Sometimes I worry about Drake.

I don’t mean like, whether or not he’s eating enough leafy greens. (Judging by how fit he’s looked on Instagram, it seems like he is.)

It’s a few things really.

I worry about how much credit Drake gets for being, essentially, a kind and hot dad-of-a-guy, sensitive and well meaning, just looking out for women. According to his lyrics, though, he’s not. He’s often kind of creepy. He’s been in the business of telling women how they should and are allowed to be long before “Hotline Bling,” but the viral technicolor jam best illuminates his patent patronizing, patriarchal tone.

“Hotline Bling,” in short:

Drake and a woman used to be involved. The woman would call Drake, often, for late night love. As you do. But then things changed. Whatever was between them ended.

The woman: You and I are no longer involved and we don’t even live in the same place anymore. I’ve moved on and—

Drake: I’ve noticed you wear fewer clothes now. This must be a direct result of how you and I no longer living in the same city. Also, who are your new friends? Why don’t I know them? You used to be a good girl! You used to stay at home!!!

The woman: Drake, that’s kind of sexist. And how do you even know what I wear these days? I thought I blocked you??

Drake: Why don’t you ever call me anymore?

The woman: Drake we aren’t even dating or anything I don’t—

Drake: **elevator music outro**

His anti-feminist politics are my first worry, for sure. Then comes, related, and a little more complicated, the worry I feel about the white feminist perception of Drake, of the inevitable white think pieces about black misogyny.

And worse, how everything under the white gaze these days feels like consumption to me. The other day I sat out of a talk I wanted to go to because I just couldn’t take a room full of queer white people consuming a queer person of color. It would have just been listening, but it would have felt like a buffet, a crowd picking their teeth with familiar bones.

It feels almost the same when the white people behind me in the dining hall are sitting around a laptop laughing at the “Hotline Bling” video (not even parody vines or anything, but the original damn video, this late in the game). A girl says, “Gosh, look at all those butts. Usually, at least, there’s a reason for all the butts.” There are no women, apparently, attached to said butts. Afterwards, I imagine the people at the table sucking their teeth clean.