“R”- Rihanna’s “AntiDiary” as Dichotomous Hyperrealism

In a world where traditionalism is further antiquated and meta-modernity is praised, French philosopher, Jean Baudrilliard speaks in depth about the ways hyperreality fosters in today’s society, specifically one where the velvet rope (Jackson, 1997) blurs the line between overexposure and familiar interiority. Rihanna’s 2016 LP, ANTIis a powerful contribution that exhibits the bad girl’s way of honestly coping with her self-reflection in a realm full of smoke and mirrors.

What this author finds very special about the project is not just the aural pleasure each song embodies, but the visual superfluities that both introduced the album, and her personal vision as a bonafide superstar. Using Baudrilliard’s philosophy regarding hyperreality, as well as Sevan Bomar’s commentary (aka “The Keymaker”), I will analyze the ways that Rihanna’s AntiDiaryseeks to explain the dichotomy of darkness and light through Fenty’s protagonist, “The Innocent.” This in turn will explain how introspection is envisioned as an effective instrument in understanding not only Rihanna’s vision, but our own internal process.

Room 1: The Bedroom

The Beautiful Girl Awoke…

The story concludes at its beginning. The protagonist awakens in consciousness in her childhood bedroom, while an anonymous source contacts her cellular phone, where an accompanying message scrolls across the screen in Braille. Braille influences the record from its album art, as well every single (in some form) from the album. Two children (a boy and a girl) play in a room while a speculative Rihanna looks on. Considering that being in this room, where one dreams and constructs their reality, the two children are embodiments of the dream, one that Rihanna recollects while growing up in her native Barbados, which is scribbled on the wall as if a child wrote it.

My cocoon will shield The Innocent for now, but she will surpass me.

This cocoon, acts as a shell for the butterfly she is destined to become, as well as a protective shield for the dream she was destined to have. This corporeality encapsulates her, and like an egg, is designed to fissure, in order for her reverie to materialize. “The Keymaker” reveals the plot twist: There are two sides to every story. As she “wanders into the dream,” the two children holding hands peddle backwards into a dimly lit hallway, as she stumbles upon a key marked R8(which was the working title for Antiduring the promotion of the album.) She observes the key, as the room’s ambiance shifts to an aquatic blue (which in irony, is symbolic of Rihanna’s zodiac sign of Pisces). This blue is also symbolic of the Matrix in ways, as the color blue was reflective of the atmospheric tone associated with as Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne’s character in The Matrix (1999)) would call it, “the desert of the real.” This realness, is reflected in Baudrilliard’s “Simulacra and Simulation,” where signs and symbols define the peculiar institution that she was placed in. She seeks meaning as well as purpose in her quest for her dreams while in the observable world. As she commences to wander into the dream, the two children transmute into a little child, with a golden crown (also ornamented in Braille) over her eyes. What is very interesting about the young one is the composition of her visual representation, which is reflective of the qualities the two children possessed. I immediately perceived the young child to be Rihanna as she dreamed of herself, which in essence appears very uncharacteristic of the dream set for her. I say this, because the gender labor of her performance solidifies an ideal eccentricity in the construction of her future self, as it pertains to her perception at that time. In other words, the little girl personified who she was. As the “blind” one wanders back into the hallway, the diary turns to “The Innocent” walking innocuously into an interdimensional tesseract (Smith, 2015) where the singularity in the black void is a pristine porcelain piano, with two accompanying speakers in the northwest and southwest corners behind her.

Room 2: The Studio

The Innocent does not see her power. YOU WILL MAKE HER BELIEVE.

Around her neck is a black ribbon adorned with an ornamented key. The use of color is very important in this room as it reflects the duality of oppositional forces. The white tones represent the virtue of naiveté through her corporeality, as well as the untapped ingenuity inherent within the communal practice of music she encounters. This contrasts against the blue tones, which connects the dream world and the void she is embarking into. “The Innocent,” childlike in nature, is the connection between the void and the dream itself. She as the host, sheds her skin while tapping into the spiritual force, which noticeably alters her dimension, as the phone on the piano reveals another message that she ignores. The scene pans through the void, akin to a black hole cosmology, where the observable tesseract highlights the singularity, “The Innocent” is then joined by a flank of shadowy wraiths, all dressed in Black, standing in unison, as a sentient “Innocent” leers at the camera. What is revealed is how music is a transformative experience both for the viewer as well as “The Innocent” as a catalyst of the Ultimate Dream. The scene goes completely black and formless, where “The Keymaker” (Sevan Bomar) articulates, “There is no end, only new beginnings.”

Room 3: The Closet

The Innocent Must Be Broken To Fly

“The Innocent” opens the double doors to her closet, and walks toward an authoritarian (in Black and White uniform) militantly upright standing East adjacent to what appears to be a wormhole, while her handmaidens each come through passageways parallel to “The Innocent,” all stoic in expression, while “The Innocent” advances toward the authoritarian (who also is adorned with Braille on her visage). A hand appears from the other side of the wormhole, showcasing a young child with the Braille-adorned crown over her eyes, as “The Innocent” and the workers look on from the other side. She begins to emerge from monochrome, as “The Keymaker” states, which is reflected in the uniformity of the workers, who all wear Black and White, aprons, bonnets, and coiffed hairdos. The interiority of the closet is also Black and white (with the blue still being ambient in tone). The dream world becomes the real world to “The Innocent,” which in itself conceals the naiveté of “The Innocent.”

Only in Darkness will she truly see.

The dichotomy of Darkness and Light is reflected in this room. The blinded girl is trapped in darkness unable to visualize what is around her, while “The Innocent” is blinded by everything that she does visualize, including her own innocence. In theory, they are both trapped in darkness, even when in light. “The Innocent” then walks through the portal, and encases herself in darkness. Her appearance changes, becoming dark and monotonous, which is in direct opposition to what “The Keymaker” invites the viewer to do. “The Innocent” becomes an illuminated revenant against the very innocence she embodied previously. However, it is this darkness that would change her, for the presumable better. On the other side of the wormhole, the viewer witnesses the authoritarian and the handmaidens quarreling over how to handle the impending situation of “The Innocent.” The authoritarian, still embroidered with Braille on her face is wrapped in measuring tape. They are all (g)hosts of routine, who as the artist BOOTS would say, “work 9–5 just to stay alive.” (Knowles, 2013). As the light flickers on in the room, they awaken and their passion rouses them. The authoritarian restricts herself, sticking to her vocation, which ironically exposes the charade, that everybody is conscious about, except for her. She naïvely wears her emotions in plain view on her face, namely due to her acceptance of the dream. The authoritarian acts as an omen that “The Innocent” unknowingly accepts.

Room 4: The Tattoo Parlor

I will gladly wear the Mark of Rebellion.

“The Revenant” meets the Tattooist in the parlor, and relates to him on an interpersonal level due to their commonality as vessels of rebellion. Considering that he, too, is kept in darkness, his thoughts influence him to wear his psychological self as a suit of armor. His body being “marked up” (Destiny’s Child, 2004) is indicative of the anguish that he feels being externally disconnected. “The Revenant” acts as a remedy — a therapeutic one- where kinetic energy flows from his body orifices after “The Revenant” writes “ANTI” backwards on the seat of his pineal gland- so that he can believe it himself. This mark of rebellion is symbolic of his want of individuality, as well as his need for personal autonomy, a need that is so graphically intertwined with his physical exteriority as a canvas. Handing her the tattoo gun is relinquishing a form of control, which in his vocation shows the man behind the mask that he cultivated. However, he regains a great deal of control once he welcomes the mark of “The Innocent.” This torment is reflected in both his workplace, as well as his outward anguish. This is the first time the viewer also witnesses the scenario without the blue filtering, going for a much more even lighting. This lighting issuggestive of his placement in her dream. The intersection of their paths reveals the line between the dream and the reality, his lack of positionality within her world vs. her ownership of existentiality within his. “The Revenant” acts as a messianic figure for “The Tattooist,” and the result is becoming more in tune with his own existentiality in the process.

Forever is all he knows.

The Tattooist becomes subservient to his own creation. What this means is that his want of escapism actually deceives him, and his own thoughts act as a Cross that he bears (visually) for the rest of his life. This is the forever he knows, and is the forever that he dreams of. For example, his tattoos meant something, past and present, and will be looked at as a physical demarcation in contrast to society, or rather a veil that both conceals and uncovers the deeper meaning. The Tattooist reaches for the Door, but it remains out of reach due to his positionality as a rebel. This Door (like many other doors in the other rooms) are viewed as doors of Opportunity, ones in which there are keys that offer gold at the end of the journey. However, not everyone has these keys. What this divulges is how recovery is volatile, especially when those deemed reprehensible in mainstream society are not guaranteed forms of liberation. This enrages The Tattooist, and causes various bouts of frustration until he witnesses the young girl with the crown over her eyes, crossing her arms in an authoritative manner, which pacifies him as he reaches out to her, much like what he did to the Door. However, what we later find out is that his foreshadowing of the little girl with the crown as well as “The Revenant” previously is a hallucination, much like the beliefs that decorate his corpse, all of which he ascribes to his psychology in order to feel humane. Thus, his forever is tied to the very tattoo gun that he utilizes to embellish the canvases of others, as well as himself.

Room 5: The Shell

Beasts of the Field blind her path. They know not what they do.

This room is the climactic point of the dream, and one of the most intimate parts of the Story. In this room, we do not see “The Innocent” or “The Revenant,” but “The Shell.” I say “The Shell” because of how her newfound glory results in praise and admiration from those of the field. The field in this case is likened to the society-at-large, so to be a “beast” of the field is to be an advocate for carnality. With the AntiDiary,the growing fan base of the protagonist consumes the seeds that are sown in the field, which results in a groupthink mentality. Rihanna (the artist) is the central figure, and as a star is subject to both the criticisms of her fan base, in addition to everyone around her. The intimacy is stripped away from her, and in her bathroom (which is also White, positioned in an all-white room), we see her for the first time since her innocence was transmuted. Like that of the messianic figure of Jesus, the beasts of the wild are symbolic of the hostile Jews that crucified the Son of God. What the viewer sees is a shell of who the protagonist really is, which is a great privilege compared to the silhouettes that align the opaque walls. They blind “The Shell” both literally and psychologically, even when they are not aware of their actions on a trans-molecular level. I say this, because the juxtaposition of the darkened apparitions against the White cocoon where the protagonist unwinds in a bathtub, I recollect Phylicia Rashad’s pronouncement of “One” by Ntozake Shange (1976), where the young woman acts as an incubus, living off of the spirits of the dead (much like Morpheus’ interpretation of the Matrix to a conscious Neo). Her solitude is restricted to her bathroom, and it is this intimacy that explains the fine line between privacy and celebrity. The only touch she receives is from the water she submerges into (which appears to be as opaque as the very barriers that keep the apparitions at bay.) In essence, they are just as void of feeling as she has become. What is special about this scene is the baptismal effect that the water has on her body, a form of spiritual healing that rectifies her, much like “The Tattooist” that she seemingly helped before. This in turn prompts the inquiry of whether she appeared to him at all. She all but immerses fully into the water, until she recalls the little girl with the crown over her eyes also looking through the opaque wall, which acts as a form of motivation in fulfilling her dream. She later arises out of the water as the same kinetic energy flows from her crown. In this moment, she is as formless and void as the shell she is encased in. In actuality, she has become one [of the chosen] singularities in the observable universe, except this time she is aware of her power, while at the same time disdaining it.

Treasures lie where sand and stone meet.

As hip-hop artist Ms. Lauryn Hill states in “War of the Mind (Freedom Time)” from her album, MTV Unplugged 2.0, “only water can purge the heart/from words to fiery darts” (Hill, 2002). Much like Hill, water acts as a restorative compound that ironically is symbolic of the sensitivity she absorbs being in the public eye. The child wearing the crown performs labor akin to John the Baptist, where her hand moves across the water as a healing force, and introduces sound as a blockade against the very tongues that stir against her. By turning the music box over the water, it is she who turns the water opaque releasing the sand (one formless compound) over it, and it is she who baptizes “The Shell” unknowingly. The treasures that lie between sand and stone are the very “prayers” that lurk in the shadows. To shut them out is to become more of a singularity (or peculiarity), which underlines the very binary between being nebulous or frozen (Madonna, 1998). Sound acts as a form of ambivalence, which both rebuilds and destroys, and in this moment, “The Shell” recognizes the frequency as a positive attribute rather than a negative one. Thus, one of the formidable forces of nature revives “The Protagonist” through the formation of a neurological connection between “The Shell” and the observable world.

Room 6: The Gallery

Lift her. Let her see. Truth lies only within the self.

“From this world to the next, I will shape her into her true form.”This transformative moment where “The Innocent” becomes “The Revenant” while in her closet changes her representation as she relates to the wraiths who shadow her. The Gallery is the society that she wanders into, and the commonality she shares with the wraiths further blinds them all. As she walks forward, she only sees her own reflection, and her philosophy shapes her in the newfound world she unknowingly creates. She becomes the light for those ontologically misled. However, one would suggest that she remains unaware of it, because her truth- is literally mirrored around her. The young girl with the crown is the Light of the Gallery, but doesn’t recognize it. “The Revenant” doesn’t look back at her spectators, and only travels onward, unaware of the wave (West, 2016) she causes as a vibratory reaction, which leaves everyone energy-deficient (except for the young girl with the crown) as “The Revenant” takes the center stage. The physical reaction of “The Revenant” walking through the crowd prompts the question- does anyone ever really notice their power-including the wraiths who are observing her? The only emotions that are reciprocated is in the very reflections that she views around her, and the wraiths view in front of them — including “The Revenant.” She has become their light.

He sees the Innocent. They all do. She takes solace in their gaze.

After the fulfilling experience of “The Revenant,” the wraiths have returned to their perceived positionality, much like the handmaidens in The Closet. This is very significant because their passion depletes once “The Revenant” leaves, and noticeably affects them all. It is the young girl with the crown who comes from the back of the room, and congregates among them. Still blinded in sight, she relates to the masks they don corporeally and acts as a voice. In fact, her hushing the crowd not only subdues them, but ordains them, and is the only voice we hear through the visual film. What we can discern from this room is that “life is not a fairytale.” What this means is that while the moment is very powerful, once it is done, it becomes a memory, one that can be both influential and cautionary. “The Revenant” unknowingly becomes the sacrificial lamb while the young girl with the crown acts as an outsider, who inevitably provides the wraiths with what they lost, and what “The Revenant” has gained — Light. I instantly thought of the idea of collateral beauty, and how falling can be viewed as a form of splendor, much like the macaella dip popular within the Ballroom culture, and how simply existing can be a life-altering experience for all involved.

Room 7: The Office

“The Revenant” arrives at the Office of Glitter, Glints, & Gold, a metaphor for the varying degrees of light- a reference to the level between sand and stone- that she encounters during the revelation of the story. Her story which is presumably the end becomes the beginning, where she finds the truth behind the charade. The workroom she is introduced to is a cubic stronghold of four seasoned male workers (possibly accountants) wearing black pants, white shirts, suspenders, and black visors vigorously inputting into gold-encrusted typewriters surrounded by golden walls embellished in Braille. Golden coins scatter the floor as an astonished “Revenant” looks on. She turns around to find the young girl with the crown over her eyes. She removes her crown and hands it over to “The Revenant,” who places it on her head. This is the last time we bear witness to the young girl, whose face the viewer has never seen. The room then goes pitch black, and “The Revenant” is surrounded alone in darkness, except for the last door far into the distance. It is at this time she sees her true self — alone in the void, yet accomplished in her dream. However, her isolation is reflective of the very isolation that followed the young girl with the crown. It is she who is “The True Innocent,” imprisoned in darkness, because the Dream that she had as “The Innocent” was incomplete without her. Like the character of “Elizabeth” (Phoebe Cates) in the black comedy, Drop Dead Fred(1991), the older Elizabeth rescues the younger Elizabeth in the dream world she is trapped within.

Slaves to the coin are ever present. Open her eyes, make her see.

The institution of business is likened to a beautiful prison, with a yellow brick road encrusted with Braille epithets of glitter, glints, and gold that the viewer never has the opportunity to decipher. The workmen are oblivious to this as well, unwavering in their vocation. Their work ethic is unified, much like the handmaidens who gave her instruction while in The Closet. Their cadence is overtly monotonous, and this continues until a worker “expires,” and is replaced with a substitute, who waits in the lobby. The secretary removes his “love” — which is represented as a gold coin — and opens the doors as two men drag the deceased over a floor of scattered gold coins, as the substitute looks at the emotionless glare in his eyes. He moves into the open position and commences into the same cadence as the others, as the Secretary looks on as the doors close. The idea of love as a coin is the price of fortune, which would essentially stifle the radical imagination of “The Innocent.” The coins scattering the floor are the misled souls who have come before her (and him), and is indicative of the generational curse that finances the beautiful prison itself. An example of this is in Kanye West’s record, New Slaves (2013), where slaves are created both in private-owned prisons as well as through commercial institutions for the interests of monetary gain. The dream is sold with the promise of wealth, at the expense of corruption of the self. What we find is that these symbolize the hard work it takes to create he entity that is “The Revenant”, even to the point of expiring for a just cause. The problem is that “The Revenant” is now the spearhead as well as the exemplification of this exploitation, acting both as scapegoat and martyr, to which as Romans 5:7 would suggest, many people would perhaps die for.

Room 8: The Anteroom

All ends at the beginning.

“The Revenant” opens the door to the same room where she found the first key labeled R8. Her crown in tow, she comes full circle, except the wraiths are visible, guarding the entryway to the bedroom, which is noticeably decrepit, covered in silt. Consciously aware more than when she began, she disregards a message on her cell phone, and finds the two children on the bed, sleeping. She rests alongside them, and glances toward the sky at the luminous full moon. The scene then cuts to the two children at play in the silt, much like before, and the young girl points toward the moon, which depicts in its place, a visualization of “The Revenant,” stoic in expression, as the camera goes dark.

In conclusion, the AntiDiary in its totality is an accurate interpretation of the societal influences that dictate the movement of not only those trapped in darkness, but those who embody the light. To return to one’s beginning at the end of their journey recalls the various experiences that has shaped the individual to become who they ultimately will be. This influence is both unavoidable as well as contrived, in unequal parts. What I mean by that is in the case of “The Innocent,” she is the product of both the dreamers (the two children) and the observable universe. As she returns home, she pockets the knowledge of the very sand she traversed, and transmutes it into stone, which shapes her into “The Revenant.” In the sentiments of the Akan people, she personifies the Sankofa, an ideology of looking back in order to move forward. However, with this comprehension, she starts a new trajectory, which is where Antibegins. Above all, the Braille still engraves the crown she willingly accepts, and preserves. However, she still doesn’t have much understanding of what wearing the crown entails, much like the society who acknowledges her Light. Where the story (never) ends, is where it also begins.