“How do you like your eggs?” Dua Lipa asks me, standing in the kitchen of the West Hollywood Airbnb she’s calling home this month. “I boil them, but I can soft-boil them if you prefer.” We’ve just finished a light (for her) circuit workout with Swedish trainer-to-the-stars Magnus Lygdback by the pool. And now Lipa, wearing a Balenciaga T-shirt and baggy Y-3 sweatpants, her short hair pulled up in a cheetah-print scrunchie, is making breakfast. She loves eggs. Eats them throughout the day as snacks on tour. Back home in London (a rarity these days), she’ll buy hard-boiled loosies. In the States, however, “they do them in weird vacuum packs, and I don’t fuck with those.”

At the moment, packaging of any sort is challenging for Lipa, due to the tiny tchotchkes that adorn the 23-year-old’s silver-manicured nails. She’ll ask for assistance peeling the eggs once they’re done. Just checking her phone is difficult. “I’m going to break my fucking screen!” she declares, opening her email. Earlier, during our workout, she laughed at just how outrageous her nails are. “Aren’t they crazy?” she asked, mid–plank position. “They’re heavy, adding to this workout! And my hair gets stuck in them all the time.” Later, I ask to take a photo of them. She has to scrub them clean of avocado first.

These are Dua Lipa’s award-winning nails. Three days ago, she won two Grammys: Best Dance Recording for “Electricity,” a joint track with Silk City (Diplo and Mark Ronson); and Best New Artist. Her performance with indie rock seductress St. Vincent—the pair slinking about in matching bobs and coordinated outfits—unleashed sexual awakenings across Twitter. Then there was her pointed barb directed at Neil Portnow, the outgoing president of the Recording Academy, who said last year that if women would like to get nominated for more awards, they’d need to “step up.”

Satin top, crystal and pearl headband, both, Givenchy Haute Couture. Photographed by Carin Backoff; Styled by Anna Trevelyan

“I want to begin by saying how honored I am to be nominated alongside so many incredible female artists,” Lipa said during her acceptance speech. “I guess this year we really stepped up!” Calling out the man in charge would have been unimaginable career suicide for a Jessica Simpson or Christina Aguilera just 15 years ago; today, being skilled at the clapback has star-making potential.

And yet, for many people, mainly those over the age of 25, the name Dua Lipa doesn’t register. Nor do her smooth, lyrically focused dance-pop tracks, most of which she writes herself. Last May, TV talk show host Wendy Williams, while discussing an outfit the singer wore to the Billboard Music Awards, asked, “What do you think of Doola Peep?” The clip ignited a gazillion tweets, prompting Lipa herself to add to the chorus, “Is this a new Kanye song?”

I’ve learned to correct people about my name my whole life. So I’m like, Call me whatever you want. You’ll learn it soon enough, babes.”

“I found it funny,” she says. “Even my friends started calling me Doola Peep.” It was slightly better than Duolingo, as in the language-learning app, which she’s also gotten. Lipa is used to the name jokes. They’re based on a confused, perhaps xenophobic perception of her: People find it hard to pin down where she comes from. It’s been happening since she was a child, moving from London to Kosovo and back again. For the record, Dua means “love” in Albanian. “I’ve learned to correct people about my name my whole life,” she says, unfazed. “So I’m like, Call me whatever you want. You’ll learn it soon enough, babes.”

That’s not posturing. Dua Lipa ended 2018 as the second-most-streamed female artist on Spotify, behind only Ariana Grande. Her lusty deep-house collaboration with Calvin Harris, “One Kiss,” was Spotify UK’s second-most-streamed song, after Drake’s “God’s Plan.” Her eponymous debut album propelled her to becoming the most-streamed female artist of 2018. And the viral video for her smash hit “New Rules,” a checklist fuck-you anthem for getting over an ex, made Lipa the youngest female singer to reach a billion (billion!) views on YouTube.

Dress, veil headpiece, ankle boots, all, Dior Haute Couture. Bracelet, ring, both Dior Fine Jewelry. Photographed by Carin Backoff; Styled by Anna Trevelyan

But right now, Dua Lipa, queen of what she calls “dark pop” and one of the most-listened-to musicians worldwide, just wishes she had an avocado masher. Or a mortar and pestle, or something. Our eggs are destined for avocado toast, but one unripe fruit won’t submit to her. “I’m out here trying to mash it with a fork. Forkin’ hell!” she groans. I’ve asked her to take me through her life story, but the rigid green flesh keeps distracting her.



She has the physicality, the pipes, and the fucking husk in her voice that’s undeniable. There’s nothing fake about that shit. - Mark Ronson

Born in London to ethnic Albanian immigrants from Kosovo, Lipa was always determined to make music. Her father, Dukagjin Lipa, was a Kosovar rock star before fleeing the country for the UK. (Now he’s best known to Lipa’s 27.2 million Instagram followers as Dua’s hot dad.) “Before the war, my mom was studying law. My dad was doing music and studying dentistry. In London, my parents were working at bars and cafés, and my dad was going to university at the same time. One thing I’ve learned from my parents is how they adapted to their surroundings no matter what.” At nine, Lipa began attending the prestigious Sylvia Young Theatre School, where Amy Winehouse also studied. Impressed by Lipa’s raspy, older-than-her-years voice, an instructor bumped her up to the class with the older kids. “He was the first person who made me feel like I could do it. He would put me in uncomfortable situations where I would have to get up in front of the teenagers and sing. That’s how I started really believing in myself. People found it interesting that I was so little, but I had a husky voice.” That hasn’t really changed. “She looks like this Tomb Raider–ish type,” Ronson of Silk City says. “And then out comes this voice. She has the physicality, the pipes, and the fucking husk in her voice that’s undeniable. There’s nothing fake about that shit.”

When she was 11, Lipa’s father was offered a marketing job in Kosovo that he couldn’t refuse. She was excited to move to her parents’ home country and connect with relatives she’d never met. “I was like, Oh, people are going to say my name right!” she remembers thinking. But school was hard and making friends was harder. “I was the girl who spoke Albanian with an English accent. I wasn’t getting very good grades because everyone in Kosovo was learning chemistry and algebra and I was still on fractions. These kids were so smart. It took me a while.”

Dress, Armani Privé. Earrings, Chopard. Photographed by Carin Backoff; Styled by Anna Trevelyan

She missed singing, and there wasn’t much of a music industry in Kosovo. So at 15, Lipa convinced her parents to let her return to London alone. “They thought I was crazy. My mum was like, ‘I’ll come with you,’ but I felt bad about separating my parents.” They agreed to let her live with a family friend from Kosovo who was studying at the London School of Economics. Once back in Britain, Lipa started posting cover songs to YouTube and SoundCloud, which would become her portfolio. She spent nights and weekends at concerts, promoting herself to people in the audience, hoping they worked in music. “I was like, ‘If you like my covers and you like my voice, maybe we should work together.’ ”

At an Ed Sheeran concert, she met the songwriter-producer Marlon Roudette, who teamed up with her in 2013 to record a cover of Chance the Rapper’s “Cocoa Butter Kisses” and post it on SoundCloud. Soon after, producers started contacting Lipa on Twitter. A gig singing for an X Factor commercial led to early interest from labels. Unsure of the savviest move, she reached out to one of the producers who’d DM’d her. “I called him and was like, ‘Hi, it’s Dua. You messaged me on Twitter. I know we haven’t gotten together or really spoken, but I’ve been offered a publishing deal and I have no idea what the fuck that means. Could you tell me?’ ” That guy connected her to a lawyer, who connected her to her current manager, Ben Mawson, who also works with Lana Del Rey. By the time she turned 18, Dua Lipa had a record deal.

“Oh my God, that one piece of avocado did not mash. The devil!” Lipa says, glaring at her nemesis. For someone who’s on the brink of becoming the world’s biggest pop star, she’s delightfully candid and, dare I say, normal? Case in point: She still avails herself to speak with journalists, no holds barred—and to feed them, too.

ELLE: About that performance with St. Vincent. Did you guys know each other already?

Dua Lipa: We didn’t. We had a drink the night before we started rehearsing and got on really well—like a house on fire, really.

A friend was saying it reminded him of Britney Spears and Madonna’s performance at the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards.

Oh, really? We didn’t kiss, though. We were laughing because it was narcissistic in a way. We looked like twins, as if we were singing to ourselves in the mirror. We took it to the point of being this empowering, “I love myself ” vibe.

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Then you won Best New Artist right after that.

I had crazy adrenaline. I was petrified waiting to hear what happened. When they called my name, I blacked out. I was so nervous. Lady Gaga was front row and blew me a kiss, and I was like, Oh my God, my brain isn’t working. But I managed to say something that meant a lot to me. I wish I didn’t “Um” and “Ah” as much as I did, but I’m glad I thanked all my female peers, because that was one thing that I definitely wanted to do.

Was your “stepped up” line deliberate?

I didn’t plan it. It just came out of my mouth. But it felt right; it was obviously shade, but at the same time, he’s spoken about it and he knows what he did.

You’re very vocal about supporting women. Do you think that’s critical to becoming a successful pop star today?

We’re at a time when people are making more empowering songs. But I was listening to Janet Jackson, and she starts pretty much all her songs with “I have control over my body and my thing.” You forget that empowerment was always a big part of music, especially for female artists. We went to a comedy show last night, and Whitney Cummings was doing stand-up. She was brilliant, saying, like, women have been empowered for a very long time, but now it’s, “Oh, someone’s listening to us? Let’s go crazy!” We’re not used to being listened to. Now we’re taking full advantage of that fact and speaking about things that are really important to us.

Dress, leather bolero, earrings, all, Chanel Haute Couture. Photographed by Carin Backoff; Styled by Anna Trevelyan

Having spent most of your time in London, how connected do you feel to Kosovo?

Kosovo has defined me quite a lot. We have a crazy sense of community. People know your business way before you do, but they’ve always showed me so much love. Somebody said to me in an interview, “You have an immigrant’s work ethic,” but it’s more this thing where you desperately want to be taken seriously. Being from Kosovo or Albania, there’s a stigma around it. In movies, every Albanian is in the mafia. We’re trying to change what people think of our country.

Do you find the American audience to be much different from Europeans?

They’re brutal. The trolls stateside are the worst. When I was starting out, I never remember feeling hate. Then things got big, and I felt this weird expectation of being Beyoncé already. Everything you’re doing gets looked at under a magnifying glass. People want to stunt your growth. They scrutinize you and tell you what you should look like or what you should do or ask why did you cut your hair? You constantly live in fear of not being good enough. It’s crazy; you have to be really strong. We’re in this age of “Feminism! You should be supporting each other!” But it’s the same people who are saying that who are also bringing women down online. And it’s the same people who speak about mental health who are also bullying others. Twitter is super-toxic. I find myself having to take time off to be able to be creative. Don’t get me wrong, I have amazing fans and I get really nice comments, but you always think about the one bad one.

Twitter is how you heard about that Wendy Williams “Doola Peep” comment.

And Twitter has not let me forget it. But it’s cool. I don’t watch Wendy Williams, so it was my first time experiencing anything to do with her show. I was like, Who is this woman? I try to take things like that super-lightly. You can’t take yourself too seriously, because you can get yourself into a right mess.

How do you determine when to engage and when to ignore?

When I met Katy Perry, she was like, “I hope you don’t search your name.” She was like, “That’s what I did at the beginning of my career, and I’d get upset about every tabloid that said something about me.” She said, “Do not have notifications on. Do not read that shit, because it will stop you from doing what you love.” Chris Martin also said to me, “Be kind to yourself.” I thought it was so weird that he would say that—what does that even mean? But reading those things is a form of self-abuse. It’s this vicious cycle where you don’t want to read it, but you go looking for it, then you get yourself upset. I can’t let the opinions of others define what I feel about myself. That’s something I’m constantly telling my fans as well. Platform or no platform, musician or not, everyone’s getting bullied because everyone’s got this screen and they feel like no one can see them.

Dress, tights, sandals, all, Valentino Haute Couture. Photographed by Carin Backoff; Styled by Anna Trevelyan

People are very eager to hear tracks from your second album, which you’ve been working on. What are some of the themes this time?

It’s a mixture of stuff, from what it felt like to grow up as a girl and be scared to walk home at night to when the whole world lets you down and what it feels like to enjoy life again. I’m hoping to get the album out by the end of this year or the beginning of next. I haven’t decided my track list yet, but they’re all songs you can sing along to. You make music so people can sing along, but you also make it to tell a story in the hopes that someone feels the same way.

Do you fear the sophomore slump at all?

I don’t want to make it scary for myself; there’s no point. As a new artist, you’re competing with people who are years and albums ahead of you, way more successful. It’s tough. But I have a lot more confidence going into a room and saying what I want. You can’t be gone for too long. You have to keep putting music out. Some things will work, some won’t. I’m just going to make music I’m proud of that represents who I am. I want my fans to know they backed the right horse.

Top photo: Corset gown, Gaultier Paris.

Hair by Anna Cofone at the Wall Group; makeup by Francesca Brazzo at the Wall Group; manicure by MichelleHumphrey for the GelBottle Inc.; prop styling by Jacki Castelli at Lalaland Artists; produced by Creative Blood.

This article originally appeared in the May 2019 issue of ELLE.