BEEZUS.

words.

"Beyoncé is special, an eternal exception. In a climate that favors disaffection and antagonism, where many cultural products are either ironic or meant to be enjoyed ironically, she is one thing we’re allowed to unreservedly love. Cities full of hipsters bow down at her name. Grown people—like Mindy Kaling—cry at her concerts. Drake writes infatuated raps about her. Serena Williams tweets love letters. She posts a photo of herself in a hot tub with Blue Ivy and America’s moms don’t even get that mad about it.

Perhaps, unlike Demi Lovato, who you imagine journaling with at a sleepover, or Pink, who you imagine teaching you to pole dance, Beyoncé has baked diva worship into her image: Interacting with Bey means bowing down (bitches); there is no other way. Or maybe her hardworking, goal-oriented façade aligns with our values. (“If you don’t like her, you respect her,” offered a co-worker.) Maybe the push-pull between her discipline and her art gives us a rich psychological puzzle to mull over. (In the definitive Beyoncé think-piece of 2013, Nitsuh Adebe calls the star’s oeuvre an “examination of how it feels when drive and discipline really are your organic personality, and your feelings fight against layers of self-control and pragmatism, and the documentary you make about yourself shows you working hard to relax and experience your own emotions.") Perhaps there’s something safe and unchallenging in Knowles’ perfection—a megawatt blandness that makes her easy to love..."

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