Americans of all stripes are mourning the loss of singer and philanthropist Dolly Parton, who died on Aug. 26 at the age of 80.
The outpouring of grief and mourning has exposed the complex and often contradictory identities Parton inhabited.
She was self-proclaimed poor “trash” from rural Appalachia — and proud of it. She regularly wore loud makeup and big hair, and had even bigger breasts, but she made sure she was taken seriously as a businessperson by the music establishment and Hollywood. She was a multimillionaire who connected with the working class.
Musically, Parton was a symbol of traditional country music, even as she crossed over into pop music in the 1980s. And she was a queer icon, yet, in her honor, the loudly anti-queer Trump administration ordered that flags be flown at half-mast.
Her complexities and contradictions reflected Parton’s enormous contributions to American history and culture, which crossed all sorts of ideological lines and made her genuinely beloved.
Dolly Parton’s aesthetic and style allowed her to celebrate a background that traditionally had been scorned. Women who were visibly sexual were branded trashy or sluts, and terms like “poor white trash” and hillbilly denoted racial and class hierarchies.
Parton, however, dismissed these historical connotations from her first days in the spotlight. She admitted that her style was “gaudy,” or “tacky,” and confessed that as a little girl she idolized a woman her mother called “trash.” She responded with, “Well mama, I want to look like trash.” She also embraced the “trash” label to talk about her hyperfeminine body presentation, which included ostentatious costumes, long nails and big hair.
As Parton’s star grew in the 1970s, and she refused to adopt markers of high-class femininity, she forced a rethinking of how society characterized women who had long been maligned for their sexuality and poverty.
For instance, in 1971, she released one of her biggest hits, “Coat of Many Colors,” which talked about her poor upbringing and a colorful coat that her mother made for her out of discarded rags. Her classmates ridiculed her, but rather than feeling ashamed, she felt pride in her “new” coat. This story demonstrated the hardscrabble, can-do spirit of the working class and illustrated the love Parton held for her family and her people.
The song’s reception also highlighted Parton’s unique knack for reaching multiple audiences. While its cultural dynamics shined through initially, years later, the song gained a new dimension when it became an anthem for LGBTQ Americans because of its message of pride in one’s self and the colorful similarities the coat shared with the LGBTQ pride flag.
“Coat of Many Colors” reflected how, throughout Parton’s career, her work subtly advocated for the marginalized. Nothing epitomized this better than “9 to 5,” one of her most famous songs and acting roles. In 1980, Parton released the iconic song as the theme for the movie of the same name.
The movie spoke to women, who were entering corporate America at an unprecedented rate. Yet, the Supreme Court had not yet declared sex discrimination illegal, and they encountered an environment full of glass ceilings, discriminatory language, sexual harassment and societal expectations to succeed even while maintaining a traditionally gendered home life. The song and the film took a clear stance: women belonged in offices and deserved to be treated with respect, regardless of their hair color or bust size.
In particular, Parton’s character Doralee spoke directly to the constraints clerical and administrative workers faced. Increasingly, as America deindustrialized, women constituted a growing percentage of the working class, and working class jobs became feminized. Invigorated by second wave feminism, working class women had been pushing for improved workplace conditions, including better wages and expanded opportunities for female administrative workers to move into management positions.
Parton’s title track directly addressed the frustrations driving these demands, lamenting, “They just use your mind and they never give you credit … for service and devotion you would think that I would deserve a fair promotion / Want to move ahead, but the boss won’t seem to let me / I swear sometimes that man is out to get me.”
The song was classic Parton, both celebrating workers’ daily grinds and speaking clearly about class exploitation.
The film itself presented these experiences of gender and class discrimination as part of a slapstick comedy. Yet, for mainstream audiences across the country, this softer, comedic approach to feminism and activism, made the very real plight of Judy (Jane Fonda), Violet (Lily Tomlin) and Doralee (Parton) relatable.
Two years later, in 1982, Parton once again used an acting role to speak up for women who were denigrated as disposable items when she starred in the movie adaptation of The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Parton’s character Miss Mona was a brothel owner who was fighting against moral crusaders attempting to close her down.
Denouncing the hypocrisy of men who privately availed themselves of women’s sexual services and then publicly shamed them as immoral, Parton’s character firmly established sex workers as people worthy of respect and dignity. Situated against the backdrop of a rising Moral Majority movement that fought to overturn reproductive rights, ban pornography and reverse anti-discrimination laws protecting people based on sexual orientation, Parton again used comedy to bring humor to a very real issue and, in doing so, made visible a group of people usually shunned by society.
Her devotion to calling for acceptance of people excluded from mainstream society continued throughout Parton’s career. In 1991, she released the song “Family,” which referenced LGBTQ people for the first time and exhorted people not to turn their backs on family members who were different. “Some are preachers / some are gay / some are addicts, drunks and strays / But not a one is turned away when it’s family.”
This was a powerful message at the height of the AIDS epidemic when gay men and intravenous drug users were among the most at-risk groups — both of contracting the virus, and of being shunned because of it.
At a moment when society was ostracizing and legislating against LGBTQ people, Parton instead called for acceptance. She stood by her message in “The Family” over the following decades. In a 2009 interview, she endorsed same-sex marriage, and in 2016 she opposed bathroom bans that limited transgender people’s access to public toilets.
Because of these stances, the LGBTQ community embraced Parton right back. Her songs and image have become mainstays used by drag performers, and in 2012 Parton related that she once lost a Dolly Parton look-alike contest to a drag queen. The ties between Parton and the queer community became so interconnected that, upon her death, CNN inadvertently aired an image of a drag performer during a tribute to the late singer.
Parton famously said, “Honey, there is no such thing as the real Dolly Parton.” She created a life of contradictions, and while her hair and makeup may have been fake, the power Parton held was very real.
She had a unique ability to transcend boundaries, allowing her to speak for people across classes, gender identities and sexualities. Her calls to support the downtrodden and shunned are her lasting legacy. Her ability to engage in such advocacy while continuing to be beloved across the political divide offers a lesson for all Americans.
Elyssa Ford is associate professor of history at Washington State University. Rebecca Scofield is professor of history at the University of Idaho.
Made by History takes readers beyond the headlines with articles written and edited by professional historians. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of The Inquirer.
