In the mid-1990s, during my time in a writing program, two men at a department gathering in a mundane classroom dismissed my aspirations because of my clothing choices. They insinuated that my preference for dresses and vibrant colors undermined my credibility as a serious poet. Their condescending remarks, coupled with offers of more drinks and a suggestive invitation to their apartment, highlighted a pervasive sexism. This experience echoes a 1977 Barbara Walters interview with Dolly Parton, where Walters rudely questioned, “You don’t have to look like this, you’re very beautiful, you don’t have to wear the blond wigs, you don’t have to wear the extreme clothes, right?” Dolly, in a gentle yet firm tone, delivered a classic Dollyism: “I would never stoop so low to be fashionable, that’s the easiest thing in the world to do.” Walters pressed further, asking aggressively, “Do you feel like you’re a joke, that people make fun of you?” Dolly’s response was iconic:
“Oh I know they make fun of me, but all these years the people have thought the joke was on me, but it’s actually on them. I am sure of myself as a person. I am sure of my talent. I’m sure of my love for life and that sort of thing. I am very content, I like the kind of person that I am.”
This self-assuredness is powerfully amplified in Dolly Parton’s 1987 hit, “Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That.” The song cleverly reverses the typical objectification dynamic, turning the tables on men. Lines like “why’d you come in here lookin’ like that / in your cowboy boots and your painted on jeans” place the blame squarely on the man for his physical presence and its distracting allure. This track is more than just catchy; it’s a raucous and fast-paced anthem that includes an exhilarating a cappella key change late in the song. The raw, almost guttural delivery of “Why’d” is nothing short of heroic.
Alt text: Dolly Parton smiling confidently in a vibrant outfit with big blonde hair, highlighting her signature glamorous style and defying conventional expectations.
This vocal technique, the “throat rattle,” has been a weapon of defiance wielded by women country artists for decades. From Brenda Lee’s 1957 “Dynamite” to Carrie Underwood’s 2006 “Before He Cheats,” this sound embodies a refusal to be silenced or diminished. The throat rattle is an exclamation of feminine power, an unrestrained expression of vivacity. Emerging from deep within, it carries a risky edge, a potent force born in the vocal cords. In “Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That,” this sound is tough, emphatic, and used just sparingly enough to maintain its impact and keep listeners engaged.
Almost every woman has encountered a “Barbara Walters” figure who attempts to slut-shame, invalidate, or ridicule her. Most women are acutely aware of their bodies’ perceived value in a world that often seeks to define them by it. The daily act of dressing becomes a complex equation: confidence multiplied by safety, plus courage, divided by rape culture. Each day, in our choices, we answer Dolly’s pointed question. Like many, I have navigated life using my physicality to gain attention or ensure my livelihood. Now, listening to “Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That” again, that throat rattle resonates as something profound – it sounds like survival.
