What do we expect from women in pop culture when they dare to be sexy, provocative, and the main character of their own stories? Do we celebrate their autonomy, or judge them through a double standard still tied to outdated, misogynistic views? Sabrina Carpenter’s seventh studio album, Man’s Best Friend, steps right into that cultural battleground and dances through it with a smirk. Its cover image alone sparked debate, but what matters most is how the American artist transforms those conversations into a witty, confident, and unapologetically fantastic new album.
Sabrina Carpenter perfectly embodies the definition of pop music: catchy melodies with gorgeous production aimed at a mainstream audience eager for stories about love and heartbreak. Sabrina is a feminist –a bad feminist as Madonna would say– and her take on the themes she deals with in her new record is articulated from the perspective of a young woman in control of her feelings and her desires, even within the walls of her domestic life. Although this narrative may feel familiar in today’s pop landscape, it remains a sign of the times—one we need to keep amplifying. We had a taste of that in Short n’ Sweet, and now she’s back to cement her particular technique.
Sabrina has come a long way from her Disney Channel beginnings, building a career that mixes biting humour with pop craftsmanship. After the success of Short n’ Sweet (2024), a Grammy-winning album that established her as one of pop’s most charismatic figures, Carpenter faced the challenge of ‘what comes next’. Rather than tearing up her blueprint, Man’s Best Friend polishes and expands it, offering a brighter, funkier, and at times more theatrical experience. Produced with Jack Antonoff and John Ryan, the album is a genre playground: disco, synth-pop, country flourishes, and even funk guitar licks make appearances, tied together with Carpenter’s sharp lyricism. At times, listening to the record feels like stepping into a beautifully decorated 1980s room, where the music seems to travel through time.
The lead single, Manchild, is a delicious and vibrant takedown of an emotionally stunted ex, both petty and poetic. But to be fair, even if this first single has made good numbers for Sabrina, it wasn’t as addictive as some of her singles from the previous albums (Taste, Espresso or Please, Please, Please). But last week, some days before the release of the record, she surprised the world with Tears, a second lead to the album that slow things down with glitter and disco melancholy, turning vulnerability into something seductive including the amazing orchestration, highlighted in its middle 8.
And then, when digging into the album, it only lifts up: we find incredible tracks like My Man on Willpower, a super fun song with gorgeous strings that make the ending of it sound like it could be the OST of a cool romcom (“What in the fucked-up romantic, dark comedy is this nightmare lately?”). As we start going through the track list, we discover different corners of the emotional life. In Nobody’s Son she speaks dramatically about being single and losing hope of meeting someone new and exciting (“Probably should have guessed / He’s like the rest, so fine and so deceiving / There's nobody's son / Not anyone left for me to believe in), and We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night shows off her ability to make relationship drama sound both hilarious and painfully real (“Called it a false alarm to all of our friends / Then we almost broke up again last night”) in a style that sounds perfect for singing in the car; a country song that meets ABBA along the way.
Through Man’s Best Friend, Sabrina Carpenter deals with love stuff with clever wit. Not only this helps to observe things from different perspective when it comes to dating advice and lessons, but also remind us of Sabrina’s talent for songwriting and the importance of thematical genres as a role in pop music (the video for Tears feels like a very queer homage to The Rocky Horror Picture Show). This way, we find moments like Never Getting Laid, that captures revenge with hilarious lyrics (“Baby, I'm not angry / Love you just the same / I just hope you get agoraphobia some day”). This country song sounds lush and extra fun, making the theatrical and comic take of Sabrina’s style reach its maximum point in a place where Bridesmaids, Bridget Jones and Austin Powers inhabit all together.
The album’s ABBA-esque melodies, nods to Fleetwood Mac, and live-feeling arrangements make it a rich, rewarding listen that fans are already calling a “grower”. It’s exactly that: it keeps you company the first time you listen to it, and then you befriend it for comfort and distraction a couple days later. There’s room for many other elements and reflections where sexuality stars: in When Did You Get Hot?, she shows interest in someone who was invisible to this point (“When did you get hot all the sudden? / I could look you up and down all day (Hey) / When did you get hot? / I think I would remember if you had that face (That face)”); she becomes mega relatable in Go Go Juice sharing wise guidance for when you mix horniness and alcohol (“Oh, I'm just drinking to call someone / A girl who knows her liquor is a girl who's been dumped”); or a very clever, suggestive, tongue-in-cheek and horny innuendo in House Tour (“Do you want the house tour? I could take you to the first, second, third floor / And I promise none of this is a metaphor / I just want you to come inside”).
But she also gets a bit more serious when it comes to certain themes; as a reminder when unwanted booty calls come around in Goodbye (“Can't have your cake and eat it too / By walking out, that means you choose goodbye”); a representation of how having your heart broken several times before can tough you up in Don’t Worry I’ll Make You Worry (“Silent treatment and humblin' your ass / Well, that's some of my best work”); or Sugar Talking, with a gorgeous lead by a seductive Charvel guitar, and makes things pretty clear (“Put your loving where your mouth is / Yeah, your paragraphs mean shit to me / Get your sorry ass to mine”).
The heart of this record lies in its theatricality: part monologue, part dialogue, sometimes feeling like a Gen Z musical about heartbreak, lust, and self-rediscovery that references some of the sounds from the 80s pop music. Carpenter’s cheeky humour remains her secret weapon, letting her turn moments of pain into moments of empowerment, all while keeping the listener dancing.
Man’s Best Friend doesn’t shock or reinvent Sabrina Carpenter, but it doesn’t need to. It’s a clever, confident expansion of her pop persona, telling the kinds of love-life stories that resonate with her generation—delivered with wit, charm, and remarkable consistency. If Short n’ Sweet made her a pop darling, Man’s Best Friend proves she’s here to stay—and might just age into one of her most beloved records over time.