No, I am not a 15-year-old girl, and yes, I went to the Katy Perry concert on Sunday at the Scottrade Center.

I fall hard for the bubblegum variety of music on the radio—the Carly Rae Jepsens and Becky Gs of the industry. And I have grown out of the stage where I am ashamed to say so. We all need a little harmless fun in the car, on (last) Friday night and in moments when we’re just searching for an elusive feeling of joy on a bad day.

Perry’s music is emblematic of the happy-go-lucky radio variety. Songs like “California Gurls” and “Teenage Dream” are peppy, carefree and perfect for drive-time singalong. But Perry keeps churning out the catchy tunes with every new album, and they continue reaching the upper echelon of the charts. With her latest hit, “Birthday,” she set a pop music record for 12 consecutive singles in the Billboard Top 10.

I wanted to witness this Perry phenomenon live, and after an opener from country artist Kacey Musgraves and 30-minute break for a set change, the collective crowd shriek—a shriek only challenged in shrillness by that at the Taylor Swift concert I attended sophomore year—gave me an idea of Perry’s stage presence.  

Despite her seemingly standard pop brand, Perry has also become a controversial figure. She had a song called “Ur So Gay,” and her music videos have drawn condemnation for cultural appropriation. She’s pulled stunts in concerts such as dressing up as a geisha and featuring mummified backup dancers with padded butts and breasts, which critics have called obscene caricatures of black women. For good measure, Perry has also been accused of membership in the Illuminati, though I’m taking that charge just a bit less seriously.

As someone who grapples extensively with such types of social problems in the sports universe, the unfavorable commentaries about Perry’s act added another layer of curiosity for my venture into teenage Covergirl world.

From the opening roar to welcome her, Perry commanded. Her presence and voice captured a crowd the way many great studio artists cannot.  

But the bizarreness on stage started relatively quickly, with the triangular video board on stage transporting us into a space shuttle, which somehow landed in Perry’s version of ancient Egypt (obviously with pyramids because, you know, the Illuminati). On came Perry and her court of “walk like an Egyptian” backup dancers, with Pharaoh Juicy J on the video board, to perform “Dark Horse.”

Then Perry brought out the dreaded booty and breast dancers. In a recent Rolling Stone story, Perry defended her mini-minstrel show by arguing, “as far as the mummy thing, I based it on plastic surgery. Look at someone like Kim Kardashian. Look at someone like Ice-T’s wife, Coco. Those girls aren’t African-American. But it’s actually a representation of our culture wanting to be plastic, and that’s why there’s bandages and it’s mummies.”

Even taking Perry’s comments at face value would make them categorically absurd. Coming from a performer who decorates herself in a palette of wigs and hair dye, I’m not buying Perry’s critique of altering certain bodily features. I’m also not sure how the ancient Egyptians relate to Kim Kardashian, but maybe Perry should be given the opportunity to explain further.

Perry’s audience in St. Louis was overwhelmingly—around 95 percent—white. Most of them were young girls, with a decent showing of adults. On the same night as Perry’s show, black men and women just 12 miles away in Ferguson had milk doused on their eyes to treat tear gas from police.

“I have yet to hear anything about #Ferguson from Bieber, Miley, Iggy, or Katy,” former NFL player Nic Harris tweeted the next day. “Everyone wants to be ‘black’ until it’s time to BE black!”

Harris is right—performers are quick to embrace and profit off blackness, but only when it serves their limited artistic purposes. While impressionable young kids are enjoying the light show, voice and stage presence, it’s easier to internalize some racial and cultural stereotypes as mere harmless fun.

Perry’s appeal lies in the fun and upbeat nature of her songs, and she demonstrated that spectacularly with a closing of “Teenage Dream,” “California Gurls” and “Birthday.” For a final encore, she performed a dazzling rendition of “Firework,” enhanced for the audience by “Prismatic” rainbow vision goggles.

Perry didn’t need the big booty act, and she needlessly pushes attention away from the qualities that have made her a star—to excitable tweens and teens, intrigued moms and dads, and even this 21-year-old college guy.