She walked into a Minneapolis rehearsal space in 1981, and everything shifted. Denise Matthews wasn't even "Vanity" yet. She was a model, a Canadian native with a look that could stop a heart, but she didn’t have a band. Prince changed that. He didn't just give her a stage name; he built a whole universe around her. Most people think Vanity from Vanity 6 was just a puppet in a lingerie-clad trio, but that’s a massive oversimplification of how she actually functioned in the 80s funk-pop scene. She was the architect of a specific brand of dangerous, feminine confidence that paved the way for everyone from Madonna to Rihanna.
It wasn't just about the camisoles. It was the attitude.
The story usually goes like this: Prince wanted a girl group. He originally called them "The Hookers." He wanted them to be the female mirror of his own provocative "Dirty Mind" era persona. When Denise arrived, the vision coalesced. He renamed her Vanity because, as he famously put it, looking at her was like looking in a mirror. She was the female version of him.
The Nasty Girl Era and the Birth of a Sound
When "Nasty Girl" hit the airwaves in 1982, it didn't sound like anything else on the radio. It was sparse. It was cold. It used a Linn LM-1 drum machine in a way that felt mechanical yet incredibly sweaty. Vanity from Vanity 6 didn't "sing" in the traditional sense on that track; she purred. She talked. She commanded.
Listen to the bassline. It’s thick, menacing, and repetitive. While Susan Moonsie and Brenda Bennett provided the harmonies and the "bad girl" backups, Vanity was the focal point. She was the one delivering lines about needing a "seven-inch minimum" with a straight face. In the early 80s, that wasn't just edgy—it was borderline illegal in some zip codes.
People forget how much work went into that "effortless" cool. The group spent months in rehearsals at Kiowa Trail. Prince was a notorious taskmaster. He’d have them dancing in heels for hours to make sure the choreography looked casual. If you watch their performance in the film September Songs or old concert footage from the 1999 tour, you see it. They weren't just standing there looking pretty. They were working the stage like seasoned pros.
Honestly, the chemistry was lightning in a bottle. You had Susan, the "innocent" one who had actually dated Prince first. You had Brenda, the tough "street" girl with the cigarette. And then you had Vanity. She was the queen bee.
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Why the Lingerie Mattered (and Why it Didn't)
Critics at the time loved to dismiss the group as a gimmick. They saw the silk and the lace and assumed there was no substance. But look at the credits. While Prince (under the pseudonym Jamie Starr) wrote and produced the bulk of the material, Vanity brought the visual identity to life.
She owned the provocative nature of the lyrics. She wasn't a victim of the male gaze; she was weaponizing it. When Vanity from Vanity 6 appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone with Prince in 1983, she looked like his equal, not an accessory. That was a big deal. She represented a shift in how Black women were allowed to be portrayed in pop music—bold, sexually liberated, and completely unapologetic.
The Breakup and the Purple Rain That Almost Was
Here is the part that kills fans: Vanity was supposed to be the lead in Purple Rain.
The role of "Apollonia" was written for her. The character was literally named Vanity in the original script drafts. But by 1983, the relationship between Prince and Denise was fraying. It was volatile. Two massive egos and two brilliant minds in a small Minneapolis pond? It was never going to last forever.
She walked away.
She left the group, the movie, and the "Starr" company right as the rocket was taking off. It’s one of the great "what ifs" of music history. If Vanity from Vanity 6 had stayed for the movie, the trajectory of the 80s might have looked different. Apollonia Kotero did a fine job, but she was playing a version of Vanity. Denise was the version.
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She signed a solo deal with Motown. She did Wild Animal. She starred in The Last Dragon as Laura Charles. She was still a star, but the Minneapolis sound was her true home.
The Shift from Glamour to Grace
If you only know the "Nasty Girl" version of her, you’re missing the most profound part of her story. By the early 90s, the lifestyle had taken a toll. There was a well-documented struggle with substance abuse that nearly ended her life. In 1994, after a near-fatal overdose that resulted in kidney failure, she had a religious awakening.
She didn't just "get religious." She completely abandoned the Vanity persona.
Denise Matthews emerged. She became an evangelist. She spent the rest of her life traveling and speaking about her recovery and her faith. She actually threw away her old costumes and jewelry. She didn't want the royalties if it meant promoting the "Vanity" image. It’s a level of commitment you rarely see in celebrity culture.
She was honest about the pain. She had to undergo dialysis multiple times a week for decades. She spoke about the physical cost of fame with a bluntness that was startling. When she passed away in 2016—ironically, just months before Prince—the music world mourned a pioneer.
The Sonic Legacy of the 6
The influence of Vanity from Vanity 6 isn't just in the fashion. It’s in the DNA of modern R&B and electronic music.
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- The "Talk-Singing" Style: You hear this in Janet Jackson’s Control era.
- Minimalist Funk: The stripped-back production of "Nasty Girl" influenced the Neptunes and Timbaland.
- The Girl Group Dynamic: Before the Spice Girls or Destiny's Child had "types," Vanity 6 had the archetype.
The 1982 self-titled album is a masterpiece of the "Minneapolis Sound." Tracks like "He's So Dull" and "Drive Me Wild" are masterclasses in synth-pop. They were weird. They were punk. They were funky.
People often ask why the group didn't record more. The truth is, they didn't need to. That one album created a blueprint. When Prince formed Apollonia 6, he was essentially trying to recreate the chemistry he had with Denise, Susan, and Brenda. It was good, but it lacked that jagged edge Vanity brought to the table.
What You Can Learn from the Vanity Blueprint
If you’re looking at this from a branding or creative perspective, there are a few things that made this era work so well. It wasn't just luck.
First, it was the commitment to a singular aesthetic. They didn't half-heartedly do the lingerie thing. They lived it. Second, it was the contrast. The music was high-tech and cold, but the performances were high-energy and hot. That tension is where the magic happens.
Finally, it was about the power of the "No." Denise Matthews leaving at the height of the Purple Rain hype shows a person who valued her own agency over a paycheck. Whether you agree with her later path or not, you have to respect the spine it took to walk away from the biggest artist in the world.
Practical Steps to Explore the Era
To truly understand the impact of Vanity from Vanity 6, you have to go beyond the hits.
- Listen to the full 1982 album. Don't just stick to "Nasty Girl." Pay attention to the track "If a Girl Answers (Don't Hang Up)." It's a hilarious, theatrical piece of funk that shows off the group's personality and their dynamic with Prince (who voices the "other woman").
- Watch "The Last Dragon." It's a cult classic for a reason. You get to see Denise Matthews’ screen presence outside of the Prince bubble. She was a magnetic actress who could hold her own against any leading man.
- Read her autobiography, "Blame It On Vanity." If you can find a copy, it’s a raw look at the industry from someone who was in the belly of the beast. It dispels a lot of the myths about the "glamorous" 80s.
- Trace the lineage. Listen to Rihanna's early work or Janelle Monáe’s The ArchAndroid. Look for the threads of that Minneapolis defiance.
Vanity wasn't just a character. She was a catalyst. She showed that you could be feminine and fierce, vulnerable and volatile, all at the same time. She redefined what a frontwoman could look like in the age of MTV. We're still catching up to her.