I only know three things about latest pop sensation Dua Lipa. One is that she’s freaking gorgeous in a way that makes me question whether I want to be her or on her. Two is that she should definitely try to get a lip gloss deal with Sephora or something with a name like that. And three, she has got to be a total badass who gives really solid advice. I mean, you’ve heard “New Rules.” You’ve been strong enough to not contact your ex, right? All because of Mother Dua.
As I watched her and her badass friends dance around a hotel room in silk robes like the put-together goddesses that my friends and I only wish to be, I started to wish, nay, yearn, that Dua would take my mess of a life– graduating soon with probably no job prospects, having a slap-happy love life with no healthy relationship prospects, having non-teenage acne, and not having finished Stranger Things Season 2– and just… fix it. It seems like I’m not the only one with this idea, because recently, I encountered this image of Dua:
I decided, since I’m still just one big ball of agnostic nihilism, that for a week, I would pray to Dua Lipa and see if she could give me guidance. My prayer began: Give me some new rules, Dua. Write me a pop anthem and change everything.
Day One — Musing at my kitchen table, post- a Tinder notification.
Me (M): Dua, should I sleep with X, Y, Z?
Dua Lipa (DL): Are any of them your ex?
M: Nope, nope, and kind of?
DL: Ok, so yes, yessss, and bitchhhhh get off your old bullshit! Have you learned nothing? (Her British accent really makes this one sting).
M: Ahhh! You’re right, you’re right!
A pause.
M (cont.): Ok but, Dua, I’m feeling ~weird~ about my body!
DL: Girl, please. You are young. The world is on fire. If you’re not fucking now then when will you? Bodies are bodies are bodies. Your legs will never look this good again.
M: Wow, you’re right? Fuck the pressure of traditional beauty standards? Thanks, Dua!
DL: You got it. Oh, and of course, remember to be safe. Here, take a cherry coke-flavored condom.
(Wow. She’s a supermodel but she still has time to remind me of the dangers of STDs and STIs. The Messiah herself.)
Day Two — Stressing at a SciLi desktop.
M: Duaaaaaaa, I need your help.
DL: (She comes down from a dope-ass kickback up in Heaven, wearing her iconic silk robe) Yea sure, what’s up?
M: Ummmm I’m… pretty stressed about graduation. I feel like I wasted a lot of time? Like, I just got my bearings at Brown, but now I’m getting kicked out!? And, post-grad, I think I know what I want, but I’m also not very sure? I just want all the things and I don’t know what to do!! It’s making me anxious.
DL: Ok, well, how old are you?
M: 21.
DL: (snorts) Ok, uh, call me when you’re 50. 60, even.
M: I sit at the 25 decibels, hurt and dumbfounded.
DL: Okay, fine. My advice is: just like, try different shit, man. It’s super common to just try new things when you’re young! For example. I always knew I wanted to be a singer, but I was like, maybe I’ll try modeling first, and now I have a shit ton of money!
M: But Dua that’s not really a common–
DL: Yeah I guess it’s not a common thing for–
M: No one really becomes a model–
DL: Yeah, as soon as I said it I was like, get your head straight ‘Lip, that’s just not feasible–
M: Yeah, it’s just not–
D: Ok sorry to bring that example up. Bad one, yeah. Bollocks.
Day Three — High out of my mind at a friend’s house.
M: Holy shit, I’ve been praying to Dua Lipa all week, haven’t I?
DL: Hey, you called me?
M: Oh my god I’m… going insane. Or maybe it’s just the weed.
DL: Nah, you’ve also been praying to me sober, dude.
M: Welp.
DL: Yup. Hmm. Mind if I take a hit?
M: Sure.
I pass her a joint. (In my mind).
DL: Good shit. Sativa?
M: Yeah.
DL: Nice.
We exhale.
M: Dua… should I consume fewer drugs?
DL: No.
M: But Dua–
DL: Just don’t do heroin.
M: Okay. Have you done shrooms?
DL: Yeah, I don’t trust anyone who hasn’t. How’d you like them?
M: Duaaaaaa they changed my life.
D: Yeah, no shit, you’re literally praying to a fictionalized version of a British pop sensation right now. Of course they changed your life.
M: Wow. Uncalled for.
D: You’re the one coming up with this conversation.
M: Touché.
D: You just wanted fake Dua Lipa to tell you to keep doing drugs, didn’t you?
M: Yup!
D: Did it work?
M: BRB, gonna go plan an acid trip.
D: LOL, see you there.
Day Four — After scrolling through popular Twitter account AstroPoets.
M: Dua… lowkey… how much should I believe in astrology?
DL: I’m a Leo, so I’m gonna be completely honest.
M: Okay.
DL: It’s bullshit.
M: NOOOOOO
DL: But it’s fun!
M: You’re a figment of my imagiNATION CAN’T YOU JUST AFFIRM ME RIGHT NOW?
DL: No! But I can tell you we’d be hella amazing together if we fell in love.
M: That’s just not helpful.
DL: Neither is a horoscope.
M: Wowwwwwww that’s low.
She shrugs, looks at herself in the mirror, and vanishes.
Day Five — Last Day
M: Is God real?
DL: I don’t know.
Silence.
DL: But she did make Zac Efron… so…
M: You’re right. Let’s convert.
A brief pause.
M: Dua, am I trash?
DL: Oh completely. This is the weirdest article you’ve ever written.
M: Yeah. Could’ve been weirder though.
DL: Oh like if this had been Carly Rae Jepsen or something?
M: Yeah.
DL: Yeah, she’s too chipper. I don’t trust her. But dang, “E•MO•TION” was a banger.
M: Should we go jam to “Run Away With Me” now?
DL: Call Me Maybe. Yea.
