Music Critic Esme Chen reviews Paris Paloma’s latest single, describing it as a ‘haunting exploration of womanhood’
TW: eating, self-punishment
Paris Paloma is an artist who has quickly established herself as unafraid to speak with both conviction and a carefully restrained anger. Her breakout single, ‘Labour’, became synonymous with feminist discourse across platforms such as TikTok, while ‘Miyazaki’ offered a sharp, contemporary critique of artificial intelligence and creativity. With ‘Good Girl’, Paloma turns inward, crafting a track that is quieter, more restrained, yet arguably more insidious. It is a haunting exploration of womanhood, exposing the exhausting and often futile pursuit of perfection imposed upon women’s bodies and behaviours.
At its core, ‘Good Girl’ interrogates what it means to be “good,” and who defines that goodness. Paloma presents femininity not as something innate, but as something constructed- performed, rehearsed, and continuously maintained. To be a “good girl” is not simply to exist, but to act: to be palatable, agreeable, and sanitised at all times. This performance is both learned and enforced, suggesting that “goodness” is less a moral quality and more a social requirement. Crucially, a performance implies an audience. The song gestures towards the ever-present gaze under which women exist- scrutinised, judged, and pathologised. Yet even in the absence of that gaze, its logic persists. Women are taught to internalise it, to become both performer and observer, engaging in constant self-surveillance. In this way, Paloma suggests that the role of the “good girl” is sustained not only by external pressures, but by the internalisation of those expectations.
‘Good Girl’ does not rely on explicit depictions of consequence; instead, punishment is implied, ambient, and unavoidable.
This is where the theme of punishment becomes central. ‘Good Girl’ does not rely on explicit depictions of consequence; instead, punishment is implied, ambient, and unavoidable. It lingers beneath the surface of the song, shaping behaviour without ever needing to fully reveal itself. The result is a dynamic in which “goodness” is motivated not by virtue, but by fear. To be good is to avoid harm—to pre-empt criticism, rejection, or violence. By the song’s conclusion, this system of control has evolved further: external punishment is no longer necessary, because it has been internalised. The speaker regulates herself, enacting the very discipline once imposed upon her. This shift is perhaps the most unsettling aspect of the track, revealing how deeply these expectations have been absorbed.
Alongside this enforced performance lies a powerful undercurrent of repression- most notably, the repression of anger. Within the framework of the “good girl,” there is no space for defiance, confrontation, or emotional excess. Anger, in particular, is rendered incompatible with femininity and must therefore be suppressed. However, ‘Good Girl’ makes it clear that such emotions do not simply disappear. Instead, they are buried, accumulating beneath the surface. The song is characterised by a palpable tension: its delivery may be soft and controlled, but it carries the sense that something is being held back. This creates an atmosphere of simmering intensity, as though the speaker is on the verge of rupture. Importantly, Paloma reframes repression not as diminishment, but as amplification. The more this anger is forced down, the more potent it becomes, transforming from something forbidden into something powerful.
It is within this tension that the song’s gothic and witch-like qualities emerge most clearly.
It is within this tension that the song’s gothic and witch-like qualities emerge most clearly. Historically, cultural narratives have divided women into binaries: the obedient “good” woman and the dangerous, transgressive witch. ‘Good Girl’ subtly invokes this dichotomy, positioning the witch as the suppressed double of the “good girl”- the embodiment of everything that must be hidden or denied. Paloma cultivates an atmosphere that feels almost otherworldly, drawing on gothic traditions in which repression gives rise to haunting, rather than resolution. Emotions do not dissipate; they linger, distort, and return with greater force.
The song’s repetition – particularly of phrases like “good girl” and “heaven is a fed girl” – takes on a ritualistic quality, resembling a chant or incantation. These repetitions can be read as a kind of disciplinary spell, reinforcing the boundaries of acceptable behaviour and maintaining control over the speaker. Yet, as the song progresses, this dynamic begins to shift. The very act of articulating these constraints exposes them, and in doing so, destabilises them. The track itself begins to feel like a counter-spell- an act of resistance that disrupts the conditioning it describes. In this sense, the gothic element is not merely aesthetic, but structural: it allows the song to move from repression towards the possibility of transformation.
The song’s quiet intensity becomes its greatest strength, allowing it to function not only as an observation of control but as a subtle act of defiance
Ultimately, ‘Good Girl’ is not just a critique of societal expectations, but an exploration of how those expectations are internalised, embodied, and, potentially, resisted. By framing femininity as performance, punishment as pervasive, and repression as generative, Paloma constructs a narrative that is both unsettling and empowering. The song’s quiet intensity becomes its greatest strength, allowing it to function not only as an observation of control but as a subtle act of defiance. In giving voice to what is typically suppressed, ‘Good Girl’ gestures towards the possibility of breaking free from the role it so carefully dissects.
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