There’s this lyric in “Boujee” where Brooke August sings “cheers to the struggle and memories we made / party it up on a Monday” and that’s when it clicks. Those words sound like something you’ve said a hundred times in your head but never out loud. One thing becomes obvious quickly, though. This song isn’t about pretending you have it all or chasing something better, it’s about finding the good in what’s right in front of you.
Raised on Beyoncé and the glam and grit of Burlesque, Brooke August is a performer who sings like someone who’s learned how to stop feeling she needs to prove herself. Her sound blends pop with retro R&B, think We Belong Together-era Mariah, but stripped of the drama. It’s midtempo and a little fucked up in the right places. The groove settles in and stays close to the skin. Then the sax hits—slow, teasing, no climax, just a long drag that pulls everything down into the body. And she lets it ride.
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The line “Hey boo, it’s late, but it’s never too late to find something to do” isn’t about nightlife. It’s about release. About being broke, exhausted, and still wanting to feel something. “We broke as hell, but I know damn well that it’s you that I’m never bored with.” Just one person, one night, and the kind of intimacy that doesn’t need champagne and silk sheets.
And she’s so matter-of-fact with it. “We can walk so we don’t gotta pay parkin / get a cup, fill it up / we living in the moment.” What she’s saying is you learn to find joy in scraps. You learn to pour whatever you have into plastic cups and make it taste like it’s from the finest crystal. Then there’s that line—“found some cash in the couch cushion”—and it brings you back. Like finding loose change from your dad’s pocket that slipped down between the cushions. You knew it wasn’t yours, but it meant snacks or a slushie or something stupid and good. That’s where “Boujee” lives—under the glam, beneath the glitter, where real life actually is.
Her voice is low-key, melodic, never in a rush. It doesn’t push. She slides between lines with the control of someone who’s used to watching a room instead of performing for it. Even the sharpest lines land soft—“chasing the fame when we already famous” doesn’t read like irony. It sounds earned. There’s nothing tentative in the delivery—just a shrug, a glance, and a beat that keeps moving.
There’s power in how Brooke folds humor into sex and softness into pride. “Valentino designer heels / ooh bitch you found these at Goodwill.” That’s the setup. The flex isn’t in the shoes, it’s the way she wears them like they were always hers. “Single AF but we love being patient / bitches be hatin / love how we slay it.” That’s the stance. Alone, unbothered, in control. Not looking for someone to fix it. Just living it.
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She’s not layering fantasy onto the track. She’s stripping it away. And that’s what makes the final lines land the way they do: “The best things in life are free / I’m living my best life when you’re with me / so we don’t gotta be boujee.” That line unlocks the whole thing. This isn’t a protest against luxury or a rejection of wealth. It’s about not needing it to feel good, seen, worthy, wanted.
Brooke builds her songs out of energy and instinct. She calls her process unpredictable, and you can feel that here. There’s a loose structure wrapped around a feeling. A flash. A mood you’ve maybe lived through, but never paused long enough to name.
“Boujee” gives you that space. It doesn’t ask you to fake anything. It lets you wear what you’re already carrying. The night doesn’t have to shine to matter. It just has to feel like something. And this does.
