When Doja Cat moo’d her way into the public eye in 2018, critics wrote her off as unserious. A kitschy video, a viral hook, a joke track. But here’s the gag: “Mooo!” was the Rosetta Stone for understanding Doja Cat. She’s been telling us who she is from the beginning—a shape-shifter, a troll, a genius at manipulating the internet, and most importantly, an artist who knows how to turn spectacle into substance.

Fast-forward to today, and Doja isn’t just proving the doubters wrong—she’s building a new model for pop superstardom. Her latest album, Vie, finds her blending the aerodynamic gloss of Hot Pink and Planet Her with the sharp-toothed antagonism of Scarlet. While lesser artists chase trends, Doja bends them to her will. “Jealous Type” could’ve been a throwaway pastiche of 80s pop in anyone else’s hands, but with Doja it feels fresh, cinematic, and self-aware. And on tracks like “AAAHH MEN!” she’s not just rapping—she’s snarling, playfully dragging men while grooving over a sleazy strut that recalls disco’s dirtiest corners and a "Knight Rider" sample.

Here’s the thing her critics never seem to grasp: Doja doesn’t need to be likable. She doesn’t grovel for approval. She tells her stans to get jobs, disowns her own hits mid-chart run, and still racks up streams. That’s power. In an industry where pop stars are trained to smile, play nice, and over-explain every choice, Doja understands that controversy and contradiction are part of the performance. She’s not trolling—she’s teaching a masterclass in how to stay indispensable in a world where attention is currency.

Let’s be honest: Doja has been ahead of the curve the whole time. Hot Pink made her a household name, Planet Her made her a global phenomenon, and Scarlet scared people because it reminded them she wasn’t here just to make dance-pop bops for TikTok. She’s not an algorithm’s puppet—she’s the one writing the rules.

And that’s why Doja Cat is the superstar other artists secretly wish they could be. She’s got the versatility of Missy Elliott, the provocation of Madonna, the unpredictability of Prince, and the internet fluency of a Gen Z meme lord. Except she’s not just channeling those legacies—she’s mutating them into something new, something chaotic, something uniquely hers.

So let’s stop pretending this is a debate. Doja Cat isn’t “becoming” the next wave of superstardom. She is the wave. Always has been. And while critics waste time clutching pearls about whether she’s trolling, Doja’s already onto the next move, smirking from the chessboard she built herself.