Laura Mulvey’s Male Gaze and bell hooks’ Oppositional Gaze critique of Tiwa Savage – Koroba (Official Music Video)

 To begin with, Laura Mulvey’s concept of the male gaze is rooted in the idea that women in film and visual media are primarily presented as objects of heterosexual male desire. This is evident in Tiwa Savage’s Koroba music video, where the camera deliberately lingers on her body, her curves, movements, and facial expressions, they are highlighted in slow motion and angles that emphasize sensuality. While the song itself contains themes of financial independence and the pursuit of pleasure without guilt, the visuals often contradict this empowerment by returning the viewer’s attention to Tiwa’s physical appearance. The lighting, costuming, and use of mirrors and reflective surfaces further reinforce this gaze, inviting viewers to consume her body as a spectacle rather than engage with her message. Furthermore, the mise-en-scène situates her within traditionally luxurious yet controlled environments: elaborate interiors, fine clothes, expensive jewelry, and aesthetic sets that commodify both her femininity and Black beauty. This aligns directly with Mulvey’s assertion that mainstream media constructs women as passive recipients of the male gaze, where the woman becomes spectacle, and the man the spectator.

Moreover, the narrative absence of male figures in the video does not necessarily mean liberation from the gaze. Instead, the absence may work as a strategic illusion, giving the impression of autonomy while still encoding a hypersexualized femininity designed for male pleasure. The camera becomes the male figure, its perspective substituting for actual male presence. For instance, when Tiwa bends or poses suggestively, the camera’s low angles or sweeping zooms contribute to a visual language historically rooted in male dominance over how women are seen. In this way, the male gaze is not merely a matter of presence but of framing and aesthetic control. The irony here is that while Koroba lyrically challenges patriarchal hypocrisy, particularly criticizing men who exploit women yet judge them, the video’s visuals remain embedded in patriarchal codes of desirability and control. All in all, the tension between lyrical content and visual execution complicates any claim that the video fully escapes the constraints of the male gaze.

Going further, bell hooks’ theory of the oppositional gaze invites us to rethink how Black female audiences might resist or reinterpret such representations. According to hooks, Black women have historically developed a critical gaze as a survival tool, a way of looking that interrogates rather than accepts dominant portrayals. When viewed through this lens, Koroba may offer multiple layers of meaning to different audiences. While some may see objectification, others might interpret Tiwa’s control of her sexuality as an act of defiance. Unlike passive representations, Tiwa appears aware of her desirability and manipulates it to her advantage. Her eye contact with the camera, confident gestures, and the assertive tone in her lyrics suggest an active reclaiming of her image. As hooks argues, “to stare at the television…to gaze at the screen was an act of resistance” for Black women. Thus, for viewers who share this critical consciousness, Koroba becomes a space where the traditional male gaze is acknowledged but strategically undermined.

Additionally, Tiwa’s performance of wealth and sexuality can be interpreted as a challenge to both white and Nigerian patriarchal expectations of modesty, submission, and silence. By singing lines such as “I no come this life to suffer,” while adorned in glamorous clothing and assertively leading the screen, Tiwa positions herself as a subject of power rather than an object of desire. This can resonate with African feminist audiences who understand the complexities of navigating agency in a society that commodifies women while demanding their humility. Moreover, the absence of male characters could be read not as reinforcement of male presence via the camera, but as a refusal to center men in a narrative about female choice. In this reading, Tiwa’s control over her image is not perfect autonomy, but a strategic assertion within a constrained space, a form of resistance that is still meaningful.

Additionally, one must consider how Koroba contributes to the representation of Black Nigerian femininity, especially in terms of how it is constructed for both local and international audiences. In Nigerian society, women are often judged harshly for embracing visible wealth or sexuality. Tiwa’s unapologetic presentation thus confronts the cultural policing of women’s choices. By declaring her right to luxury and pleasure, she steps into a controversial yet necessary role in reimagining what it means to be a powerful Nigerian woman. The aesthetics of the video, elaborate gele headpieces, traditional motifs mixed with modern outfits, combine to create a fusion identity that resists simplistic categorization. This blend challenges viewers to see Nigerian femininity as both rooted and evolving, spiritual and material, traditional and continuous.

At the same time, this portrayal opens up criticism from those who may feel she appeases to Western beauty ideals or that her message is compromised by capitalist aesthetics. Nonetheless, it is important to recognize that Tiwa is not just a product of these systems, she is also a producer who actively shapes them. Through her art, she provokes discussion about respectability, class, and gender in ways few other pop artists in Nigeria have managed to do. She dares to center pleasure in a society that often denies women public ownership of it. In this regard, her work aligns with bell hooks’ belief that oppositional gazes are not merely critical but also creative, they offer new ways of imagining freedom. Tiwa’s representation, then, becomes a site of struggle and possibility: not wholly liberated, but not entirely complicit either.

In conclusion, the "Koroba" music video is a complex mix of objectification and empowerment. It uses elements of the male gaze but also allows for oppositional readings, especially from Black feminist perspectives. The video doesn't give easy answers about who controls Tiwa Savage's image but sparks important conversations about power, performance, and representation in the music industry.