If one was to write on the history of hip hop, the first name that will come up will undoubtedly be DJ Kool Herc. In 1973, in a basement in the Bronx in New York, he threw a party—and that’s how hip hop was born. Next to DJ Kool Herc finessing not one, but two turntables at once, Coke La Rock, who would go onto be credited as the first MC in hip hop history, rapped into a mic. From there, Grandmaster Flash introduced his own Quick Mix Theory technique—which uses two copies of the same record to make the drum break longer—to give rappers a better beat to work with, and Afrika Bambaataa identified four key principles of hip hop—rapping, b-boying, DJing, and graffiti—and the culture spread far and wide.  All of these people have something in common: They’re all Black, and they’re all men.

Hip hop has been shaped and molded at the hands of men. That’s how history tells it, at least. Then does hip hop belong exclusively to the men? Hardly. Not surprisingly, women were there sowing the seeds of hip hop and growing the genre, too—women like Sha-Rock, who was b-boying before rap was even a thing and is recognized as the first female MC; Sylvia Robinson, the producer of the very first hip hop hit; and rap phenomenon Roxanne Shanté.

But women are always placed on the fringes of history. They’re all lumped together, and even then, only as a footnote. When people talk about women’s accomplishments, they’re framed as pioneering within areas already established by men. That includes hip hop, despite women having been there since the very beginning. In fact, there’s clear evidence of this—like in the lyrics to “Roxanne Roxanne” by UTFO, which kicked off the so-called Roxanne Wars:

I thought I had it in the palm of my hand

But man oh man, if I was grand I’d bang Roxanne

In the lyrics, the group invents a woman named Roxanne who doesn’t want to have sex with them. The idea of a Roxanne lives on today, but there’s a new word for it: “bitch.” The Netflix series Ladies First: A Story of Women in Hip-Hop dives into the deeper meaning of the term, peeling it back layer by layer, and challenging viewers to confront why women are called bitches at all.

Roxanne Shanté responded to “Roxanne Roxanne” with a recording called “Roxanne’s Revenge,” releasing what became the first diss track in hip hop history. Sylvia Robinson produced the Sugarhill Gang’s track “Rapper’s Delight,” the first commercial hip hop hit, eventually pursuing a full career in hip hop. Sha-Rock officially became an MC after auditioning in 1977. MC Lyte was later the first woman to release a solo hip hop album. Queen Latifah changed the scene when she sang about “ladies” over a beat. The unrivaled Missy Elliott pushed self-expression and style to new limits.

Ladies First: A Story of Women in Hip-Hop talks about the history of hip hop through the contributions of women only. The series begins by taking a look at how women like Sha-Rock, Sylvia Robinson, and Roxanne Shanté influenced the world of hip hop in its infancy. No surprise, the female artists of the past have had an enormous influence on the women working in the field today. This connection and bond is the first thing the documentary looks at. It’s possible to draw a line from Missy Elliott to Nicki Minaj, and Queen Latifah opened the door to artists like Cardi B by openly addressing violence against women. Cardi B in turn has become an influential figure with a sway that goes beyond the hip hop world and into the realm of politics, championing feminism in the form of Black women having financial independence and freedom of sexual expression.

The hip hop world is largely a male-dominated one, and the Netflix series takes a closer look into this aspect as well. As one example, it acknowledges situations where women had to join all-male groups just to break into the genre—even if those men unabashedly sing that “A Bitch Iz a Bitch” on stage, as in the case of N.W.A. There was a time when the hip hop world seemed to actively work against women being a part of the industry. Most hip hop crews that had a woman among their ranks had just the one—the so-called first lady. Unsurprisingly, women’s every move was endlessly scrutinized by men. If a male artist asked a woman to collaborate and she didn’t accept right away, she was labeled a “bitch”. Such unbelievable and petty behavior was tolerated in that society.

The first half of the series highlights the struggle that women had to go through to become hip hop artists. And yet, despite the ongoing battle, the atmosphere surrounding the industry showed little hope for change. In a male-dominated world, it was the men who were writing the history of hip hop. It was all too easy to look down on the contributions of women. But the women weren’t discouraged and never compromised their vision. They were outspoken in their opinions and proudly made their preferences known. But this came with its own set of challenges. Any woman in hip hop expressing her sexuality or wearing revealing clothing was called a “ho.” This self-expression came to be labeled a serious problem—one even worse than all the controversies stirred up by male artists.

For a quintessential example, look no further than the interview with Kash Doll in episode two, “What Are They Up Against?” Kash Doll, who was once a stripper, wasn’t allowed to perform at a high school. She didn’t receive the news until she was already just outside the school—and it was all because of her stripper past. So she drove her Hummer right up to the building, climbed up on the roof, and began performing. By contrast, some of the male artists who were granted entry to the same school had had a history of drug use, and one had even shot someone.

If I’m being honest, there’s something that rubs me the wrong way about the show Ladies First. Specifically, I can’t stand the circumstances that have led to its necessity. The very fact that there has to be a documentary about these women just goes to show that hip hop hasn’t properly acknowledged female artists even 50 years later. It’s 2023 and still, women have to coalesce,  just to be heard.

In 2020, Megan Thee Stallion claimed to have been shot by Tory Lanez. The two were arguing in the street over music. When Lanez demanded that Megan dance and she refused, he shot her in the foot. Even with security camera footage to prove it, Lanez still denied he had shot Megan. People said she was faking the whole thing. A woman’s word alone is nothing—there always has to be another witness.

It was 1993 when Queen Latifah released the song “U.N.I.T.Y.,” openly and directly addressing the rampant misogyny in hip hop and violence against women in the Black community through hip hop for the first time. That was 30 years ago. What’s changed since then? Double standards, censorship, objectification … Misogyny in the world of hip hop continues to hang in the air like a poisonous cloud—odorless but toxic. It’s not much different from the rest of society. That, too, is as it ever was.

The good news is that, little by little, things are changing. There are now many female hip hop artists, using their talents to the fullest and singing their hearts out to the world. They find their own voices and in turn influence one another. It’s about both respecting this and all previous generations of artists and also laying the groundwork for diversity in the future—allowing artists to do whatever else they want in life on top of hip hop, if they so desire, whether that be dancing, going into politics, philanthropy, and more.

Roxanne Shanté is only good for steady fuckin’

—Boogie Own Productions, “The Bridge Is Over”

After releasing “Roxanne’s Revenge,” Roxanne Shanté was forced to face such lyrics again. She was just 16 at the time. And she responded with another rap of her own: “And Roxanne Shanté is only good for steady serving.” Women don’t have to cut someone else down when they want to put their skills and their worth on display. They know how to define themselves. They are at the center of every song they write and sing. They know how to keep moving forward. Now we should confront the problem in the words of Queen Latifah: “Who you callin’ a bitch?”