You know that point in the night when the Cosmo’s worn off, the club lights get brutal, and suddenly you’re left sitting there asking what was I even doing with him? That’s exactly where Mia Baron takes us with her latest track, “love scare.” And she does not hold back.
At just 17, Mia’s already got that dangerous mix of soft vulnerability and fuck-you realism down cold. Hailing from Toronto, she’s been spilling her diary in dark, shimmering indie-pop bangers that crack open all those messy feels. “love scare” is no exception—it’s mid-tempo but heavy, the kind of song that plays while you’re spiraling in the Uber home, mascara smudged, fingers hovering over his contact. Should you text? Should you block? Should you burn it all down?
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Mia gets it. “Boy you got some good lies / almost wanna stay” she sings, like we haven’t all been there—knowing damn well he’s poison but sipping anyway. It’s flirtation edged with exhaustion. You’re halfway in, halfway out, dancing on that blurred line of wanting to believe him and knowing better. “Now I got you tongue tied / oh it’s such a shame” slips in like a smirk, that power shift moment when he’s the one stumbling, caught in his own web. The push-pull is brutal. “Said you wanna get real / then you needed space” hits like that awful 2am text that leaves you reading between the lines, even though deep down? You already know.
What makes “love scare” so damn addictive is how Mia leans into contradiction. It’s seductive and standoffish at the same time. “Saw you at her place” slides in like a knife disguised as a kiss. She’s hurt, but she’s also done. “Should’ve stopped this / should’ve let you get away” she admits, like that moment when you finally start blaming yourself for not ghosting him first.
And let’s talk about the chorus because it’s a dagger. “Kiss me like you still care baby / love someone to lose / don’t you know it’s unfair / use me like I’m not there.” That right there is the toxic anthem we don’t wanna admit we’ve all hummed while scrolling his socials in bed, pretending we’re “so over it.”
But Mia doesn’t stop there—she goes even deeper into the aftermath. “Say it’s done, enough / I don’t know what it was” cuts like that next-morning confusion when you’re wondering if the whole thing was even real. And when she sings, “It’s hard to trust / the way you pulled the rug,” it’s pure betrayal in a lyric. He flipped the script, left her spinning, and somehow she’s the one left piecing it all together.
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There’s this devastating sexiness in how Mia whispers through the wreckage. “Oops you got some feelings / trying to escape” teases out the delicious irony—he caught feelings too, but he ran scared while you stayed brave enough to hurt. And “You know it’s unfair” becomes her soft but pointed mantra, repeated like a slow burn. She knows the score. She knows she deserves better.
By the time the track closes with “Don’t wanna go there / I’ll never go there,” Mia’s not begging. She’s reclaiming. That soft, breathy delivery feels like slipping out of his hoodie at sunrise and leaving it right there on his bedroom floor—a quiet but savage exit. She’s walking away. No big scene. Just done.
Mia Baron’s “love scare” is raw, intimate, and just a little dangerous. For anyone who’s ever kissed the wrong boy just to feel something, this one’s ours. Put it on repeat, block his number (or don’t—you’ll decide after the second listen), and let Mia soundtrack the delicious chaos of letting go.
