The Juno Position: Why Pop Has Always Been Sexy—And Needs to Be

Paris, the city of love, just met the position named after it.

On night one of her two-night stay in Paris for the Short n’ Sweet tour, Sabrina Carpenter performed her song Juno the way she always does—by acting out a different sex position on stage. This time, with the help of two dancers, she emulated the infamous “Eiffel Tower.”

Sabrina Carpenter performing "Juno" during her "Short n' Sweet" Tour at the Accor Arena in Paris, France on March 17, 2025.

Cue the headlines, the outrage, and the pearl-clutching: “Pop or just Porn?” screamed The Sun. On X (formerly Twitter), parents were outraged, critics were scandalized, and British MP Rachel Reeves is now under fire for attending the show with her 11-year-old daughter. All because a 25-year-old pop star dared to perform a racy, tongue-in-cheek set on a tour that includes songs titled Bed Chem and Juno. Shocking!

Sabrina Carpenter Performs 'Espresso,' 'Bed Chem' at 2025 BRIT Awards

Let’s get real: we’re living through a cultural whiplash. For all our supposed progress and open-mindedness, we’ve circled right back to moral panics and selective outrage. We are clearly entering—or re-entering—a conservative era, where artists expressing autonomy, sexiness, and raw emotion are once again accused of "corrupting the youth." The prudes are out of hiding, and they cannot shut their mouths.

Here’s the thing: pop music has always been sexy. Sex is part of its DNA, its marketing, its power. From Elvis’s hips to Madonna’s Like a Virgin, from Janet Jackson’s janet. album to Britney’s I’m a Slave 4 U, and yes—even to Sabrina’s sparkly knickers and lyrical innuendos. Sex in pop music isn’t new—it’s a tradition, a language, a form of rebellion and empowerment. What’s changing isn’t the content—it’s the audience’s willingness to accept that women, especially young women, can be both sexual and in control.

Sex and Pop: A Long-Term Relationship

Sex has never been an accessory to pop music—it’s been embedded in its foundation. Pop, at its best, is the music of freedom. It mirrors what we’re feeling, what we want, and what we’re scared to say out loud. And among the deepest taboos society still struggles with? Sexual expression—especially when it comes from women, young people, or queer artists.

This is especially true for female pop stars. From the moment women stepped into the spotlight in mainstream music, their bodies and sexual expression became both a canvas and a battleground. Janet Jackson’s janet. era in the 1990s wasn’t about provocation for its own sake—it was about liberation. With songs like That’s the Way Love Goes and Any Time, Any Place, she explored sex through softness, intimacy, and self-possession. It was nuanced, emotional, and controlled by her—not for anyone else.

Janet Jackson All For You World Tour

Madonna turned sexuality into both art and war. She dared the public to confront its double standards, asking: why is a confident, sexual woman so threatening? Britney Spears wasn’t even allowed that level of control—she was manufactured as a “virgin” and crucified the moment she matured. Rihanna took ownership, made desire powerful, and still got labeled “too much” the minute she leaned into her confidence.

Sabrina Carpenter now stands in that lineage. Her songs are full of innuendo, sure. Her performances flirt, wink, seduce. But what the backlash really reveals is this: people still can’t stand it when a woman is in charge of her sexuality. If Sabrina were a 25-year-old man performing the same lyrics in a suit, no one would blink. But because she’s blonde, petite, and came from Disney, there’s an expectation that she should stay quiet, clean, and nonthreatening. That she should perform for the male gaze, not with it.

What the Backlash Really Says

Criticism of sex in pop isn’t neutral. It’s not just about "the children" or "tastefulness." It’s almost always coded slut-shaming. It’s discomfort with women who are both sexual and self-assured. It targets those who are no longer performing innocence but claiming complexity.

And make no mistake: these critiques nearly always land on women. Male artists can sing about threesomes, wear nothing on stage, grab their crotches, and still be called geniuses. Meanwhile, women are told they’re vulgar, attention-seeking, or “trying too hard” the second they step into their own sensuality. And for women of color? The judgment is faster, harsher, and deeply racialized.

Pop music has always been one of the few spaces where these dynamics could be pushed back on. Where artists can say: this is who I am, and this is what I want—and not be shamed for it. That space matters. Because if we keep clutching pearls every time a woman sings about sex, what we’re really saying is that she doesn’t deserve to feel good, or be loud, or take up space unless we approve of how she does it.

So no—Sabrina Carpenter doing the Eiffel Tower on stage isn’t the death of decency. It’s just another reminder that we still haven’t grown up.