Queering the Prisoner Escape Narrative: Lil Nas X’s “Industry Baby”

“Industry Baby,” the third single off of Lil Nas X’s 2021 album, Montero, alongside its music video, constitutes a queering of the prisoner escape narrative, a form often recognized and even heralded for its masculinity. When I mention prisoner escape narratives here, I am referring to a broad genre that includes memoir and journalism but is primarily composed of popular fictional stories such as The Shawshank Redemption and inflated real-life accounts like Escape from Alcatraz. These narratives generally focus on the experiences of straight white men, with Black men playing into the “magical negro” trope or else portraying stereotyped imaginings of incarcerated Black men.

In the video for “Industry Baby,” the artist seeks to subvert harmful stereotypes, particularly those about Black queer people in prison, by deposing them visually. He shows joy in the prison, reclaiming the space from a place of “social death” to one of movement, of dance, and of pleasure.

A Still from Lil Nas X’s “Industry Baby”

Set at Montero State Prison (named after the musician’s original name, Montero Lamar Hill), the rapper and the others incarcerated are seen wearing pink jumpsuits instead of the customary orange. Even the traditional white sneakers, often used to identify the formerly imprisoned upon release, have a rainbow decal on the back. Uniforms are customized with crop tops, shirtless styles, and accessories. This is not allowed in any US correctional facility and, in fact, baring skin and the use of accessories are not even permitted among visitors to most facilities. The sartorial rebellion immediately signifies a refusal of the forced order of the prison. Making these dehumanizing uniforms both creative and queer is in itself a reinterpretation of what constitutes incarceration.

Lil Nas X and his fellow prisoners are seen dancing in the communal showers, which is the setting for prison rapes that are joked about too often. In a 2015 essay, Ijeoma Oluo argues that:

[p]rison rape, and the way in which we talk about prison rape, is punitive and gendered as well. Prison rape, and the language of making someone “your bitch,” is an exercise in power and degradation. The prisoner doing the rape is the man, the prisoner being raped is reduced to the woman. When we rub our hands in glee at the thought of Holtzclaw being “reduced” to the status of his victims, we not only perpetuate this gendered and punitive justification of rape, but we further dehumanize his victims by reducing them to their violation.

Such flippant attitudes make light of sexual violence but also expose fears about Black male sexuality and “gay panic.” In contrast, dancing in the showers is sexy, joyful, black, and queer for those at Montero State Prison. They stake a claim to the prison showers as something other than the butt of a joke about sexual assault.

In another scene, the musician dances with the phone while producing music. People using prison phones in booths is one of the most common signifiers of prison life used in mainstream films — a visual reminder of the division between prison and the free world. But in hip-hop, the prison phone has been used to record music. Examples include Supa Nate’s track on Outkast’s Aquemini and entire albums by artists like Gucci Mane. The prison phone is an expensive corporate creation, but these artists employ it to oppose its intended purpose. Lil Nas X uses intertextual references to popular movies as well as the hip-hop traditions that they are both redefining and making new.

The sartorial rebellion immediately signifies a refusal of the forced order of the prison. Making these dehumanizing uniforms both creative and queer is in itself a reinterpretation of what constitutes incarceration.

Lifting weights has been a popular pastime at prisons that allow it, but by participating in a stereotypically masculine sport, Lil Nas X makes it queer. Not because he is queer, but because he challenges the formal attributes of the sport. Since at least the 1980s, powerlifting and strength training have been encouraged by prison officials. In 1987, one prison official from Kilby stated:

Powerlifting here is a form of rehabilitation. When a man gets incarcerated, he generally goes one way or another. He either gets sloppy mentally and physically or he stays active. It’s one way of helping inmates to stay in ‘good shape’, both mentally and physically, and ready to get back into the mainstream of everyday living when they get out.

Prison yards are typically used for weightlifting and competitions that are associated with it, but those detained in the video are seen using this space for dancing. Even when Lil Nas X and their collaborators participate in masculinized prison activities, they are challenging conventions with their uniforms and with their dance.

The employment of a book as an escape method places emphasis on the value of books to prisoners while also being vital to the tales Hill is disputing. States like Pennsylvania have tried to completely outlaw books in prison because they have been used to transport illegal narcotics and weapons, even though there is little proof of validity or usage in this claim. Even if there is some truth to the matter, outright bans on books are exaggerations evidently being used to discourage the dissemination of knowledge in prisons. It is also a reference to the “trope of the talking book” as is explained by Henry Louis Gates Jr. in The Signifying Monkey. Lil Nas X once again tackles prejudices and harmful policies that oppress black queer folks on parole by mocking fear of the book and by using the tool hidden inside to reenact the escape sequence in The Shawshank Redemption.

Similarly, both Lil Nas X and Jack Harlow subvert the role of the electric chair. The video uses the electric chair as a means to dance and express joy. Importantly, Jack Harlow is seen seated in the chair while Hill operates it, as nearly 40 percent of those who face capital punishment in the United States are Black. Jack Harlow’s whiteness gives him the space to disrupt the chair’s representation as Lil Nas X works the controls.

Later in the video, a distracted white guard watches the hitmaker’s music video as Lil Nas X escapes and attacks him. Here, we see the subversion of the idea that Black gay men and nonbinary people are perceived from a binary viewpoint — either as entertainment, sexual or otherwise, or as a threat to dominant heteropatriarchy. The guard’s distraction is just enough for him to flee while also showcasing the sexual voyeurism of the white guard.

It is worth noting that the two rappers depart the facility aboard buses that are used to ferry prisoners between detention centers but are never operated by the incarcerated themselves. Hill rides on top of the bus with a visual of the towers burning in the background. Here we see him using the materiality and architecture of the state to challenge their existence.

Here, we see the subversion of the idea that Black gay men and nonbinary people are perceived from a binary viewpoint — either as entertainment, sexual or otherwise, or as a threat to dominant heteropatriarchy.

The average prison referenced by the aforementioned prison official, as well as in the films noted to be implicitly straight, is something Lil Nas X counters in their video for “Industry Baby.” As the prisoners experience life in Montero State Prison and then leave, Lil Nas X simultaneously draws attention to the experience of Black queer people in prison and also challenges the traditional prisoner escape narrative.