Enemies of Reason Poundshop potshots at the media moral maze.

Katy Perry’s cream tits v Lady Gaga’s meat surprise*

There's been an awful lot of attention given to Lady Gaga's dress made of meat. An awful lot. For some, it's a representation of the female artist as commodified meat for the marketing grinder; for others, it's the rotting ephemera of fame, decaying visibly in the public gaze; and for others still, it's a fucking dress made out of meat to try (and succeed) and grab a few headlines.

You may point out that the meat dress isn't original

even for Lady G herself

but what is an interesting point is the kind of meat involved. Where, oh where, is the fish? (Don't be grubby, now). But surely a nice couple of kippers wouldn't go amiss? Or an octopus hat - why not? Perhaps it's important to look at the meat as strips of flesh rather than as a dead animal with a face; perhaps the image only really works with strips of red meat, rather than, say, a pair of pants made out of chicken nuggets.

Is Gaga's meat surprise the new Carmen Miranda hat? Is this "fantasy and playful eroticism" or some deeper kind of statement about the nature of fame - or, as the performer herself stated, a protest about 'don't ask, don't tell'? Are we looking at the female performer as a human sushi table, a vessel for meat - or more of a raclette? Is this antipasti or is it raw meat? Is this just a nod to Hats of Meat, but with a whole outfit made of meat, instead of just the hat? After balloons and angle-grinding, was meat the only place to go?

Some may be disappointed with the choice of meat. In a world where many are starving, the flaunting of meat as clothing seems a little, oh I don't know, decadent. Others don't like meat, the idea of meat, the process of meat. Is this the popstar as that bloke who gets turned into sausages at the start of Prime Cut? Or is it just saying that, at this stage of the career, the meat is still fresh and hasn't been ground into burgers just yet? I don't find the meat as edgy as all that, but it did give me a chuckle.

I see it as more provocative, more interesting and more fun than the use of food as clothing by, say, Katy Perry. Whereas Gaga's meat dress attracts a storm of criticism like so many bluebottles trying to lay maggots in her shoulder straps, Perry just sails along comfortably enough - even though she's clearly doing the devil's work. And I say this as someone who doesn't believe in any form of god or devil. But if there is a devil - and I'm pretty sure there isn't, but I'll hedge my bets just in case - then the devil is clearly going to be Katy Perry fruiting around with a bra made of pastry.

Perry is, in some senses, Kenny Everett reincarnated - hell, her boyfriend, that Brand cove, even looks a trifle like Cuddly Ken about to tie Wogan's Wand into a knot on Blankety Blank. But there's something less playful, less silly, more calculating and calculated about Perry's aren't-I-so-naughty schtick - not just the lipstick lesbianism but the tits of cream.

In some ways, I suppose this is penis envy at its most obvious - here is Perry rejoicing in the act of a double ejaculation, spurting her musical cream (processed, fattening, lacking in nutrition) all over unsuspecting teens right across the world. Is this a desire to lactate, or a desire to ejaculate? It seems it could only be the latter. Does Katy want to be a boy or a girl, or both? In another sense, I think it's almost a wink and a nod to the frenziedly masturbating boys rubbing out a sly one to MTV that the video's nearly over and it's time to finish up. But there seems something so unsatisfactory about all this, so polished, so deliberate somehow.

Whereas Gaga draped in meat has a kind of sexual value but is not essentially erotic, Katy Perry covering her tits with cream is as subtle as, well, a woman squirting cream out of her tits. Do you know what I mean? If you look at the lyrics to one of her more recent efforts, you can see this lack of nuance quite clearly:

I wanna see your peacock, cock

Your peacock, cock

Your peacock, cock

Your peacock

Hmm. What on earth could all that mean, I wonder? It's certainly hard to tell, isn't it? Now I know you'll probably say that this isn't the point, that I'm not a teenage girl and therefore I can't pass judgement on whether this kind of thing is good or bad. But that's a cop-out; just because you're not the target demographic doesn't mean you can't see when something isn't tremendously subtle. And it isn't.

That for me is why Katy Perry is the real sausages out of the production line, and Gaga is something entirely different. One has the power to surprise and delight; the other is never going to stray too far from your expectations, no matter how diligently her oh-so-naughty teen-friendly image is cultivated.

And there's another thing, too: I could listen to Bad Romance for hours, but California Gurls makes me want to stick knitting needles in my ears to stop the agony. That kind of helps when making a decision, too.

* Some of you may consider this to be a shameful piece of SEO. I can only plead my innocence in the strongest possible terms.

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