When I think about the white Disney pop stars I grew up with, I recall Hannah Montana and Taylor Swift playing both roles in the “You Belong With Me” music video which shook my whole world. The drastic shifts between the way they were treated because of a mere wig change added to their relatability or served as their main source of character development. A younger me understood that deep down it would never be a matter of just a wig change to become that blonde girl.
What brought me to “drivers license” admittedly was my Twitter timeline full of Pilipinx/Filipino friends rallying to stream the debut song by Olivia Rodrigo, a half Pilipinx singer and actor who has had recurring roles on Disney Channel. Make no mistake—I am not saying that “drivers license” is the representation we’ve been waiting for. The burden of representation is cruel and limiting to both artists and audiences. I initially listened to “drivers license” because she is Pilipinx; there’s nothing wrong with that. “Fandom while black: Misty Copeland, Black Panther, Tyler Perry and the contours of US black fandoms” by Alfred L. Martin, Jr. is one of the many research studies that are now taking into account racial identity and fan behavior. Diverse audiences have different fandom practices that center around responsibility due to scarcity. The behaviors of minority audiences is one of financial support and free publicity for mainstream media pieces and celebrities that speak to their identity. This could be a major factor in how “drivers license” became a runaway hit and gained the most streams of a song in a week on Spotify.
Rodrigo in “drivers license” music video directed by Matthew Dillon Cohen
The song is a perfectly immature heartbreak pop ballad with a bridge built for blasting in a car at night to let go of hometown memories. There is an addictive universality in the titular focus of “drivers license”— growth does not come without reminiscing. When Olivia Rodrigo sang about that seemingly omnipotent blonde girl, I reflected on the intersecting, overlapping insecurities from both white ethnocentrism and adolescence.
Connecting “that blonde girl” with “everything I’m insecure about” carries a heavier weight for BIPOC audiences. There is something damaging about having your vulnerability and your music taken into a wider discourse of white hegemony and representation for both BIPOC artists and listeners. Even an unassuming pop song echoes the feeling that our most innocent and universal expressions of insecurity and inadequacy are stained with the “white gaze,” a term coined by Toni Morrison that underscores the subconscious influence of white society on art and perspective. It is already devastating to feel that way from someone you love, and it might not be all about that blonde girl, but she is there nonetheless.
“That blonde girl that always made me doubt” is a nod to a beauty standard that has been used in the past to propagate racism, genocide, and class division. When thinking about how those structures have damaged the socioeconomic circumstances and lived experiences of BIPOC communities, it is common sense that it would affect how we listen to music. This might be the only analysis of “drivers license” that would focus on the second verse and what it means in the zeitgeist of whiteness and growing up. It is a critical observation—this verse means something more to a BIPOC person who is wondering if that unchangeable piece of their identity is hurting their chance to be loved. Part of uplifting BIPOC voices in music is also uplifting BIPOC audiences and how we hear music.
The second verse also fuels the story of a speculated PR stunt for an infamous Disney love triangle between Rodrigo, her co-star Joshua Basset, and Sabrina Carpenter. Sabrina and Joshua’s singles piggybacked Rodrigo’s runaway hit. Neither reached the same success and were slightly demeaning. Disney has butchered many diverse representations, while also centralizing whiteness as both an elusive beauty standard and normalcy. Disney profits off of hopeless romantics and has employed the mean blonde girl trope numerous times. It is easier to misdirect anger at one blonde girl than to be mad at whole corporations and socioeconomic systems that center white hegemony and profit off of BIPOC people. BIPOC audiences need more than just a pop love song from Disney; we deserve a whole world where we are not constantly recovering from the effects of racism, colonization, and capitalism. In an interview with Genius, Rodrigo explained that the most streamed song “All I Want” for “High School Musical: The Musical: The Series” was scouted by Disney+ executives from her Instagram. They originally wanted a song like hers, but not hers. We deserve more than just pop love songs, but clearly we are barely getting those too.
Rodrigo in “drivers license” music video by Matthew Dillon Cohen
Rodrigo is introspective and perceptive in “drivers license,” focalizing herself and her feelings in her relationships. “I kinda feel sorry for them/ ‘Cause they’ll never know you the way that I do” is a self-assured declaration with refreshing sincerity to tell your friends. Rodrigo is not asking for help nor the emotional invalidation that might come from unsolicited advice. Her reminiscing is her own. Getting your driver’s license is usually the mark of freedom and exploration, but Rodrigo is using hers to dive head first into the empty promise of forever and domesticity. That harsh realization is a little more heartbreaking than the actual heartbreak. Rodrigo recognizes her world view has been tainted in the sombering, Lorde-esque bridge. The bridge is a gut-wrenching, melodramatic departure from the song’s layered beats and simple melodies on the piano. Rodrigo’s wispy and weepy voice holds the kind of softness that makes you listen harder – there is solace and perspective in “drivers license” that everyone can appreciate.
I’ve grown up a little—bleaching my hair only for my own melodramatic crises, instead of proximity to whiteness. I have arrived at a point in life where I am actively navigating my Pilipinx/Filipino identity and working for more diverse media representation. A lot of the other pieces about “drivers license” were quick to call it cliche. It was as if we no longer needed more teen heartbreak ballads, because we have our Taylors and Adeles. The marketing and advertising of the industry has recognized how exploitable BIPOC audiences are because of their fandom practices. A cruel cycle of emotional and financial exploitation continues if we do not critique the larger systems at work and uplifting BIPOC audiences’ lived experiences. To me, to my Pilipinx friends, to anyone BIPOC who has been struggling to shake off some blonde girl making them—this song and the associations we distinctly relate to are worth centering on our own terms. Olivia Rodrigo’s “drivers license” is a bildungsroman of a song, one with racial nuance that is often hidden within pop music and pop culture.
Article by Silayan Camson