Through the A Critical Look at Tiwa Savage’s Koroba Male Gaze and Oppositional Gaze

 

Tiwa Savage’s Koroba is flashy, bold, and unapologetically feminine. But beneath the catchy beat and glamorous visuals lies a deeper struggle one between control and objectification, between performance and perception. As I watched the video, I couldn’t stop thinking who really owns the image of Tiwa Savage in this piece? Is it her, or is it the camera, the audience, or even the industry itself? Using Laura Mulvey’s theory of the Male Gaze and bell hooks’ Oppositional Gaze, I want to explore how Koroba plays with the politics of looking especially when it comes to Nigerian Black womanhood.

Mulvey’s “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” argues that in most mainstream visual culture, women are positioned to be looked at framed for male pleasure. She calls this the male gaze, where the camera often mirrors the heterosexual male’s perspective. When I applied this to Koroba, I noticed that many of the camera angles placed Tiwa’s body at the center, not necessarily to tell a story, but to highlight her curves. From her slow walks to the close-up shots of her hips or chest, the camera seems to break her down into parts, often in a way that feels more like seduction than self-expression. But is that necessarily wrong? That’s where things get complicated. Tiwa is clearly aware of her power she’s not just a passive object. In fact, she owns the stage. Her lyrics mock the expectations placed on women (“If I follow politician, dem go call am prostitution…”), flipping the judgment right back at the society. So even though the visuals might align with Mulvey’s idea of the gaze, Tiwa is also controlling the narrative. She’s telling us: “Yes, I’m sexy. And what about it?” That contradiction is what makes the video so interesting to analyze.

Yet, even this form of confidence raises questions. Is empowerment still empowerment if it’s wrapped in a style designed to please? That’s where bell hooks steps in. In The Oppositional Gaze, hooks argues that Black women don’t just watch passively they learn to critique what they see, especially when those images don’t reflect their full humanity. For hooks, looking is political. Black women are usually left out of the mainstream visual narrative, or if included, it’s often through stereotypes. So when they do appear, the gaze needs to shift from one that objectifies, to one that challenges. Watching Koroba with hooks’ lens, I began to see how a Black feminist viewer might decode the video differently. They might recognize the pressure Tiwa is under to look and perform a certain way. They might ask Is she dressing like this because she wants to or because it’s what sells? Is this really freedom, or is it just a fancier form of being packaged? The flashy clothes, wigs, and luxury cars could feel like signs of success, but also signs of survival in a male-dominated, capitalist industry.

Still, it would be unfair to reduce Tiwa Savage to just a victim of the male gaze. She clearly plays with her image. She’s in control of the camera as much as it’s in control of her. In one scene, she stares directly at the lens, almost daring it to objectify her. That direct gaze is powerful it breaks the fourth wall and almost echoes hooks’ idea of “looking back.” It says: “I see you seeing me.” That moment feels like an oppositional gaze in action. Also, let’s not forget the Nigerian context. In Nollywood and Afrobeats, women often walk a tightrope between being desirable and being respected. Tiwa is one of the few who constantly refuses to choose she wants both. In Koroba, her persona is that of a woman who has seen the double standards and decided to live loudly anyway. But that doesn’t mean she’s free from the camera’s grip. Even if she’s in control, the visual language still feels like it’s made for male consumption. That’s the paradox. There’s also the matter of class and privilege. The video is shot in a way that glorifies wealth designer outfits, pristine sets, expensive accessories. It almost feels like Tiwa’s independence is being expressed through capitalism. But hooks might warn us that “freedom” that comes from wealth doesn’t automatically mean liberation especially if that wealth is tied to performing beauty for others. The danger is that viewers might mistake consumption for empowerment, missing the deeper critique hidden in her lyrics.

But I also think viewers especially Nigerian women can and do resist this reading. Many young women I know see Tiwa as a role model, not because she’s perfect, but because she’s flawed and still powerful. She’s not trying to be pure she’s trying to be real. And that to me, is where the oppositional gaze truly kicks in. Viewers don’t have to accept the camera’s framing they can reinterpret it. They can enjoy the aesthetics while also critiquing the system behind it. That’s what hooks meant when she said Black women could “look from a critical space.” It’s not either-or.

In conclusion, Koroba is a layered video. On the surface, it flirts with the male gaze splitting Tiwa into seductive images that could easily serve the male viewer. But underneath, it’s also a protest  against judgment, against hypocrisy, against silence. Mulvey helps us see how the camera might still participate in objectifying her, while hooks reminds us that Black women viewers don’t just accept what they’re shown they question, they push back, they redefine. Tiwa Savage doesn’t give us a clean answer in Koroba. She gives us tension, performance, power, and vulnerability all in one. And maybe that’s the point.