“You’d be better off, at least they know where to put it” - the issue of the male perspective in the twee genre

When I think of twee, I think of bangs. Whether it’s Zooey Deschanel in 500 Days Of Summer, the mysterious and yet insufferable Jordana Bevan from Richard Ayoade’s Submarine striking endless matches in her red raincoat, or the girl in the smoking area at a North London gig venue who you’ll never see again after you borrow a light from her, it seems to be the trademark of the manic-pixie-fairy-princess “indie” wet dream of the kind of boys whose purpose in life is to judge your outfit when you walk into the same thrift store. Thought I’d just drop it in here that when I began the process of writing this article, I did not have bangs - I do now, although it’s unrelated to the creative process and I have no desire to be Summer apart from in the sense that it might be nice to have a young Joseph Gordon Levitt following you around. Except maybe not if he’s an incel, so I take that back - I didn’t like the movie that much. Having said that, there’s an awful lot more to “twee” as a concept than an aesthetic, and as a word it tends to shy away from being tied down to a concrete definition.  

 (P.S.: welcome to Signpost! If you’d told me two years ago, I would be the editor of my very own music magazine, I would honestly have looked at you in disbelief and then gone back to liking Alex Turner fancams on my Explore page and writing Notes app poetry. However, thanks to Ashvin’s influence, my pipe dream of becoming ‘a creative force to be reckoned with’ has finally come true, and I can ramble and overshare at will alongside a talented writing team!) 

 Put simply, the term “twee” itself refers to something exaggeratedly silly, pretty or sentimental; however, if we are speaking in terms of music, it is best described as a subgenre of indie pop that emerged in the late 1980s and 1990s and is characterised by its sweet, innocent and often childlike aesthetic. Musically, twee is overtly guitar-dominated, mixed with tender vocals and a general sense of whimsy and nostalgia, and the lyrics often deal with themes of romance, heartbreak and youthful introspection presented both earnestly and sincerely. Many such songs often relate to notions of love and relationships. The portrayal of female characters in these songs sometimes reflects the fantasies and desires of the male lyricists, rather than portraying women as fully-fledged individuals with agency. The twee aesthetic, with its emphasis on cuteness and innocence, can sometimes reinforce traditional gender roles and stereotypes. This aesthetic can contribute to a form of romanticisation that aligns with the male gaze, where women are often portrayed as passive objects of affection rather than active participants in their own stories.  

 When I told my dad I planned to write this article while we were sat in the car listening to the radio on the arduous car journey home from St Andrews, his main question was how the male gaze would be most accurately defined. For a moment I struggled there but upon a little further research and dabbing into the origins of the term I’ve come up with my own take on the matter. First introduced by feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey, the concept of the "male gaze" refers to the way that the world and women are portrayed from a male, heterosexual perspective in art, often objectifying or infantilising women. In this article, I shall discuss further how in the context of twee music, the male gaze can manifest itself in different ways.  

 Let’s start off with one of my favourite bands of all time, Belle & Sebastian, whom I discovered a few years ago in a desperate attempt to maintain a friendship with a girl who believed she was far too cool for me and probably was, in retrospect. This appears to be a theme followed by many of the female protagonists and love interests of their songs, sporting collared shirts, 60s winged eyeliner, and a thirst to be perceived as different. Founded in Glasgow in 1996 and led by Stuart Murdoch, Belle & Sebastian are often regarded as the epitome of the twee band. Their music is characterised by its eloquent lyrics, gentle melodies and orchestral arrangements. Murdoch's lyrics are often detailed and story-like, dealing with themes such as love, loneliness and social awkwardness, such as in Another Sunny Day which details a couple falling deeply in love and then the spell being lifted almost instantly as soon as they fall into the trap of marriage - whether this is simply a one-sided loss of attraction is never made clear but it is evident that the male protagonist’s love for his partner turns into bitter frustration with time. 

This frustration is also a quality possessed by quite a few ‘80s projects. For instance. I do love a bit of complain-y 80s jangle rock, and the Wedding Present serves as no exception. The grumbling yet oddly sweet melodies of their album Watusi are no stranger to my ears on long bus journeys, and I am still in two minds about returning to university late and picking up the keys to my first-ever house just so I can see them in concert. Founded by David Gedge in 1985, this band mixes elements of twee with jangle pop and post-punk. Their early work, in particular their first album George Best is characterized by fast guitars and bittersweet lyrics dealing with the complexities of romantic relationships, such as on Everyone Thinks He Looks Daft where he expresses a combination of jealousy towards an ex’s new love interest and amusement towards her choice. However, Gedge's songwriting is often introspective and self-deprecating rather than providing opinions on his female protagonists, although he explores the dynamics of desire and heartbreak in a way that reflects the male perspective.   

Now it’s time to sprinkle a fictional band into the mix. As much as I enjoy Murdoch’s creativity in his lyricism, I’ve had many discussions regarding the fetishisation of mental illness and trauma in their work. The Murdoch-led project of musical film and subsequent imaginary band “God Help the Girl” handles a number of these traumatic themes using the backdrop of Glasgow and the creation of an imaginary band of such typically eclectic individuals (and featuring a feeble attempt from Olly Alexander at playing a straight character convincingly). For me, although this project retains the whimsical and nostalgic elements of the band with a stronger emphasis on the female vocalists, which ostensibly gives more of a voice to female perspectives,  Murdoch’s male gaze-led artistic vision screams through the narrative in the way that both Emily Browning and Hannah Murray’s characters are portrayed - but I suppose this is more of a criticism of the cinematography than of the music itself.  

Another criticism Belle & Sebastian have received (most notably from one of my best friends, who doesn’t like them at all) is for the way they present WLW relationships as a solution to sexual dissatisfaction, such as in Seeing Other People (where the title of this article is taken from) where it is suggested that the woman that the narrator is addressing would derive more pleasure from lesbian sex than being with him in grotesque male pick-me form. This is also a problem in She’s Losing It, where after a past of sexual abuse, the female protagonist Lisa “changed her philosophy in ‘82” and seems to simply decide to be gay?! I don’t know what I think of this, quite frankly, as I think the way that Murdoch tells stories can often be very poignant and empathetic (such as in The Chalet Lines, a song about the aftermath of rape which I still cry to every time I hear it) and the music itself is wonderful, sometimes the band is guilty of making themes like trauma and attraction to the same gender just a way to make a character more unique, quirky, and appealing to male narrators and protagonists. Sounds male gaze-y to me - sorry, Stuart, the music is still beautiful! 

But is it indeed possible to be ‘twee’ and not to make blunders in your depictions of the female experience in your work? I believe so! In stark contrast, another band from Glasgow, Camera Obscura, formed in 1996 and paying homage to other Scottish retro-pop forebears, has adopted many musical and aesthetic similarities to Belle & Sebastian. Led by Tracyanne Campbell, their music often wraps melancholic themes in lush, melodic arrangements, such as on their dreamy 2000s project My Maudlin Career which deals with both the melancholia and mania of love from her point of view. Campbell’s often introspective and personal lyrics provide a counterpoint to the twee genre’s often male-dominated narratives, offering a female perspective that is both poignant and nuanced. I absolutely adore their most recent release, Look to the East, Look to the West, which came out in May of this year, so most definitely give that a listen if you get the chance. 

In summary, while I love the twee genre most for its emotional sincerity and nostalgic charm, aesthetically it’s also not immune to criticism from me. The lyrical content and aesthetic choices of twee bands often reflect either highly romanticised or deeply resentful perspectives on female issues that can perpetuate a one-dimensional image of women. Bands like Camera Obscura, on the other hand, challenge this narrative by portraying female experiences and emotions with authenticity and depth. While this genre offers a rich palette of emotional, romantic and aesthetic experiences, it’s also an interesting case study of how the male gaze can shape artistic expression. So it’s complex, as it always is with lyricism, but that said, it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the music. And for goodness sake, please do! Go and listen to If You’re Feeling Sinister right now, in fact, and soon you might find yourself making impulsive haircut decisions too…