Album Review: Vie by Doja Cat

Vie looks to reaffirm Doja Cat as a chameleonic pop auteur—one who can turn 1980s signifiers into something defiantly her own while telling stories that reflect the intricacies of modern love.

Courtesy of Kemosabe Records/RCA Records.

Doja Cat has a lot to prove. Her previous release, 2023’s Scarlet, was a bold pivot into darker, rap-focused territory to show that she’s an MC, one that many fans and critics deemed a creative misfire because of the discourse that Doja Cat “isn’t hip-hop.” Scarlet showcased Doja’s talent but suffered from poor cohesion and overreached its concept. On her fifth studio album, Vie, Doja Cat plunges headlong into 1980s influences. For an artist born in 1995, she shows a reverence for a decade she never lived through. The album is awash with nostalgic synth textures and retro drum-machine patterns that could soundtrack a John Hughes teen movie. Jack Antonoff’s production fingerprints are clear—neon-soaked synths, big gated drums, and glossy song structures that recall 1989-era Taylor Swift and Purple Rain-era pop-funk. Doja herself acknowledged having “no experience of the Eighties” but wanting to “play with that nostalgia by using… lo-fi sounds and samples… that reminded you of something from your childhood, but it wasn’t on-the-nose Eighties.”

The lead single “Jealous Type” is Vie’s first single, a buoyant, funky pop track dripping with Prince-inspired swagger. The production unabashedly evokes Prince and his protégées (one can imagine Apollonia vibing to its groove). Over a slinky Minneapolis-style beat, Doja fluidly toggles between velvety singing and playful rapping, confessing her romantic insecurities. “Jealous Type” finds a sweet spot between throwback and fresh, where the rubbery bassline and sparkling synths scream 1985, but Doja’s frank lyrics about feeling possessive and impatient in love are very much her own. It’s also the most Doja song here in spirit—cheeky, candid, and versatile.

After a moody “Cards” sets a cinematic tone, the first half of Vie delivers one synth-glazed bop after another. Doja keeps things breezy even when dissecting relationship drama, whether she’s wryly exasperated on the cheeky Knight-Rider sampled “Aaahh Men!” or playfully venting on “Couples Therapy,” these songs bounce along with glossy beats (a little Janet Jackson here, a bit of Madonna there). Midway through, “Gorgeous” slows the tempo for a swooning power banger straight out of a John Hughes movie (sorta like the “Agora Hills” of the album), all lush samples and earnest vocals. It’s one of Vie’s most heartfelt moments, giving us a glimpse of Doja’s sentimental side beneath the album’s winking exterior. Antonoff’s glossy touch is all over Vie, giving it a cohesive neon glow. On ear-candy like “Take Me Dancing,” his layered synths and big snares are a perfect fit—the song practically begs for a roller rink, and Doja’s vocal swagger rides the retro groove effortlessly. But at times, the lavish production threatens to overwhelm her. “Silly! Fun!” leans so hard into kitschy ‘80s cheese (sugary synth stabs, cartoonish backing vocals) that it borders on parody, making one miss the eccentric edge Doja usually brings.

In the album’s more intimate second half, Doja leans into love-struck songwriting with mixed results. “Acts of Service” explicitly references the love-language concept, casting her in a vulnerable light over a mellow R&B groove. It deepens the romantic narrative, but its low-key approach verges on bland, especially after all the high-gloss bops. Similarly, “Lipstain,” a sultry tune where Doja literally marks her lover and even slips into French, amplifies the dreamy, love-drunk atmosphere (complete with a crackling R&B influence). It’s a whimsical touch hearing her purr “tu es ma vie” (“you are my life”), yet the song itself feels more like an interlude than a standout. Both tracks reinforce Vie’s themes, but neither is likely to top anyone’s favorites list. This does risk feeling like an elaborate dress-up game, as you might picture leg warmers and a fog machine in the background.

Throughout Vie, Doja Cat’s versatility as both singer and rapper is on full display. She hasn’t abandoned her rap ability—instead, she sprinkles it in strategically. When she switches to pure singing on a slow jam like “Lipstain” or a breezy tune like “Happy,” her vocals are smooth and alluring, fitting each mood. At times, the lyrics lean on simple repetition (the hook on “Happy” is literally just an uncomplicated wish to be content), but she sells even the most basic hooks with genuine charm. “One More Time” stands out as a heartfelt plea to salvage a fading love, with Doja’s voice carrying a hint of desperation that adds a brief yet impactful hit of melancholy to the album. Her focus on love songs and retro sounds might not break new ground, but it’s a lane she navigates comfortably. Even when Doja coyly suggests actually seeking “couples therapy” on the song of that name, it stays self-aware and playful rather than bitter.

A major concern coming into Vie was whether Doja Cat’s larger-than-life personality would shine through this glossy, Antonoff-curated soundscape. On Scarlet, for all its flaws, her persona burned hot (arguably too hot) with a confrontational attitude. Vie tones that down considerably. The snark and eccentric humor are dialed back, but not gone. You catch glimpses of Doja’s wit in a clever turn of phrase or an ad-libbed scoff between verses. Her vocal performances are still dynamic; she’ll purr in one line and pounce in the next. The honesty in her lyrics—admitting jealousy, expressing hope for real romance—also adds a personal touch that cuts through the sheen. The production on “All Mine,” in particular, is plush and romantic, pairing airy textures with a deep bass thump that feels tailor-made for late-night listening.

Yet, Vie does feel like it could be any pop singer’s 80s cosplay. That’s the trade-off of working within such a stylized homage. The album’s dedication to emulating a classic pop era means it rarely catches you off guard. Even Doja’s wild-card energy is reined in by Antonoff’s tight 3-minute song structures and gleaming production. There’s a sense that she’s coloring within the lines here, whereas in the past she scribbled all over the page. Whether that’s a positive evolution or a loss of spark will depend on the type of Doja fan you are. If you value cohesive, nostalgia-tinged pop craftsmanship, Vie delivers. If you loved Doja for her unpredictability and genre-mashing absurdity, you might crave a bit more chaos than this pristine collection allows. Still, she’s leaning very heavily on established nostalgia rather than forging a bold new path. The album’s through-line of love and romance gives the throwback gloss a personal anchor, so even when the nostalgia runs high, there’s an emotional core grounding it.

Doja has never been shy about genre-hopping, and Vie doubles down on that instinct. Of course, it’s unabashedly a pop album, a well-crafted one at that from a production standpoint, but not a unanimous win. The heavy reliance on ‘80s pastiche will inevitably polarize: some will relish the fun reinvention, others might find it too safe, draped in nostalgia rather than pushing forward. Despite feeling like a sideways move (trading one set of influences for another), it’s executed with enough wit, skill, and heart to count as a step up. Doja set out to make an ‘80s-tinged pop record about love, and she delivered exactly that (now, whether she’ll soon say that Vie is a cash-grab record years from now is yet to be determined) with her own oddball fingerprints still visible under all the glossy polish.

Solid (★★★½☆)

Favorite Track(s): “Jealous Type,” “Gorgeous,” “All Mine”