See, no matter how many times you don a black bodysuit and the bedazzled gloves you lovingly hand-stitched to reenact the by now ubiquitous wedding dance floor song "Single Ladies"—pause for a minute to appreciate how many 11-year-old girls have done that in the last four years—you'll never be as good as Beyoncé.
And that's what's to love about the great Queen Bey. She's a machine. She's untouchable. And she makes us feel fierce, by proximity.
Beyoncé's Midas touch is something she's well aware of, and she's advanced it strategically, indulging and delighting her vehemently devoted fans while embracing what spectacle—a staple of her performances—affords her: "the license to live vicariously, to visualize, to fantasize. To be bigger than yourself, bigger than life."
Over the course of her career, she's sculpted, coiffed, and polished her image to build a persona so globally recognizable, so singularly powerful, that it's departed from being anything remotely attainable to become something revered and ethereal. And perfect—which is what she says she strives for.
Even on Instagram, so named for its spontaneity, Beyoncé presents a clean, curated image that evenly projects each facet of her persona: In one photo, she bares her enviable midriff, further solidifying the organic sex appeal that gave life to the Oxford-approved term bootylicious; in another, she posts handwritten thank-you notes to her fans for their support in her philanthropic efforts. And lest you start to feel too distanced from her, there are reminders that she can be ghetto fab like the rest of us: a late night snack of Aiki noodles with Tabasco sauce, photographed on what looks like a fold-out card table. (And its intended effect is achieved: If you actually doubt that @Beyoncé could/would eat a cup of noodles, you ain't as real of a fan as you think. #teamhood #teamdirtysouth #teamquickmeals wrote one fan.)
It's that appearance of flawlessness that's kept her fans—who give new meaning to the term "fanatical" by readily adopting their status as worker bees—patiently anticipating an album that was expected in April. They wait because they know it's worth it. They wait because she is their Queen Bey. While she drafts new hooks and melodies, they'll hold their arms in the air, practicing: palm, knuckles, palm, knuckles.
The fifth album of her solo career has been in the works since summer of 2012, when she was in collab conversations with the likes of The-Dream, Timbaland, and Sia. Bits of the songs have been released via Pepsi commercials (Beyoncé's been tight with the soda brand since endorsing them in 2002) and clothing line H&M promos, but Beyoncé won't put her stamp on the album until she likes it, and that's not until it's dip-it, pop-it, shake-it, drop-it perfect. When you've sold 75 million records worldwide and won 17 Grammys, what choice is there?
Perfectionism, though, is a high-stakes game. "There's something really stressful about having to keep up with that," Beyoncé told her fans in her recent autobiographical film Life Is But a Dream, which, in true Beyoncé do-it-all fashion, she directed and executive produced. "You can't express yourself, you can't grow."
Surprisingly, the remark comes off as rather genuine; sure, it's a plea for people to empathize with one half of a billionaire couple, but it's a legitimate grievance. To keep the critics at bay and tabloids starved for dirt, Beyoncé has to behave every day in top form. There can be no flying off the rails, no emotional breakdowns. She can't afford a wardrobe malfunction, or a public gaffe spoken into a mic accidentally left on. What Life Is But a Dream intends to prove is that Beyoncé is human—and it does, to an extent. As Billboard said of the film: "The well-oiled, media-trained, hit-making machine has a heart. And it's huge."
That Beyoncé has a kind heart is no surprise if you're familiar with her philanthropic track record—she gave a quarter million dollars to Hurricane Katrina relief; helped raise $1 million to aid Haiti after the 2010 earthquake; and recently signed on to Gucci's widely successful Chime for Change campaign to promote equal rights for females. But there's something exceptionally satisfying about the reminder that Beyoncé has the same fundamental DNA as the rest of us.
(Well. In theory, at least. Few of us, doused in glitter head to toe and contorted into impossible positions would look so delicious as Bey does in the photos featured herein.)
From here, we leave the story of the Queen Bey to a tried and true method: asking the questions and letting Bey tell us what we need to know. Bow down.
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