Shania Twain walks in the desert, carrying an oval leopard print suitcase, wearing a leopard long coat with hoodie attached and matching bralette. Her hair has been dyed a shiny copper red.
She sits on her suitcase, tapping the ice white rock and dances in place. She shields her eyes, searching for a car. She puts her heel on her suitcase, waiting. She sticks her thumb out.
In the burning heat, a man drives by on a motorcycle.
Against a blue background, orange smoke billows from two steel pipes in the ground. The sky turns to dusk, while raspberry red smoke appears.
The man stops for her and takes off his helmet. He pats the seat next to him.
Against a tiger orange sky, she runs her hand over her midriff.
She shakes her head no and walks away. She continues to watch, sticking out her thumb.
A man driving a semi stops. He waves her inside. She waves goodbye and turns back around. The semi follows behind her.
In the desert, she turns the lever in the ground.
A man in a vintage car stops for her. He leans his head out the window and she waves him off. He slams his hands on the steering wheel, ticked off.
A man, with a mud streaked face, stops. He pours water all over himself and she guffaws.
A man on a horse, dressed in a black robe, gallops towards her. He offers her hand and she brushes him off.
She sticks out her thumb again.
The leopard-print jacket, bralette with a matching suitcase seems as though it were designed by the gum-smacking, middle-aged mom next door, attempting to be model her own daughter’s fashion by taping an advertisement of Seventeen magazine on her sewing machine. Then, she lifted the leopard-print rug off the floor and began to make an outfit (choker stolen from daughter’s jewelry box).
Pretty men bore Shania Twain. The men may believe all they have to do is show up and look good in order for her to get in their vehicles. She blows them off, choosing to walk in the searing heat in her platform high heels.
She is right to reject most of the men, even though she believes they are smug and too self-involved. But it’s after viewing them past their faces.
With each passing guy, they display troubling signs that she is likely safer on her own. Semi guy chooses to follow her down the road, the vintage car guy has some anger issues while the guy in the black robe is outright scary. Only the mud-streaked guy who seems to be seeking validation deserves a second look.
Prettiness, it turns out, isn’t the problem. It’s their behavior and how they present themselves. However, after the last guy, the video seems to miss its own point. Even a man covered in a robe isn’t worth her time. Without an unconventionally handsome man to give her a lift, it seems as though her expectations are too high. She cannot think beyond simple stereotypes.
Director: Paul Boyd Year: 1998
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