We live in the age of frictionless capitalism, and finally, we have a pop star to match. In a world where political leadership often feels chaotic, clumsy, or distressingly analog, Dua Lipa offers an alternative. She does not just perform songs; she executes a glitch-free protocol of joy that mirrors the fantasies of modern technopopulism.
Political theorists Christopher Bickerton and Carlo Invernizzi Accetti define “technopopulism” as a novel political logic that combines two seemingly contradictory elements: technocratic expertise and a direct appeal to the “people”. Traditionally, these were enemies—the populist claimed to represent the will of the masses against the cold experts, while the technocrat claimed to know what was best regardless of public opinion. The genius of the technopopulist is to synthesize them, e.g., I represent you directly because I am the only one with the competence to solve your problems.
Dua Lipa is this synthesis made flesh. This is precisely what she demonstrated during her recent sweep through Latin America. I witnessed this governance firsthand in Santiago, Chile, where the stage transformed into a cathedral of neon lights and heavy bass. It was a display of technical competence so overwhelming and vibrant that it demanded immediate consensus: the era of amateurism is over.
The Ministry of Taste: Dua Lipa’s Institutional Power
A true technopopulist builds her own institutions. Before the lights even go up, Dua Lipa has already governed our tastes through 2021’s Service95, her cultural platform. To dismiss this album as mere “lifestyle content” is to miss the point. It is not just a newsletter; it is a tool of “creative influence”, a technocratic book club that shapes the intellectual landscape of her fan base.
Through Service95, she acts as a Minister of Culture for a borderless nation. She curates literature, highlights humanitarian causes, and dictates the aesthetic standards of her global citizenry. This is soft power par excellence. She does not need to campaign for our attention; she systematizes it, creating a feedback loop where her fans feel smarter, more worldly, and better informed simply by being part of her ecosystem.
She knows that technology alone is cold; a leader needs moral weight and local connection. Unlike the sanitized, neutral pop stars of the past, Dua Lipa wields her platform with explicit political intent, adding a layer of moral authority to her governance by maintaining a firm stance against the massacre in Palestine. She is not just a manager of aesthetics; she is a leader with a foreign policy.
The Latin American Consensus: From Mexico to the Andes
Technopopulism faces its hardest test in the Global South, where audiences are famously passionate and skeptical of cold, foreign impositions. Yet, Dua Lipa demonstrates a sharp populist instinct by descending from the global stratosphere to connect with local passions.
Her strategy in Mexico provided the blueprint. In Mexico City, a megalopolis that devours weak performers, she didn’t just play a gig; she inhabited the city. By wandering the streets of Colonia Roma or eating at local taquerías, she performed a crucial ritual of modern celebrity: the simulation of accessibility. When she took the stage at the Foro Sol, facing 65,000 people, the connection was already established. She wasn’t an imperial visitor; she was a guest who had done her homework.
This pattern repeated across the continent. She navigated the tribal intensity of the Boca Juniors vs. River Plate football classic in Argentina and visited the Maracanã for the Flamengo vs. Fluminense derby in Brazil. Even in Chile, she seamlessly integrated into the landscape, enjoying an afternoon of local wine—a cultural staple of the Andean foothills.
Her connection with popular culture reached its zenith when she performed the Peruvian cumbia “Cariñito”. This moment was more than a viral TikTok clip; it was a sophisticated sociological maneuver. Where the Andean oligarchic elites have historically seen “low culture” or bad taste, Dua Lipa sees the meeting point between global innovation and local preference. By adopting a working-class anthem and elevating it to the stage of a high-tech global tour, she validates these cultural totems. She proves she understands her citizens’ customs better than many local politicians who look down on them.
Mid-show, the flawlessly choreographed machine pauses. She speaks in fluent Spanish and takes a selfie with a fan’s phone. It is a moment of unmediated representation: no PR managers, just the leader and the citizen sharing a digital frame. It is the ultimate populist promise: I am powerful, yet I am right here with you.
The discipline of joy, once this pact with the “people” is sealed, the machine accelerates. The show transitions into “Physical”, and the stage explodes in a frenzy of color and light. Agility is athletic, almost superhuman. This is the “techno” side of the equation reasserting itself. It is a visual manifesto of discipline. In a world of political chaos and crumbling infrastructure, this segment offers a seductive alternative: a governance of rhythm, agility, and absolute management of the body.
Within this perfect machinery, Dua Lipa achieves a Pygmalion effect regarding female autonomy. Her performance proposes what we might call a “sagacious management of the erotic and affective sphere”. She navigates the tension between strict boundaries and necessary desire. On one hand, anthems like “New Rules” provide the statutory code for rejecting emotional manipulation, teaching a generation of women to be autonomous and to protect themselves from the “toxic suitor”.
Yet, she refuses to sterilize romance. In songs where she croons for “sweet relief” and physical touch, she acknowledges that affection and sensuality are vital. Within this framework of emotional self-work, she demands the same from men: work on our own emotional regulation so we “Don’t Start Now”, making it clear that “Training Season” is over.
This is perhaps Dua Lipa’s most radical political contribution. She does not entrench herself in reactionary movements that view all desire as danger. Instead, she models a future where men and women are not enemies. Her attitude—calm, firm, sensual, yet elegant—inspires a modern respect. She demonstrates that protecting autonomy is not incompatible with passion. For the modern man, she poses a challenge: to value this female autonomy—hard-won in recent decades—and turn his gaze inward, conquering the self rather than seeking external validation through the conquest of territories and women, as has been the case for centuries.
The climax of this governance model arrives at the very end. Dua Lipa does not leave the stage quietly; she rises on a massive floating platform, elevating high above the crowd like a benevolent technocratic empress. From the heights, she surveys her domain. She leaves us not just entertained, but motivated—inspired by a vision of a world that is efficient, inclusive, and radically optimistic. It is a political fantasy, yes. But for two hours, it is the only government we want to vote for.