Supermodel, mentor, philanthropist, reality TV judge, actress, author, soon-to-be fashion designer. Naomi Campbell contains multitudes.
The world knows her as one of the original supermodels. As a runway oracle, “Naomi” is synonymous with “model,” but modeling is not the only thing she’s known for. During her almost-four-decade-long reign at the top of pop culture, Campbell has become the subject of fan-favorite memes (“do not compare yourself to me,” in the reality TV show The Face), graced our screens as herself (Ugly Betty, Making the Cut) and in character (The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Empire), and even penned a novel, Swan (well, with a ghostwriter). Next month, she’ll be christened as a fashion designer during New York Fashion Week when she presents her collaboration with PrettyLittleThing, and let’s not forget she is currently fronting Vogue’s September issue as one of the “greatest of all time.” Buried somewhere under all of this, however, is her debut album, Babywoman, which was released at the height of her Super fame in 1994.
Babywoman was titled after designer Rifat Ozbek’s loving nickname for Campbell, and while it has since left our collective imagination, it remains dear to many a fan’s hearts. I was introduced to the wonders of would-be pop-star Naomi by Vogue’s entertainment director, Sergio Kletnoy, who must be one of a handful people in the world who still owns the original CD, and was introduced to it from episodes of MTV’s House of Style and Fashion File. “My introduction to Naomi outside of modeling came in 1991, when she sang the hook and appeared in the music video for the title track of “Cool As Ice” by Vanilla Ice—the idea of a supermodel singing was so foreign to me, maybe that’s why I was so intrigued,” he says. “Based on the producers and writers alone pulled together for this album, you know she was taking it seriously! It was a cast of cool kids who don’t work with just anyone. It had all the components to be a successful album, but our society loves nothing more than to put limitations on people and, because most only saw Naomi as a model, her music career fizzled way too quickly.”
Now, I’m not a music expert. My musical tastes are as wide-ranging as my expertise is limited in the subject. But I will say this: Babywoman is a good time. A great time, even. It’s nothing short of the kind of pop culture artifact that we should appreciate more of today. A supermodel dropping an R&B album? Iconic. If Bella Hadid were to release an EP today… I know better than to promise that it would be any good, but what I can assure is that it would reach cult-favorite status swiftly. This is the kind of stuff the internet—particularly the queer and fashion-obsessed corner of it I like to call home—lives for. (See also: Paris Hilton’s excellent “Stars Are Blind.”)
Campbell is not listed as a writer in any of the tracks. What’s most commendable and redeeming about Babywoman from a purely commercial standpoint is that she did not just make a cheesy pop record. Gavin Friday, the producer and musician who worked on some of the songs, said in a 1994 interview: “She doesn’t want to make a typical record,” he told Hot Press, “she wouldn’t drag me in, and I wouldn’t go into the studio just for the sake of it. She comes from a background where she was trained as a dancer and a singer, one of those Shirley Temple backgrounds, and then happened to be picked up as a model when she was 15. I think her first big break was when she danced and sang at a Boy George concert, and then she was on his ‘I Tumble 4 Ya’ video when she was about 13.” He had me at “Shirley Temple” and won me over with Boy George. But it’s true, as Kletnoy says: “Based on the producers and writers alone pulled together for this album, you know she was taking it seriously! It was a cast of cool kids who don’t work with just anyone.”
As you may have guessed, Babywoman was unfortunately a commercial and critical failure, and it failed to launch a pop superstar career for Campbell. It saddens me to think of what could have been if not for everyone’s lack of vision. The album did not chart in America and the United Kingdom (though its one single to receive a video, “Love Tears,” charted at number 40 in the UK), but it was “big in Japan.” Now I know that’s the punchline for when albums flop in America, but Babywoman actually was big in Japan, which is why it sold over a million copies worldwide.
But what’s most puzzling about Babywoman is that, despite Campbell’s status, it never became the camp classic it has the potential to be. There’s nothing like Campbell’s singular tone uttering the words “Je m’apelle Naomi” in the title track, or her quiet and somewhat breathy rendition of Donna Summer’s “All Through the Night.” “Ride a White Swan” is a…fun moment, while “Life of Leisure” is simply great vibes for, well, living a life of leisure by a pool somewhere. But the true and real treasure in Babywoman is “Love Tears.” It’s sexy, moody, and, just like Campbell, I too would like to know how to separate love and tears.
We were robbed of Campbell’s career as a pop star, and of the looks she would have worn onstage (imagine all the Versace!). It’s fine. I’ll live. But justice for Babywoman. As the kids say, and as I told my group chat after my first listen: Naomi Campbell ate that.
Listen to Naomi Campbell’s Babywoman here.
