I have always maintained that topic should never determine a piece of writing’s ability to entertain or engage. Pop music, then, would seem to be as ideal a place as any to wind up the ol’ hot rod.

A short while ago, Willow Smith’s Whip My Hair shocked and awed my facebook news feed. All of my earnest intentions to see the new Karate Kid movie collapsed into a burning desire to waste a couple of minutes on Youtube.

Not that any of us should ever feel compelled to justify why we did or did not watch a music video, it would be extraordinarily difficult for anyone to argue that this video/song/product spread through our attention-deficit popular consciousness on any merits beyond brand recognition and market capitalization. If I was feeling particularly hurtful, I might suggest that Willow Smith is to Will Smith as Shark Tale is to Finding Nemo. But Willow Smith has won my heart and mind, so I will make no such disparaging remark.

Whip My Hair isn’t topping my most played tunes, but if I’m playing radio roulette I’d much rather hear Willow Smith than, say, John Mayer. If I had a nine-year-old daughter, I would much rather she spend her formative years programming her brain with Willow Smith generously spreading mantras of self-determination over top of a Samsonian kick drum ambling along like a drunken Tyrannosaurus than with Taylor Swift desperately mixing metaphors about owning some obtuse boy.

I’d like to think I’d raise a daughter who is capable of shooting someone rather than a daughter who is likely to shoot someone. There’s a big difference. But I digress.

My initial objection to Whip My Hair was the line:

Don’t let haters keep me off my grind. Keep my head up, I know I’ll be fine.

Willow Smith is one syllable away from having arguably the most recognizable name in contemporary popular media. As a pop princess, she’ll never have to worry about haters keeping her off her grind or whether or not she’ll be fine. These are both very real concerns for the rest of us. Maybe it’s little more than clever marketing, but I feel it’s commendable that Willow Smith isn’t addressing her issues but our issues. I could sit here all day whining about how she’s disingenuously pandering to a commercially-viable demographic monstrosity, but that would ignore the reality that she is offering that demographic something tangible, regardless of how she’s doing it.

Gifting her subjects with hope is the fundamental function of a princess, pop or otherwise. In a time where the existence of royalty is no longer necessitated, we have, for reasons I don’t comprehend, elected to celebrate it anyway.

I appreciate the return of the favour.