Who is she exactly and what is she saying?

 

Tiwa Savage’s Koroba is a music video that talks about the relationship between politicians and young ladies who are eventually tagged as prostitutes in society. Koroba is more than just a song or even a music video; it gives the audience something to reflect on and acknowledge the truth behind her lyrics in society. At first, it looks fun and stylish; we see a bold Nigerian woman dancing confidently, owning her space despite the news going on about her. The video shows her in beautiful outfits, glamorous locations, and scenes that highlight wealth, power, and rebellion. But when you look at it critically, especially using Laura Mulvey’s Male Gaze theory, you begin to see that the way the camera captures Tiwa’s body, her movements, and the setting may be more for visual pleasure than true empowerment. Add Bell hooks’ Oppositional Gaze, and you get another layer — how Black women can challenge the way they’re shown. This critique uses both lenses to ask: Is Tiwa Savage being celebrated here, or is she being packaged?

According to Laura Mulvey, the Male Gaze is how media is often created through the eyes of a man. In her 1975 essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.”, she said “The presence of woman is an indispensable element of spectacle in normal narrative film, yet her visual presence tends to work against the development of the story line” this says that women are placed in films more for how they look or can be perceived by the audience rather than what they can contribute to the development of the storyline. This means women are filmed, shown, and presented in a way that pleases men, so usually their bodies are often “stylized and fragmented by close-ups” so the audience sees more of their curves than their character. In Koroba, there are moments when Tiwa’s body is shown not just as part of her dance but in a way that invites the audience to admire her curves, her legs, and her sexiness. The camera often zooms in or lingers on these parts, especially when she’s moving to the beat. It feels like the audience has to look at her not just as a singer or speaker but as an object of beauty and desire. That’s how the Male Gaze works. Even though Tiwa is in control of her music and performance, the camera still draws attention to her physical appearance more than her message.

But let’s not stop there. Bell hooks also says something, the Oppositional Gaze, an oppositional gaze is a way that a Black person in a subordinate position communicates their status. She believes Black women have the power to look back, to refuse what the media tries to make them believe about themselves. In Koroba, Tiwa is not quiet. She’s saying things many women feel but don’t always get to say out loud. She calls out the double standard between rich men and women, especially how people judge women who date powerful men. Lines like “If I follow a politician, you go hear am for paper, them go call am prostitution” show people immediately judge women. So, a Black feminist viewer watching this might not care so much about how the camera tries to sexualize her. They’ll see her boldness, her intelligence, and the fact that she’s using her platform to talk about real struggles. That’s what the Oppositional Gaze does: it focuses on truth over packaging.

Still, we have to admit that there’s a thin line between empowerment and commodification. On one hand, Tiwa is owning her voice. She’s confident, stylish, and strong. On the other hand, her image is being sold. The makeup, the clothes, the body language all of it is part of a brand. The music industry loves this because it sells well.

And when empowerment becomes something to market, it starts to feel less like freedom and more like a product. Yes, she’s the one singing, but the visuals are designed in a way that could easily please a male viewer before they even listen to her words. The message gets blended with the medium, and it becomes hard to tell if she’s being fully celebrated or slightly used.

This matters because how women are shown in music videos affects how society sees them. If the only way Black women are portrayed is through sexiness, curves, and confidence without depth, then people will start to believe that’s all there is. Tiwa may be saying something powerful, but the images still follow the same patterns: high heels, glamorous outfits, luxury settings, and dance shots that focus on her body. A regular male viewer might just enjoy the view. A critical female viewer might wonder: “Why don’t we see more of her story?” Why don’t we hear about her thoughts, her fears, her strength in other forms?” This is what happens when the Male Gaze dominates — women get seen, but not fully understood.

So, what does the Oppositional Gaze offer us here? It reminds us that even when a video seems to follow the usual formula, viewers don’t have to accept it blindly. Black women, especially, have the power to reject the roles the media tries to give them. In Koroba, that means looking beyond the sexy shots and see what Tiwa is actually doing, speaking up. Her words criticize power, inequality, and the pressure on women. She’s using her platform to create space for real talk. That in itself is powerful, even if the video isn’t perfect. The camera might try to pull us one way, but we can choose to look the other way.

And honestly, this kind of representation is very common in Nigerian music. Women like Tiwa are praised for their beauty and boldness, but not always for their brains or ideas. The visuals tend to follow the same formula — luxury, body, attitude. And while there’s nothing wrong with showing off, it becomes a problem when that’s all that’s ever shown. Tiwa’s Koroba is unique because her lyrics go deeper. But will everyone catch that, or will the flashy visuals cover it up? That’s the question. And it’s the exact reason why we need to keep using these lenses, Mulvey’s to recognize patterns, and Hooks’ to push back against them.

Tiwa’s video is layered. She’s playful, bold, and unapologetic. She’s not trying to please anyone, yet the system she works in still benefits from the same old patterns where sex sells. The Male Gaze is there, but so is her voice. The Oppositional Gaze allows us to hear her.

Even if the camera wants to distract us. The real win is when viewers start to see both the beauty and the brain, the glam and the grit.

In the end, Koroba isn’t just about dancing or looking good. It’s about power, who has it, who’s watching, and who’s being watched. It’s about a Black woman refusing to suffer quietly, refusing to play small, even if the camera tries to reduce her to an image. That’s what makes this video worth talking about. And that’s what makes these theories more than just classroom ideas, they help us see what’s going on.