That is, if the fickle blogosphere doesn't get bored and move on to another target. For now, though, Kreayshawn is a hot topic. Detractors have already leapt at the chance to criticize her use of the N-word. They jumped to categorize her as a lesbian (she calls herself "asexual"). They've also hit at her for pretending to be "hood," for tossing around the words "bitches" and "hos," and for being a bad rapper.
"I really wanna empower girls. There's no one empowering women at all. Beyoncé does a good job. Everyone else is, like, 'Go party!' Lady Gaga is just on some crazy 'not even be yourself, but be EXTREMELY INSANE' [thing]. I just think there's room for a voice like mine. I don't own a dress. I have wide feet, I can't even wear heels," she says.
PHOTO BY STAR FOREMAN
"There's room for a voice like mine": Kreayshawn.
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But the music industry, especially rap, is a man's world. Nicki Minaj is tough, but her image has been transformed from hard-core street to wide-eyed blowup sex robot. Even with her maturity and surprising eloquence, Kreayshawn in a year could be a living doll.
Despite the promised "full creative control" labels are using as a lure, she soon may be expected to obey her elders now more than she ever did as a child. Rumors began swirling right after Memorial Day that Kreayshawn had signed with Sony. "Did you sign?" She nods without expression.
Stretch, Kreayshawn's manager, can't find the warehouse for the photo shoot. They finally arrive in a modest white car. She's still tired. "No time for being tired, not anymore," Stretch says philosophically. "Can't be tired of what you asked for."
It must be nice to know someone else will be thinking about her career. She looks up and steadies her gaze: "I've never thought more about my life and every person in my circle. It's overwhelming. It's like the weirdest, hardest, awkwardest time."
If Gaga is the coolly elegant Madonna from "Vogue," Kreayshawn is the gritty downtown Madonna with a girl posse from "Borderline." She's in newsprint jeggings papered with the word "Patience" and the phrase "Fix my eyes on it." A beat-up leather jacket covers a sleeveless T-shirt that reads, in all caps, "TOO MUCH TOO YOUNG." The outfit must be a winking acknowledgment of the debate that will surely surface the minute word of her deal is official.
If so, she doesn't let on. "I kind of chose this on purpose, but I didn't have any clean clothes, and this was all I could put together," she says, crouching on a stool. "I got these Jordans at Goodwill."
She looks tiny but also as if she might pounce — her eyes are hard, like glass.
Like a cat exploring a room, she ventures over and begins to swing on a punching bag. The photographer is busy discussing the next shot with the art director; Stretch has stepped out. For the first time, no one's watching Kreayshawn.
She's on her own again. "I couldn't even imagine if I put 'Gucci Gucci' out by myself. I don't want to do this all alone.
"I don't want to be superlonely."