While this ethos – that girls are good and deserve positive ideas – was not complex, girl power boiled it
down to an almost petroglyphic essence, enabling it to fit neatly on pencil cases, notebooks and T-shirts. It
quickly became an affirmation – something the Spice Girls and their very young fans could yell to celebrate
the Spice Girls and their very young fans.
Teen idols have enthralled young people since the days of Rudy Vallée, and modern pop stars like Ariana
Grande and Selena Gomez have reaped the benefits of their legal guardians’ foresight as the Nickelodeon
and Disney audiences they cultivated as child stars have aged along with them. But the Spice Girls were
adult performers producing adult music that both appealed and was marketed primarily to children; music
for millennials back when they were still called “Generation Y”. Their biggest hits included explicit and
oblique references to “lovers” and sexual congress, they sang the praises of push-up bras, and by the end of
their first tour, half the group were pregnant. But the Spice Girls were never meant to pass as kids; their
skill was in depicting a young girl’s idea of adulthood.
The aura of Spice Girl success was sleepover antics-turned career. Promotional photos depicted them
spilling out of the same bed or piled onto a single couch, forever yanking one another into frame. In video
interviews from the period, they cling to each other, all arms wrapped around legs, draped over thighs,
tucked into neck crooks. While the average 30-year-old woman might prefer to perform some activities
without being literally shoulder-to-shoulder with her four closest buddies, for an anxious 11-year-old the
arrangement has obvious appeal.
‘Girl power’ boiled the Spice Girls’ essence so
it could fit neatly on pencil cases, notebooks
and T-shirts (Rex)And although the Spice Girls’ fans were old enough to understand they did not actually know the Spice
Girls, they were recent-enough expats from the world of imaginary friends that the members of the group
did not feel particularly far away. Being a Spice Girl seemed so easy and fun even a child could do it – and it
was possible to remotely participate in the Spice Girls at any price point, from a 25-cent Chupa Chups
“official product” lollipop to a $39.99 pink and purple Polaroid SpiceCam.
A cultivated air of regularness enhanced the illusion. The group members were capable but not
extraordinary singers, and sentient but unambitious dancers – a stark contrast to say, the regimented
perfection and musical aptitude of Destiny’s Child, whose virtuosic pop singles began topping US charts in
their wake. The Spice Girls were not intimidating: an average group of grown-up women in mismatched
outfits whose dominant personality traits were telegraphed by various solid-colour backgrounds. They even
had easy-to-understand, somewhat adjectival labels: whether Sporty (athletic), Posh (rich), Scary (outgoing),
Baby (young) or Ginger (ginger?), all were united by an antic pride in female dynamism.
That their token catchphrase was deployed a little excessively, and perhaps as marketing ploy, made the
sentiment no less salient for its target audience.