In 2023, people began to believe that American rapper Doja Cat had sold her soul to the devil. Social media speculation was endless, the music videos for “Paint The Town Red” and “Attention” obsessively analyzed for their dark and demonic themes. If you saw him perform at Fabric or XOYO in 2019, you might be inclined to believe the rumours; this was the time of brightly colored polyester wigs that slid half way down her head, embarrassing club locations, £15 tickets to see Doja singing “Whore I’m a cow/ I don’t say meow/ I go moo” to a group of students drunk on vodka and coke. This couldn’t be further from her Tour Ma Vie 2026 world tour.
Cat Doja took to the stage at the O2 to greet a melting pot of sub-cultures brought together by a leopard print uniform and black lace. She hovers 10 meters above the ground dressed in white, the hem of her trousers sweeping the stage floor below her. And just like that she disappeared through a trap door in a haze of smoke.
On reappearing, she paid tribute to London; she returned again wearing a set of underwear in Union Jack colors (including a Union Jack G-string pulled over a pair of blue leggings and white fishnets). The crowd went wild. The screams of the two teenage girls next to me left my ears ringing through the night.
But the concert was nice at first. Doja Cat is known for her humorous, quirky and larger-than-life personality online – this is where she was sought after. Accompanied by brass instruments including the saxophone, she began performing songs from her latest album comefor a gently swaying crowd. But the real show had yet to begin.
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If Taylor Swift puts narcotics in all her songs, Doja’s old music is about something much stronger. I couldn’t tell if the crowd was enthralled or possessed as they bowed to the whims of the band playing songs from the albums Her planet (2021), Hot pink (2019) and Amalia (2018). Tiered lace rara skirts flowed around as the girls moved to the music. From the sultry “Streets” to the empowering “Woman,” the atmospheric change between each song was palpable. With each successive song, the Doja we had seen on our screens seemed to materialize before us.
There was no need for dramatic sets or multiple costume changes to pull off the show – the show was Doja herself. She moved across the stage with the natural grace of a ballerina (now 30, she’s trained in ballet, tap, jazz, breakdancing since the age of five, and even the classical Indian dance Bharatanatyam while living in a Californian ashram). A backdrop of Seventies-inspired disco lights pulsated to match the cadence of the tracks. The choreography didn’t seem rehearsed and perfect; it seemed like it came naturally to her, like she was just moving to the beat of her music and actually enjoying herself. She engaged with the crowd, cracking jokes, as if we were her friends.
“Look at me, look at me / are you looking?” She sang. And I was watching, opening up even, alongside tens of thousands of others. I saw that those wigs straight from Amazon belong to Doja of an earlier era. What I saw instead was a Grammy-winning artist with 36 billion streams worldwide, Billboard’s number two female rapper of the 21st century, and one of the iconic figures in today’s music industry. Many have sold their souls for less.
(Further reading: Miles Davis’ blues is more alive than ever)
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