David Bowie: Imp of the Perverse? Pied Piper of pansexual androgyny? Avatar of ubercool subversiveness?
No. Bowie was naught but a glittering tool of the entrenched patriarchy, a painted idol of avant-glam who fronted for The Man's dominant-paradigm purposes, by serving as a pansexualized lightning rod, a channel to attract and sublimate the repressed and perversive urges of youths who might otherwise have put them into action. Kids who might have felt an obligation to get their freak on, in freaky ways, could instead work all that out of their systems by proxy, vicariously, harmlessly: go get a Bowie album. Let your readily-purchased, mass-produced, prepackaged freak flag fly.
Marilyn Manson serves much the same purpose today*, but at least he's more up-front about it.
I'm ah, totally kidding. That's some real high-class horseshit right there! Bowie's alright. Catchy tunes: check.
I also enjoy his acting.
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