{shortcode-7c79486a1c2790e10d0124213e96a67bec8164fe}Placid but vibrant, composed and commanding, pop starlet Dua Lipa turned heads this past summer with the release of her carefree hit, “New Rules.” It’s clear, however, that the rising musician is unafraid of showing depth: Her most recent music video, “IDGAF,” tackles a far more insidious set of rules governing class relations in the modern age. Indeed, hidden behind Dua’s icy demeanor is a level of incisive commentary producible only by a young firebrand—an Albanian Karl Marx adorned with a single diamond earring.

Fans of Dua’s floral wardrobe and loose choreography might be surprised to find neither present in this video. Instead, the singer’s cohort of backup dancers is fitted in heavy pantsuits in a scene which is stiff, lifeless, and startlingly corporate. Closer inspection reveals that there are two groups of women who are mirror images, grafts from the same plant, separated and compartmentalized by the workings of a higher power. Who or what categorized them? It’s clear the two groups—one blue and one orange—don’t know the answer. The split proletariat circles itself ferociously, the two sides ascribing their frustrations towards the arbitrary distinctions which divide them, rather than the bright light of the capitalist engine looming above and beyond reach.

And so they begin their dance, a jerky and discombobulating mix of movements. They punch, but nothing connects. Despite their conflict, there seems to be some basis of understanding between the two groups. For all their would-be conflict, these women are not enemies.

When they reach this understanding, the orange and blue begin to swirl in what emerges as the central conceit of the video. Dua and her duplicate lie on the ground yin-yang style, their bodies joining in an abstract reconstruction of a familiar sight: She has become Tide Pod, destroyer of late-stage capitalist systems.

Unfortunately, far from becoming the cleansing force the foul, dirt-caked establishment desperately needs, Dua finds her newfound power churned and washed away. As the two groups slowly reconcile and reach understanding, the room shifts. The modular, assembly-line-like walls open up and swallow individual members. Isolated and separated, they fall back into place as cogs in the capitalist machine. The two lone Duas reunite, sharing a sisterly kiss in what appears to be knowing resignation.

The infighting over, the group reassembles and engages with the viewer. This interaction, a flagrant violation of the fourth wall, catapults the spectator into the scene. Who are we but mindless spectators, the very ones feeding this insatiable machine? In the stifling arena of the music industry, where up-and-coming stars are chewed up and spit out, one wonders whether any performer truly has agency. And so, as the dancing slows and the screen fades to black, our eyes are once again drawn to the omnipresent skylight bathing the room in its fluorescent glow.

—Staff Writer Rick Li can be reached at rick.li@thecrimson.com