Dating in your 20s is honestly a full-contact sport and I have the scars to prove it. You’re out here looking incredible, fully yourself, and you’re still fielding “wyd” texts at midnight from guys who think that counts as effort. I’ve been on dates where I sat there the whole time deciding whether the bread basket was worth staying for. Spoiler: it always is. There’s also the one who spent forty-five minutes explaining his ex situation while I laughed my ass off internally and waited for the check. At some point you stop being gracious about it and ladybugvenom’s ‘Not My Type’ is the electro-pop verdict for that moment. I found this at approximately wine o’clock on a Tuesday, sent it to my group chat with zero context, and they all knew immediately.
She opens with the confidence of someone who has genuinely stopped caring: “good luck keepin up with Ladybug V / sorry didn’t hear / were you talking to me? / got hefty assets / see the way my ass sits / used to be a zero now I’m taking up more fabric.” This 26-year-old singer, songwriter, producer is recording music in the corner of her closet and delivering this with more fucking authority than most people get from a full studio session. The glow-up is stated as fact. She knows what she’s working with.
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The second verse is where she starts running: “tailgate me instead of what you’re lacking / I race with the dogs had to let them out again / on the way to the bank bitch I’m laughing / itching to catch up to me you scratching.” She’s driving away while you’re still looking for your keys. She finds it funny as hell. That’s your problem to deal with.
Then comes the part that made me put my phone down: “all up on the surface / peeking through the glass / you wanna make a purchase / no you can’t ignore it / why you on your knees / if you know you can’t afford it.” She’s the thing you’re staring at in the window and she can see you doing it. The gambling metaphor that follows is just as sharp: “you know it’s a bad beat / you overplayed your hand / you overstayed your welcome / house always wins / so you bettin on the farm / cheating from another cell phone.” He’s losing from every angle. She already cashed out.
The chorus is cold and fast: “not my type, you can’t pay my price / bitch it’s on sight – no you cannot get a kiss tonight.” Done.
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The bridge is where ladybugvenom gets genuinely mean about it and damn, she earns every word: “I don’t wanna hear you out or know where you’re coming from / you want so bad on this beat / hijack my set banging on my drum / all I see is insecurity / do I need to cheer you on with pompoms / you worship the ground under me / one step and you’re already following.” The pompoms line is so fucking perfect. The kind of thing your funniest friend says once and it lives in the group chat permanently.
The outro goes after the girl he’s keeping around instead: “she’s never gonna get a ring / but you give her everything else so it’s gotta count for something / but it don’t / low testosterone / down low / overcompensate / so nobody knows.” She dismantles the whole operation without raising her voice. That’s the shit that lingers.
Dating in your 20s is mostly a comedy of errors and ladybugvenom’s ‘Not My Type’ is the soundtrack for the part where you stop being the punchline.
