dealing

Pop superstardom, it turns out, did absolutely nothing to improve Sabrina Carpenter’s love life.

That’s the thrust of the singer’s shrewd and tangy “Man’s Best Friend,” which dropped Thursday night, just a year after last summer’s chart-topping “Short n’ Sweet.” The earlier album, which spun off a pair of smash singles in “Espresso” and “Please Please Please,” went on to be certified triple platinum and to win two Grammy Awards — more than enough to transform Carpenter, now 26, from a former Disney kid into the latest (and horniest) member of pop’s A list.

Yet all that success seems only to have attracted more of the losers she sang about last time. Here she’s dealing with a smooth talker doling out empty promises, a crybaby who can’t decide what he wants, even a guy so fixated on self-betterment that he’s lost interest in the bedroom.

“He’s busy, he’s working, he doesn’t have time for me,” she trills exasperatedly in “My Man on Willpower,” “My slutty pajamas not tempting him in the least.”

It’s a veritable gallery of rogues, this LP, not least the dude in the dark suit pictured on the cover of “Man’s Best Friend” with a hank of Carpenter’s blond hair in his fist as she kneels before him. The image inspired an instant controversy when she unveiled it in June, with critics accusing her of propping up dangerous ideas about the submission of women in the age of the tradwife.

Responded the singer in a CBS News interview that aired Friday: “Y’all need to get out more.”

Indeed, to take the album artwork at face value is to miss the whole point of Sabrina Carpenter, which is not just lampooning a prudish instinct — of course she’s in on the joke — but demonstrating the limits of a dating scene — of an entire social power structure — in which this is what a girl at the top has to work with.

“I like my boys playing hard to get / And I like my men all incompetent,” she sings in the LP’s opener and lead single, “Manchild.” She swears she’s not choosing them — that they keep choosing her. Then she punctuates the claim by batting her fake eyelashes and rhyming “Amen” with a flirty “Hey, men.”

As with “Short n’ Sweet,” Carpenter made “Man’s Best Friend” with a tight crew of accomplices — Jack Antonoff, John Ryan and Amy Allen, plus a bunch of tasty studio players — and once again they get a sound that combines the hooky splendor of ’70s-era AM-radio pop (think ELO, Wings and especially ABBA) with touches of country and dance music.

“Tears,” in which Carpenter lusts after a guy capable of putting together a chair from IKEA, is a pillowy disco thumper with echoes of KC and the Sunshine Band’s “That’s the Way (I Like It)”; “Nobody’s Son” puts starchy palm-court strings over a bouncy reggae groove. Carpenter’s singing plays like an actor’s sizzle reel, by turns winsome, sneering, bubbly and resigned; in the twangy “Go Go Juice” alone — it’s about a woman who’s woken up at 10 a.m. and opted to spend the day drunk-dialing exes — she runs through every emotional gradient separating determination from shame.

Song for song — line for line, really — “Man’s Best Friend” isn’t quite as sharp as “Short n’ Sweet,” which offered the rare thrill of a young artist coming into her own on her sixth studio album. Occasionally, you can sense Carpenter reaching for a memeable lyric, as in the many gags about wetness in “Tears”; “When Did You Get Hot?,” meanwhile, feels like something Ariana Grande abandoned after workshopping for a minute.

When she’s on, though, she’s on: “Goodbye” is a dazzling orchestral-pop number in which she gives the boot to a hot-and-cold lover — “Arrivederci, au revoir / Forgive my French, but f— you, ta-ta” — and “House Tour” a winking sex romp whose thwacking drums and rubbery funk bass call to mind Paula Abdul’s “Opposites Attract.” (After Doja Cat’s Antonoff-produced “Jealous Type,” might this signal a coming Abdul-aissance?)

Near the end of the album, Carpenter dials down the comedy for “Don’t Worry I’ll Make You Worry,” a sad and shimmery ballad about the thin line between love and war. “Silent treatment and humbling your ass / Well, that’s some of my best work,” she sings over strummed acoustic guitar before promising oh so sweetly to “leave you feeling like a shell of a man.”

If you can’t join ’em, beat ’em.

The streets of Tehran are telling a story of chaos: suitcases dragged across pavements, a single mother holding her young son with one hand while balancing a blanket and pillow in the other, heading into a subway station to spend yet another night underground. With no shelters, alerts, or public evacuation plans, young Iranians are turning to the only safe space left as Israel attacks Iran: the internet, and chat apps like Discord and WhatsApp.

“We don’t know where to go,” says Momo, a 24-year-old IT engineering student in Tehran.

“We never know if the building next door houses the IRGC [Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps] or the Ministry of Intelligence. I don’t know if my upstairs neighbour is a regular person or a regime official. The facility near me might be part of a secret military programme,” he said, alluding to Israel’s attacks on residential buildings, ostensibly to target individuals associated with Iran’s military or with its nuclear programme.

Despite it all, Momo has chosen to stay in Tehran – not just for his two-year-old rescue cat, but out of principle. “Where would I even go? My home is here. My life is here. We won’t give in to a repressive regime or Israeli aggression. Many of us are staying. We don’t know how long this will last, but I’d rather my home become my grave than live in displacement.”

No shelter but the internet

With conventional safe havens out of reach and communication networks under heavy surveillance or blocked entirely, Iran’s Generation Z – those born between the mid-1990s and mid-2010s – are carving out new refuges in the digital world. Forums have become lifelines, serving as makeshift shelters, therapy rooms, and organising hubs.

Momo has been a Discord user for seven years. “It’s the only place where I can breathe,” Momo says. “I used Discord just for voice chats while gaming with friends. Now, it feels like home. We’re often in touch with people there more than our families. In the middle of the bombings, we watched movies and TV series together. Sometimes, we even fall asleep online.”

This generation of Iranians came of age in the shadow of sanctions, political unrest, and censorship. Many were also key players in the 2022 anti-government protests sparked by the death of Mahsa Amini in police custody after she was arrested for wearing “improper hijab” – a movement known globally by the slogan “Woman, Life, Freedom”. Online platforms played a pivotal role then, and they continue to serve as vital tools today.

According to Iranian daily Shargh, nearly 14 million Iranians – around 15 percent of the population – are Gen Z gamers and frequent Discord users. Despite official restrictions, they remain digitally connected, using VPNs and encrypted apps to stay in touch.

“When the attacks began, we were in the middle of a game,” Samin, a 23-year-old from northern Iran, says. “It was surreal – not knowing if the explosions were coming from inside the game or real life. These games are full of gunfire and bombs, creating this bitter irony: I couldn’t tell if I was playing Call of Duty or living it. Sadly, the sounds weren’t from the game – they were real bombings.”

Discord was blocked in Iran in April 2024, with some suspecting that the government shut it down in recognition of its use as a platform to organise protests, although Iran’s judiciary officially cited concerns over indecent content. But the ban hasn’t stopped Gen Z from finding their way back to the app.

“Sometimes we go to great lengths just to find a working VPN, just to log into Discord and join our channels. If someone doesn’t come online, we call them. If their voice cuts out mid-call, our hearts race – we worry they might have been killed in a bombing,” Samin says. “We’re online more than ever, constantly checking in on each other. We’ve shared so much – birthdays, the sound of missiles overhead, the loss of loved ones. We share our fears and daily struggles in that space. It’s a painful atmosphere, but there’s hope, solidarity, and care, too.”

Pregnancy, panic, and perseverance

Meanwhile, a WhatsApp group created initially for prenatal yoga in Tehran has become an unexpected hub of resilience. Its members – pregnant women who were unable to flee the capital – now share breathing techniques, emergency tips, and voice messages during blackout periods.

Ameneh and her friend Zohreh, PhD holders and United States green card recipients, had been waiting for their parents’ visas to be approved by the US for months. While both were expecting babies, they made different decisions: Zohreh returned to Iran to have her family’s support for childbirth, while Ameneh stayed in San Francisco to give birth alone – but safely – in the US.

Now, four days into Israel’s bombardment of Iran, both women are devastated – but still connected via a group chat on the encrypted messaging app called “Yoga for Pregnancy”.

“We give each other advice on self-care and breathing to manage panic attacks and do yoga together online. We light candles and send voice notes when things go quiet again,” says Zohreh, who is eight months pregnant in Tehran.

“The sound of an explosion woke me. A friend guided me to focus on breathing and heartbeat to calm my contractions. Another time, when my baby didn’t move for hours, they told me to play music, do a massage, and try yoga again.”

US President Donald Trump’s threat that Tehran be “evacuated” sent waves of panic through Tehran. Zohreh and many other pregnant women found themselves unable to leave the city due to their physical condition and limited access to medical care. “We had planned to leave Tehran,” she says, “but after seeing the traffic and the possibility of going into labour early, I decided to stay so I’d have access to a hospital.”

As the bombs fall and uncertainty deepens, Iranians’ defiance lives in digital spaces – quiet, steadfast, and deeply human. Even when the sky offers no warning and the regime offers no refuge, they are still finding each other and refusing to face the dark alone.

Editor’s note: Due to the sensitive nature of this story, names have been changed to protect the people involved.

This story was published in collaboration with Egab.