now valued. When women adopt this individualised, flexible capitalist attitude, it is unproductive to give it a higher meaning since we know that beyond this appearance of empowerment and development, there is a contemporary system of inequality and subordination.
Not just of women but also of other workers, which is ingrained in the logic of capitalist commodification despite appearing impersonal. Her most recent launch now features that same body as its primary selling point. So, was it a matter of survival under a sexist system or empowerment all along? Sweeney appears to embrace this "neoliberal ethos," which goes beyond the harsh realities of our capitalist and immoral society. Sweeney's action cannot be praised as "feminist" in this sense because it is driven more by neoliberalism's concern for profit than by a commitment to the political cause. Kim Kardashian and her sisters have capitalised on the very stereotypes they are frequently criticised for to create billion-dollar brands.
Women are now able to regain control over their money and image, even on sites like OnlyFans. However, there is always the opposite. Many women struggle to avoid being perceived as merely "sexy" or "hot," for every woman who boldly capitalises on her image. Particularly in the workplace, where leadership, talent, and intelligence still have to fight against being equated with physical attributes. Therefore, is a well-known actress reclaiming her power or perpetuating the very norm that women are attempting to overcome when she sells soap produced from her bathwater?
The deceptive appearance of empowerment in "choice feminism"
Then, one may argue that not everything has to be political, that Sweeney only wanted to turn a profit with her Bathwater launch, not make a statement. If that were the case, a lot of critics would have been quick to point out how, in her previous interviews, Sydney Sweeney chose to self-objectify and make this her legitimate brand, which now appears to be a ploy to make money and create headlines. Some people believe that she is giving up her personal views in favour of a more practical approach, but when we relate it to the concept of "choice feminism," we realise that this isn't the case.
Similarly to the previous language of profit, Sweeney's use of the phrase "I pitched it" about her campaign implies that she is now an active subject rather than a passive object of conjecture. Rather, the language of choice challenges the basic principles of feminism, including the notion that the personal is the political and that a woman's decision cannot be oppressive simply because she made it. Women who felt objectified for their curvaceous bodies at the time found resonance in her critical position, which led to a collective solidarity among female followers against this oppression.
To stay relevant and retain her appeal to her target audience, which consists of heterosexual men, Sweeney has chosen to depoliticise and individualise her persona by abandoning her previous stance criticising the industry for her sexualization and instead turning to profiting from the same objectification. This may have been motivated by her fear of politics. If she had stuck to the criticism of her objectification by the same men, she would not have been able to do so. Her body is, therefore, by definition, commodified, making it suitable for a broad audience, particularly men.
Given her prior positions and the culture that commodifies a constrictive notion of female sexuality and passes it off as "sexual liberation," which is further influenced by pornography, it may be argued that this "choice" to pander to and capitalise on the male fantasy was constructed. Individualising these decisions also releases society from any accountability for matters of personal freedom and frees women—particularly powerful, affluent women like Sydney—from thinking about the wider ramifications of their decisions. Likewise, if someone criticises and politicises Sweeney's choice to objectify herself is viewed as "oppression" as she has personalised a systemic oppression that shouldn't affect anyone else.
Rewards and the culture of pornography
Sydney Sweeney is contributing to the "pornification of culture," which blurs the boundaries between influencer culture, virtual sex work, and traditional sex work. In this context, audiences are requesting that women who are active online—particularly social media influencers—create an account on OnlyFans and grant access to their bodies. This phenomenon has several facets and has distinct effects on women and other marginalised groups working in various fields.
However, despite marketing their bodies and sexuality, virtual prostitutes on these platforms also face different degrees of privilege and inequality. Because of their positionalities, some turn to their career to make ends meet, while others are free to choose whether or not to participate in this supplementary source of income. It is noteworthy that traditional sex workers continue to experience criminalisation, stigmatisation, and violence, while their virtual counterparts enjoy a less stigmatised, protected, and democratized environment.
Even though Sydney Sweeney chose a feminist method that might identify the issue differently, this is not to imply that she is engaged in the sex work industry or to demonise her personally. However, only within the context of the larger digital economy of sexuality can the reception of this advertising and the culture it is profiting from be comprehended. Because it follows a commercial, softcore, and "classy" pornographic aesthetic with a voluptuous, blonde, white, cisgender lady, this self-objectification is acceptable or "empowering."
Where Should the Line Be Drawn?
POC women, trans and queer people, fat women, and disabled women who rely on this system for survival rather than profits are being marginalized by the same culture of detachment that is enabling Sweeney's self-objectification. These individuals lack the right to opt in and out of this system, try satirical performances, or gain influence. If the latter set of marginalised producers tried to emulate Sweeney's strategy, they would not get the same responses or financial rewards, which speaks much about the politics of desire, desirability, visibility, and its constructions. Some may find it clear that the brand of Sweeney's particular manifestation would be more appealing than that of regular creators.
The goal has been to somewhat revive the discussion about what these individual decisions mean for the larger culture that we and Sydney Sweeney both live in. It could even be her method of taking control of her story and changing the course of events. But it also starts a wider discussion about hypocrisy, empowerment, self-objectification, and how it affects all women, not just famous ones. What is it, then? Is it a brilliant public relations strategy and a moment of empowerment, or is it just another commodity that feeds the stereotype of women held by men?
You awaken me!