Ain’t I a lady?
Olivia Dean, black womanhood, and the quiet politics of image
Recently I’ve been Obsessed with Olivia Dean’s ‘Art of Loving’ album. I’ll be honest it’s grown on me, but once I got over the bombardment of Man I Need all over my socials I gave the whole album a try and I loved it. Dean brings the classical sound of Neo-soul and RnB back into the forefront of Britain’s musical landscape. With themes covering loving relationships, her independence and the process of becoming, The Art of Loving started to resonate with me deeply, in fact I think it unlocked something on an ancestral level.
The Art of Loving initiates an unimaginable level of peace, its calm dulcet tones unlocked a desire to return to the natural self. After this spiritual revelation I took on an Olivia Dean deep dive, watching her ascent into the spotlight, catching up on all her music videos and identifying a favourite song. And whilst A Couple Minutes is my favourite off the album so far, the one song that made a point of cultural interest to me was the song Lady Lady.
To me Lady Lady detailed the process of transforming from girl to woman, being constantly in the process of change whilst also trying to ground yourself in any coherence that you can find. Whilst the song alone clearly utilises feminist notions of the inner ‘man’ within every lady, the music video unlocked another layer of womanhood that is seldom talked about: black womanhood. The Lady Lady music video features a group of young black ballerinas who circle around Olivia Dean, and occasionally the focus of the videos shifts to principal ballerina Francesca Hayward, a Kenyan-born mixed woman, seemingly positioning her as a symbol of aspirational femininity.
Hayward’s mixed heritage adds another layer of depth to Dean’s video; she is often coded or lit in ways that align her with that ‘classical’ white ideal of ballet femininity. It’s not that she is white, but that ballet as an institution tends to frame proximity to whiteness as the standard. Hayward’s character acts as a layered statement — about performance, assimilation, and how even within Blackness there’s a hierarchy of acceptability in beauty and art. In the video, Hayward appears to represent the transformation of Dean herself, if that is the case, it’s interesting how different they racially look. Because of how Hayward is lit and her slicked back hair I didn’t realise she was black at first, but with Dean I wouldn’t question it twice. Their visual contrast in the video is striking. Dean’s natural curls and warm tones root her in her own heritage, while Hayward’s slicked hair and bright lighting frame her within a more Eurocentric ideal of femininity. Therefore, the transformation is no longer just about womanhood, but about the right kind.
As a former young black ballerina I wondered if I was looking too deeply into the hidden meaning behind the video, looking for something that wasn’t there. But there I was! Represented in every black ballerina in that music video. The young black girls in the ensemble represent innocence, potential and self-expression; they move freely and joyfully, without the weight of societal expectation. Before they realise that their pink tights don’t match their skin tone, that their bodies are different, that you’ll need a lot more hair gel to keep your hair in a slick bun. Then, the focus on Olivia in the middle of the group of ballerinas shifts, and her character transforms into Francesca Hayward’s ‘Lady Lady’ . The video is then put into a position of stasis, the tone constantly shifts: becoming a lady is elegance, restraint, perfection but also performance. Hayward is meant to be aspirational, she represents the symbols of idealised femininity society still reveres. Women should be polished, proper and demure - factors historically tied to whiteness and class. Olivia Dean’s Lady Lady video is very intentional in how it explores the process of ‘becoming a lady’ and who gets to be seen as one.
Dean’s video illustrates the cost of assimilation into a certain kind of femininity. One line that stuck out to me was ‘God, I used to love this hair’. If you know any black women at all you’ll be aware of the importance and pride that one takes in their hair and that it is not some misplaced vanity. This obsession has been bred from years of ‘othering’ and policing black afro curly hair. I myself grew up with people grabbing fistfuls of my hair, asking if it was real, asking if I had straightened it and calling me a parakeet in primary school every time they ruffled it (this one I still don’t understand because parakeets are cute and far from messy). Dean mentions it in the first 30 seconds of the song, emphasising its importance; the way hair becomes a metaphor for the expectations placed on black women - the quiet conditioning to smooth, to tame, straight over coiled, conformity over being free.
I sort of like that Dean hasn’t explicitly addressed the significance of race in her video, the act illustrates the quiet politics of image. This idea of quiet assimilation extends beyond appearance; it shapes how Black female artists themselves are received. It’s interesting that I haven’t seen much buzz around Olivia Dean’s political position as a Black artist who draws so deeply from African-American artistry. Even when scouring the internet for opinions on the Lady Lady video, I didn’t even come across a whisper of ‘representation’ or ‘inclusivity’. Perhaps we are used to it; content with displaying our anti-racism by not mentioning the significance at all. Ironically, I saw a video on TikTok about someone criticising Dean because they felt like she was being pushed upon them, which is a fair observation. Other comments expressed agreement, commenting on how she ‘makes soul music for Poppy and Tilly’, which although cutting, is not an entirely unfounded remark. Within the black public image Olivia Dean is palatable; she is attractive and lighter-skinned, softly spoken and effortlessly marketable. Olivia Dean’s visuals reflect a beautiful, nostalgic vibe, but beneath that softness lies a racial and cultural subtext that most people seem unwilling to unpack.
Is that the question Olivia Dean is really asking beneath the gentle melody and pastel light? Ain’t I a lady? What does it mean to become one when the world still measures femininity against whiteness, neatness, and control? Lady Lady doesn’t shout about race, it doesn’t have to — its silence is the statement. My immersion into Olivia Dean’s world has reconnected me with black music bred out of the pain, love, faith and resistance of the Black experience. We crave the feeling of soul, but forget the context that created it. Dean’s work lingers because it feels like both a celebration and a reckoning - being a lady is scarcely about the physical act of growing up but is often about refining the balancing act between performance and authenticity.