Junior year I started seeing this divorced architect who was fifty and clearly hadn’t gotten over being forty. Good body, genuinely bad decisions, and an apartment that smelled like expensive leather and quietly unraveling ego. We never put a label on it because labels complicate shit, and what we had was simple: dinners, his card covering what my campus job couldn’t, and some nights I’d stay over and he’d spend the better part of an hour with his head between my legs making absolutely sure I left happy. I knew what it was. He knew what it was. Neither of us said it out loud. My roommate finally dropped the words I’d been casually avoiding: “you’re sugar babying this man.” She wasn’t wrong and I felt zero shame about it. A lot of us Gen Z girls drowning in rent and student debt have made this arrangement work, whether we use the label or not. A man with a Platinum card and low expectations is sometimes the most practical fucking resource available and I refuse to apologize for that math. Brooke Falls wrote ‘Sugar Baby’ about doing it better than all of us, running two sugar daddies at once, lying to both of them beautifully, and I have never felt more seen in my entire life.
The production on ‘Sugar Baby’ is unhinged in the most complimentary way possible. This shit is bright, wired electro-hyperpop with a glittery synthetic crackle that buzzes against your body and makes you feel like you’re being wined and dined at a restaurant you’d never pay for yourself and ordering the most expensive thing on the menu because why the hell wouldn’t you. Girlypop cocaine. The production is doing exactly what the lyrics are doing, which is playing everything perfectly cool while fully aware the whole situation is on fire.
Brooke opens with the terms of the arrangement laid out in the most brazenly confident way possible. “I can be your sugar baby / I’m not cheap for the night / I’m sweet like sugar baby / One kiss for a dime” – she’s not negotiating and she’s not apologizing for the price. The sweetness is the commodity and she controls the supply. One kiss for a dime sounds playful right up until you do the math and realize she’s running this whole operation with a precision that would make a financial advisor nervous.
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The logistics of managing parallel lies comes out next and it is painfully funny if you’ve ever had to maintain contradictory stories at the same time. “I’ll die trying to keep up with my lies / I’ll die trying to keep you in my life” – there’s a laugh barely contained inside this lyric. She’s exhausted and completely committed anyway. The administrative overhead of a double life is real and she’s in it full speed with no plans to slow down.
The alibi she’s running is elegant as hell. “I’ll fly around the world and say that I’m on tour / I’ll fly around the world and be back at your door” – the tour cover story handles everything. Absence, unreachability, the unpredictable schedule of a girl who has places to be. She disappears whenever she needs to and comes back to a man who is just genuinely relieved she showed up.
Then comes the part that should be alarming but is delivered with such cheerful detachment that you lose your shit. “You ask me to marry you (aww) / And put me in your will / You ask me to live with you / I’m the need that you fill” – this man is proposing. He is updating his will. She is sitting on a collection of proposals she is accepting zero of, and that “(aww)” is the most casually devastating syllable in the whole song. She’s not saying yes. She’s not saying no. She’s saying “aww” and the man hears whatever he wants to hear. This is a goddamn masterclass in management.
And then we get the lyric the entire song was built for. “The daddies are sitting next to each other at my show / Woah (oh my god, do they know) / The daddies are sitting next to each other in front row / Woah” – I need you to actually sit with the specific electric charge of this scene. Two men. Front row. Both have her in their phones under whatever name she gave them. Both think they have something special with the woman about to walk out on that stage. They’re seated next to each other right now, probably making polite small talk about the venue, while Brooke is about to perform carrying the full weight of what’s happening two feet in front of her. The rush of that moment would be damn near pornographic. Your whole nervous system lit up, the secret pressed against your ribs, the absolute thrill of knowing what nobody in that room knows while they sit there completely oblivious. Brooke told us she “actually had a live show and invited both of them” – said it like it’s nothing – “and they were sitting in front row, right next to each other, and never knew.” She performs the whole show. Neither man’s world ends. She goes home with money in her account from both of them. What she pulled off is a goddamn chaos theory exhibit with better lighting.
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“He’s got a sweet tooth for me / And I’m his candy / Lol” – the “lol” is three letters carrying the entire weight of a worldview. Sounds so decadently bratty. She clocked how unhinged this is from day one and went ahead anyway. The “lol” is the sound of a woman who is completely aware of everything and gives exactly zero fucks.
Brooke Falls is Philadelphia’s most committed chaos agent and the music world is better for it. She came up through musical theatre, which explains everything about how her songs feel like they were built to be performed in front of people who are completely unprepared for them. She’s been releasing since 2020, building from ‘Blueberry Pie’ through ‘Petals,’ ‘Feverdreamer,’ and the 2022 track ‘1994 Jeep Laredo’ that cracked 30k streams independently. ‘CRY!’ and ‘The Cycle’ followed in 2024, then ‘I Love Being Young!’ and ‘FLING!’ swung into 2025. Her debut electronic pop album lands March 13th, 2026, and if ‘Sugar Baby’ is any preview of what’s coming, we are genuinely not prepared.
My architect eventually stopped texting, which was fine because by then I was seeing someone my own age who didn’t need me to explain how Venmo works. But watching Brooke Falls run two sugar daddies in the same front row at the same show makes me think I was genuinely leaving potential on the table. My twenties are for building something real. My thirties though? The cougar era is already blocked out in the calendar. Find myself some gorgeous, hopelessly lost twenty-three-year-old who can’t file his own taxes, take him to nice dinners, let him call me his sugar mama, and sit front row at whatever sad little basement show he plays knowing I’m the most dangerous woman in that room. The whole thing comes back around. Brooke figured that out before the rest of us.
