Our collective dreams - visions of an ascension to stardom - came true shortly thereafter, when she was quite literally catapulted into pop paradise. Or, at least, that was the narrative I created for my little starlet. (Speaking of, where are they now?) She could now create the music she wanted to, without being forced into the music machine that future producers were obviously going to cram her into. Her fate was ironically sealed after not snatching that winning spot, as she'd go on to elevate herself even higher than past winners Kalan Porter or Melissa O'Neil. While her journey was cut short on season five, those who've followed any of the Idols know that it isn't the actual winners of these shows that go on to greater fame. I was captivated with this precocious bubblegum princess who wanted nothing more than to make it big.
As a keener production assistant on the TV franchise - where young Canadians aspired to dream as big as their American counterparts - I remember feeling as though my being there and her working her way up the ranks were somewhat cosmically connected. I recall seeing this 22-year-old hopeful on Canadian Idol for the first time in 2007 and recognizing that she was destined for pop royalty. Over recent years, Carly Rae Jepsen has become a go-to artist that myself and an army of "Jepsies" can plug into and immediately beam a little brighter as we listen to the pop tunes she so precisely masters. My pouty mood can do a complete 180 the minute one of her delicious tracks belts out of a speaker. A sonic scintillation, a sweet aroma for the ears, a warm-and-fuzzy for the soul. There's an undeniable wave of elation that rushes over me when the first few chords of "Cut to the Feeling" or "I Didn't Just Come Here to Dance" (or insert countless hits here) chime out. "Do you know what I mean?" I think queers, in particular, know what she means.ĭaniel Laurin is a PhD student in Cinema Studies at the University of Toronto. "I didn't just come here to dance, if you know what I mean," she sings. Over a house beat, the track tells the story of CRJ going to a club with the intention of catching the eye of her crush and leaving with him. But Carly cemented her queer icon status for me with the song "I Didn't Just Come Here to Dance," a bonus track on the deluxe edition of E She's played Brighton Pride, turned a festival outing into a Pride performance (inviting viral video star Mark Kanemura onstage to snatch literal wigs) and sported that Joan Jett mullet. It's not that Carly isn't leaning into her status as queer icon.
Did her label not think she could carry her own music video? And then there was the tour with Hedley - what was the vanguard of pop music doing opening up for this aging pop-punk-turned-arena-rock band?
It seemed clear that Carly's management didn't seem to know how to market this post-"Call Me Maybe" version of her. Gay men love an underdog: a pop star who's struggled publicly (think Britney, Kesha) or one who they feel has been mismanaged by their label (Tinashe, Ciara). And perhaps her relative obscurity is part of her queer appeal. Perhaps it's because these are particular queer pleasures. Though the album was the subject of several breathless Pitchfork features and made countless year-end best-of lists, it still remained that album that my straight friends kept "meaning to listen to." "Boy Problems" is a shimmering, shoulder-shimmying send-off bop whose accompanying Petra Collins video is cute and campy with that gauzy, of-the-moment aesthetic (which would later get Collins recruited to shoot campaigns for Gucci). "Your Type" is a sexy, heartbreaking jam that dares you not to you to mouth its lyrics while giving it your all on a sweaty dance floor.