Perhaps it can all be explained by the legs — long, impossibly toned limbs that peek out from shimmering dresses on red carpets and in teasing Instagram photos. Or maybe it’s the hair, recently dyed a two-tone blonde reminiscent of Hailey Bieber’s. Or maybe it’s the lips, or the eyes, or the accent, all of which contribute to her deadpan mystique. In reality, it’s probably some combination of all of them — together, a flawless recipe.

Which is to say: Dua Lipa is hot. Like, really fucking hot. Like, please put a collar around my neck and walk me like a dog hot. A former model and London-native of Kosovan ethnicity, she has all the makings of a traditional pop darling — a powerful voice, distinct features, and seemingly effortless sex appeal. In retrospect, she was always destined to be a superstar.

Now, she is finally becoming one.

The ascension began in October with the announcement of her “new era” — meaning a new single, an album, and, eventually, a tour. The single is “Don’t Start Now,” a dance track with rich retro grooves, and the album is Future Nostalgia, her second full-length, due out April 3. However, music is only part of Dua’s still-unraveling story. Depending on who you ask, it may be the less important one.

The other part is aesthetic, or persona, or both. Since 2019, Dua, who is 24, has been playing the role of a disco heroine intent on seducing the dance floor. She poses for press wearing barely-there outfits composed of sequin or sheer, and in interviews, she speaks with the knowing confidence of a high schooler’s fantasy — a cool girl who knows you know she’s hot. As a result, she’s attracted meme-like festishization online a la Rihanna, Beyonce, etc.

“I’m detrimentally horny for Dua Lipa,” comedian Brandon Wardell recently revealed to Interview Magazine. Wardell has a history of spearheading viral moments (think: dicks out for Harambe) and has been campaigning for the singer for more than a year. On his popular podcast, Yeah, But Sill, he often fantasizes about dating her. His infatuation has become a sort of ongoing bit.

Other notable media have promptly followed suit. Friday Beers, a fast-growing meme brand launched in October, follows only Dua Lipa on Instagram. Its online store sells t-shirts with her photo and its Twitter bio reads: “Dua Lipa fan account.” Even the page’s content — which celebrates beers being drunk on Fridays — makes frequent reference to the pop star.

This grinning praise does not directly support Dua’s music, but it boosts her celebrity among an audience that might otherwise be inaccessible. Both Wardell and Friday Beers broadcast to male-dominant in-groups — the former to internet obsessives and the latter to Barstool-adjacent bros. It’s safe to assume neither’s demographic listened to, say, Camilla Cabello’s last album. It’s less safe to assume they will not listen to Future Nostalgia.

To fuel the attention, Dua curates a nonstop Instagram feed. She’s posted more than fifty photos this year — some promotional, some sexy, all framed as personal anecdotes. The goal, it seems, is to balance enviable beauty with relatability. “Still thinking whether I can cancel my plans,” reads a caption from Feb. 1. In its accompanying photo, Euphoria-style eyeliner is meticulously matched to her outfit. Brandon Wardell liked the post.

Predictably, the online interest has arrived in tandem with renewed attention from mainstream media. Since December, Dua has been interviewed by Jimmy Fallon on The Tonight Show and performed “Don’t Start Now” on both The Voice and on Ellen. BuzzFeed published a story reevaluating her stage presence and cheekily predicting: “Cling cling to Dua Lipa in 2020.” The PR machine is working in overdrive.

It’s about damn time. Dua spent years on the fringes of pop superstardom — a Top 40 success most Americans would not recognize. (In one notorious instance, Wendy Williams mispronounced her name). Her career was fueled by GRAMMY wins and high-profile collaborations (Calvin Harris, Silk City), but as a cultural figure, she existed firmly outside of the zeitgeist — neither Ariana nor Billie in her sights. Finally, this is starting to change.

This week, “Don’t Start Now” reached a new peak at number 9 on the Billboard Hot 100. It’s Dua’s second time in the top ten (her first was “New Rules” in 2018) and is especially notable since the song had begun to dip after debuting at number 31. Its follow up, “Physical,” was released last week and has already been viewed on YouTube more than 10 million times. All signs point to Future Nostalgia being a decisive release in an already-crescendoing career.

Still, Dua has plenty of ground to cover in order to become a household name. Asked if “Don’t Stop Now” helps cement her as an “A-lister,” three of five Billboard staff members hesitated to say. “While she's making undeniably interesting pop music,” Kate Atkinson, editor, elaborates, “I don't think she's reached the point yet where you hear a song and know instantly it's her.”

Despite her billions of streams, this lack of recognition is real. Profiling Dua for The Face, Aimee Cliff notes her ability to traverse through Los Angeles without an entourage or security. “Lipa seems to be in a transitional space,” she analyzes. “Still anonymous enough that she can stride into a tattoo parlour in the States and hang out like any other customer.”

For now then, it’s beneficial to have the horny followers. Though the power dynamic does little to correct pop music’s history of objectifying women, the praise has remained generally PG-rated thus far. The most common gags involve dating, marriage, and breaking up Dua and her boyfriend. Inevitably, some of the mastermind posters are also streaming her music.

“That new single?” Brandon Wardell adds after his comments about arousal. “So good.”

He is certainly not the only one who is listening.