If you're a teacher (as am I), then you know the type: vibrant personality, yet prone to moments of sullenity; outgoing, yet private; eager, yet recalcitrant; most likely to shoot to the top of the stars if she/he doesn't shoot herself/himself in the foot first. Much more often than not, these students usually doom themselves with bad decisions in every facet of their lives, and we just shake our heads. Such promise wasted; such amibition self-thwarted. In "Don't Let Me Get Me," Pink sees herself in much the same fashion, but she's already triumphed because she's passed the first step on the road to success: self-awareness--know thyself. She admits she has a problem--but I think she's misidentified it.
In this song, she seems to see herself as self-destructive, but I think she may be confused--or may be just conflicted--as to the exact nature of her problem. She states that she's tired of herself, that she's tired of letting herself down, tired of herself, tired of the way her individulistic nature has curtailed her career. She's refused to conform, and--according to the song--that refusal has led to her frustration. "L.A. told me/You'll be a pop star/All you have to change is/Everything you are." This assertion by her record-company (co)owner--or, figuratively, by the city; or a mixture of both--irritates her ("I'm tired of being compared/To damn Britney Spears") and--in a surprising admission--depresses her ("She's so pretty/That just ain't me") so much that she wants to change identities completely. She wants to be the pop star so that she won't have to transform into one. She'd rather lose her identity so that she won't have to change her identity. She's sold on the fact that her personality can't sell--and that it can't change--and she sees this as her problem. She's wrong.
I think she knows it, too. I think some part of her--the part of her crafting this song rather than the part of her that is the subject of this song--knows this. Why? Because she wrote the song. She took more control of her music and started playing and singing the songs she wanted to play and sing (as the music on her first album--all hip-hop/R&B/rap based--was entirely selected for her). If we look closely, we can see the artifice--and the artist--behind the art, and that observation usually indicates a poorly written or formulaic song. Not here. In "Don't Let Me Get Me," Pink the artist and Pink the art sublimate themselves into each other, phasing back and forth, and we're never quite sure exactly where Pink stands. Is she the proud non-conformist? Is she ashamed of her individuality? I think it's both, though it's not a case of hypocrisy, not a case of having her cake and eating it, too. No, it's a case of having her cake and throwing it away, both at the same time--or one action followed by the other. Take your pick. With some (a bit overly) slick Cyndi Lauper-esque keyboards backing her (and some terribly produced drums and guitars), Pink fascinatingly takes hers; I'm just not sure which one she takes. That's why I have to listen to the song again. And again. And again.
P.S. If you watch the entire video, you'll notice a cameo by actress (and independent film goddess) Lili Taylor. Taylor's first major role was in Nancy Savoca's 1991 bittersweet romance Dogfight, about a girl name Rose who's taken on a date on a bet because she's the ugliest girl in the room. Not only does Rose look different, but her interests are different than the majority of those surrounding her, and Rose is steadfast in her belief in herself and her ideas and her ideals. Perhaps Pink is channeling her inner Rose in this song--or perhaps she wants to be someone like Rose--or, maybe, Pink sees Rose as the part of herself that she detests. Dunno. Great movie, though.
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