Sorry, Listening to Dua Lipa Won’t Manifest You a Boyfriend.

Mariem Sfina

2 days ago

3 min read

Updated: 4 hours ago

Manifestation culture treats a pop song like a boyfriend spell, completely ignoring the hard work of clearing out low-effort energy first.

If you’ve spent five minutes on social media recently, you probably know the exact viral gospel I’m talking about. Ever since pictures of Dua Lipa looking radiant, grounded and deeply matched with Callum Turner started flooding every timeline, TikTok didn't just see a cute couple, it declared a spiritual revolution. The narrative was instant, unanimous and wildly uncritical: Dua wrote “Training Season”, the universe took notes and a tall, attentive British actor materialised out of thin air.

I’ve grown up alongside Dua Lipa. My teenage years kicked off right as her self-titled era took over the radio, and she’s been a constant staple in my music queue ever since. But watching Dua over the last decade hasn't just been about tracking pop hits; it’s been like watching a friend navigate love under a global spotlight. We saw her in every relationship phase, from chaotic on-and-off years to high-profile romances that, from the outside at least, appeared to fall short of what she was looking for.

The whole viral trend surrounding her new romance is as hilarious as it is deeply delusional. Especially considering my own listening habits.

I was blasting “Training Season” on repeat all through last winter. Long before the manifestation discourse hit the algorithm, I was streaming it on loop. Not because I was trying to perform a high-frequency ritual to open a portal for romance, but because the production is lethal, the bassline hits like a freight train and it’s an elite piece of pop music.

So when the internet started screaming that playing this track was a literal spell to land a dream partner, I had a momentary crisis of accounting. I looked at my recent play history and panicked: I’ve listened to this song hundreds of times. Where is my Callum? Did my algorithm glitch? Did the universe accidentally skip my house?

And then the sudden reality check hit me: Babe, you’re not even ready for a Callum.

That moment exposed the real trap of viral manifestation culture. There is a very specific progression to emotional growth, but social media tries to leapfrog straight to the finish line.

It starts with the baseline stage most people get stuck in: accepting low-effort energy, entertaining lukewarm texts and keeping exes on standby out of fear. Then comes the viral delusion stage: playing a pop song on loop and hoping the universe bypasses your lack of boundaries to drop a soulmate at your door.

What people ignore is the law of exchange. You cannot invite high-effort energy into a room that is already packed wall-to-wall with low-effort clutter. High-effort, emotionally grounded partners don't squeeze into overcrowded, low-bar spaces. You have to sweep out the low-effort crowd first to create the room.

Which brings me to where I actually am in this process. I’ve done the heavy lifting. I cleared the room, raised my bar through the roof and swept out the bare-minimum noise completely. My space is entirely empty. But here’s the kicker that manifestation culture forgets: clearing the floor doesn't automatically mean you're ready to invite someone new onto it. Solitude isn't a penalty while you wait for a magical arrival; it's a deliberate filter. I am holding my room vacant on purpose, protecting my peace while I get my own life in order.

Look closely at what Dua is actually singing about in the track: she’s done seeing past lovers in a better light than they deserve and teaching people how to love her properly.

This isn't a magic incantation; it’s an audit of past mistakes. “Training Season” isn't simply a wish for the right person to materialise. It reflects an internal shift: knowing what you want, recognising what hasn't worked and refusing to keep teaching people how to meet you there. The song feels less like a manifestation spell and more like the victory lap of someone whose standards have already changed.

Expecting the universe to deliver a high-effort partner before you've cleared your space is delusional. But rushing to fill an empty room before you're actually ready for the commitment is just as messy. A song can hype you up, but it won't do the heavy lifting for you.

My living room remains empty, not because the manifestation failed, but because I’m the one holding the door closed. Until you’re truly ready to let someone in, sitting in an empty space isn't a tragic waiting game; it’s the ultimate power move. Real readiness doesn't happen on repeat; it happens in quiet confidence, long after the noise has been cleared out.

Whenever I do decide to open that door, it won't be because a song summoned someone. It’ll be because I was finally ready to receive them.