Kanye alters rap world's perception of masculinity

Kanye West isn't the guy you think of when you try to draw up a composite of a rapper.

He wears pink shirts and tight jeans and makes cute teddy bears his mascot. His latest release - December's "808s & Heartbreak" - is an Auto-Tuned break-up album worthy of Sade. He's got a tight friendship with gay fashion designer Marc Jacobs and was even pictured next to a guy wearing cheetah pants in a widely circulated photo taken in France.

West is not gay. He's actually dating cyborg-like supermodel Amber Rose. But in the world of hip-hop, guilt by association goes a long way.

Rappers have called him hetero-questionable, and they've got more than enough ammunition.

But because he's one of hip-hop's most prominent stars, West is forcing people to rethink their ideas about masculinity and homosexuality.

West's Roc-A-Fella labelmate Beanie Sigel, a jail-to-streets type, was one of the first people to tell West to "come out the closet." Partly to stir up publicity and partly out of genuine animosity, 50 Cent said in recent interviews that West is "try-sexual."

Whenever West pops up with a mullet or a heart pendant, it sparks a virtual game of pin the rainbow on the rapper. The rub is that it hasn't stopped West from being the top artist in a genre that is pretty much a clubhouse with a sign that says "No Gays Allowed."

It's almost made West a sort of accidental activist. Every so often he'll make a comment at a public appearance: "Where I come from, gay people were aliens," he once said. Or: "I think as straight men we need to take the rainbow back because it's fresh" - coy jokes about how he's had to break away from misconceptions he learned when he was young.

West may be toeing a complicated line, but his actions - not to mention his outfits - reflect the changing notion of masculinity within hip-hop.

Being a man used to be about being a patriarch: Own some land, be distinguished, head your family. These days, it's all about the chase. Chase money. Chase power. Chase women. Chase an image.

Michael S. Kimmel tried to explain it in his 1994 essay "Masculinity and Homophobia." Masculinity, he wrote, "is about the individual man's quest to accumulate those cultural symbols that denote manhood, signs that he has in fact achieved it."

That image depended on who you were trying to impress, and the way Kimmel explained it, most men are trying to impress the same people: other men. "Manhood is demonstrated for other men's approval," he wrote. "Other men watch us, rank us, grant our acceptance into the realm of manhood."

But the conditions for admission into that club aren't what they used to be. Yes, you still need money and power, but after that, everything is negotiable. Even in rap.

If rap had a constitution, the chase would be its founding principle. It's why songs about money, cars, and clothes never get old. West went through the whole materialism pledge process. He's worn chains. Flashed designer logos. Put barely clad women in his videos.

But at the same time, he's been pushing up against hip-hop's stereotype of gay people.

For a time it looked like the challenge to hip-hop masculinity might come from an out gay rapper himself.

In 2003, The New York Times presented such a figure, named Caushun, who was supposed to break down walls. The problem was that the story's description ("the weave king" who "can get fierce with some hair") only fed the stereotype. The writer, Toure', even acknowledged that the rapper was "campy and cartoonish."

Caushun has dropped off the radar - an outcome Def Jam cofounder Russell Simmons predicted in the article. "The hip-hop hardcore kid may think it's funny, may buy a single," Simmons told the Times, "but he's not likely to buy an album because you're not speaking to a lifestyle that they're aspiring to."

Rap fans can smell a gimmick. It's why Vanilla Ice flopped and Eminem is one of rap's best-selling artists ever. Gimmicks have an expiration date. Talent is always potent.

Enter Kanye West. The music is his machine. His style, influence, and image create a swarm of followers.

What do they find?

A psychologist named Robert Brannon came up with a four-pronged masculinity test in 1986 that should have doomed West the first time he wore a pink Polo shirt.

Rule 1: No sissy stuff - A real man must avoid any behavior or characteristic associated with women.

Rule 2: Be a big wheel - One must possess wealth, fame, and status to be considered manly.

Rule 3: Be a sturdy oak - A man must remain calm in any situation, show no emotion, and admit no weakness.

Rule 4: Give 'em hell - men must exude an aura of daring and aggression, and must be willing to take risks, to "go for it" even when reason and fear suggest otherwise.

You could argue rules 1 and 3 don't matter anymore. Super-producer Pharrell Williams can wear boots that look like Uggs because he's a super-producer. Andre 3000 can dress up like Cupid and carry a pink pistol on the cover of 2003's Grammy smash "Speakerboxx/Love Below." As long as his album sells, it's even OK for Lil' Wayne to be photographed kissing another man.

It's also why Kanye West can choose not to rap on his new album, but to sing one song after another about love and heartbreak.

For West, the fourth rule could be rap's new bylaw: Fear nothing, especially other men.

It's a stance that makes others nervous - and why West remains one of hip-hop's most compelling figures. Will other rappers choose to wear tight jeans and pastels?

Maybe somewhere, deep down, 50 Cent wants to sing too.