Though Slayyyter has been a gay guy music video night staple since her sticky-sweet Y2K-inspired debut in 2018, her latest album, Worst Girl in America, feels like a true arrival. She trades bubblegum pop for a louder, messier, and unapologetic blend of pop, punk, and electronic that’s taken on a life of its own online. There’s the slinky disco shimmer of “Dance…,” which has rightfully earned comparisons to Madonna and Britney Spears, while “Crank” is one viral moment or deliciously chaotic mashup away from becoming your group chat’s vocal stim of the week.
That duality is equal parts glamorous and unhinged, which has made Slayyyter one of the most beloved pop stars of the internet age. But Worst Girl in America digs deeper. Inspired by her adolescence in the suburbs of St. Louis, the record leans into grit, insecurity, and vulnerability beneath its sleazy maximalist production.
“You can’t really escape where you’re from. You can change and grow into something better, but the things that happen to you when you’re young—you carry them with you for the rest of your life,” Slayyyter tells Cosmopolitan of her personal thesis behind the project.
It’s a far cry from the early days of her career, when she was recording songs in her mom’s closet between shifts as a hair salon receptionist and uploading them to SoundCloud for a niche, predominantly queer audience. But something shifted once she dropped songs like “Mine” and “BFF” with Ayesha Erotica, as Charli xcx claimed she was “the motherfucking future” on one of her personally curated Spotify playlists.
Now, Slayyyter’s chronically online chaos is finding its place on major festival stages, including Coachella, Lollapalooza, and Governors Ball, before she heads out on her Worst Girl in the World tour this fall. Ahead, we catch up with the pop disruptor right before her latest project arrived in its final form.
Congrats on Worst Girl in America. How are you feeling about it now that everything’s out?
I get really nutty on release day. I kind of like it. I feel very anxious and fearful, but there’s really nothing to be afraid of. People already like the singles, but it’s hard to describe. It’s just a weird feeling of doom.
Even the title is quite polarizing. How did you decide this was the name of the record? Was it something you had in mind before hitting the studio, or did it come to you as you started working on the music?
I was inspired by my skater friends in St. Louis. There’s this terminology or nickname if someone’s drunk too much, like “He’s the worst dude.” “Worst girl” feels like it could be a term of endearment, but it could also be something I feel insecure about, like people thinking I’m not a good artist or person, feeling annoying, or like I don’t really fit in with any of my peers. As soon as that title popped into my head, it clicked.
You’ve come such a long way since you built a niche following on Stan Twitter and started uploading songs on SoundCloud. Are there any misconceptions people might have about a chronically online come-up?
The internet started as my escape from a dysfunctional household and feeling like a loser at school, and there are people I’ve met from before I was an artist who still DM me, like, “Oh my gosh. I’m so proud of you. Remember when we would post Lana Del Rey covers on SoundCloud?” I can’t believe they even still follow me. Now, I like to talk to my fans directly, know what’s funny online, and find small artists who will become huge stars. Even with all this crazy A.I. bullshit, there’s still human connection to be had, magic to be found, and things to inspire. Twitter is the reason I have a career, and how I found Ayesha Erotica back in the day and made songs with her that changed my life. You can either reject it or get down with it. I’d rather be in the mix.
Well, you’ve been an “artist to watch” since those days, and they say it takes 10 years to become an overnight success. Does this era feel like you stepping into your next form? How do you feel you’ve grown up within pop?
The reason we keep seeing artists with long-winded careers recently having big breakout moments is that it takes time to develop yourself. Back in the 90s, you would be swallowed into the system at a very young age, but you would be developed for years before your first song ever hit the market. Now, you have something hit on the internet, and then you’re thrown into the deep end and told to swim.
This project is not something I could have made at any other point in my life because it required years of experience and exploring different sides of me. I finally hit the mark on who I am as an artist, where I haven’t really been able to do that in the past. This album is a sweet spot of what my true sound is and what my visual output looks like, and it’s an evolution of what I'm capable of creatively. That can only come from years of trying and failing.
To me, a lot of these songs live in the same sonic universe as The Veronicas, Cobra Starship, and Kesha, which aligns with your description of this album as “iPod music.” Did you find yourself listening to or feeling inspired by certain artists—or even older songs in your discography—as you approached this project?
I feel very drawn to grating music. Like, I love when songs poke you in the ears. Even when I’m singing at my softest and prettiest, there’s still a nasally quality in my rap-heavy songs, like “Daddy AF” or “Self Destruct” on my debut album [Troubled Paradise]. I literally hate that album, but I feel like there are pieces of Worst Girl in America that exist in my past work.
This album is every piece of anything that has ever touched my life musically. I refer to it as iPod music because there’s so much that has influenced me, from Lady Gaga and Marina and the Diamonds to M.I.A, Crystal Castles, and the White Stripes. I wanted to tap into something nostalgic but also take it to a place that reminded me of the punk music my skater friends would show me when I was in St. Louis or seeing a Lana Del Rey gif for the first time on Tumblr.
Love that you brought up “Daddy AF,” which made it into movies like Bodies Bodies Bodies and Anora. Do you think any of your new tracks should have a needle drop moment like that?
A lot of the songs have a very cinematic quality, but “I’m Actually Kinda Famous” feels like a really gross bathroom scene in a movie. It’s, like, when some shit goes down. I hope someone will use that.
“Crank” is also having its moment online, and its brashness and volume almost feel like an act of rebellion. What inspired you to take it to that level?
I’m naturally loud, and my music definitely mirrors that. In industry settings, I’ve always felt like I’m the trashy St. Louis girl, and a little bit of insecurity comes with that. I don’t feel polished when I look at other celebrities with their glossy designer clothes and teams of people adjusting their hair. I’ve felt very out of place and like the drunkest, most annoying person in the room. This album is funny and leans into that kind of personality.
That kind of vulnerability comes through on songs like “Gas Station” and “$t. Loser,” too. How do you find the balance of building a world within a certain sound while releasing emotions that might not fit that vibe?
Even the sad moments fit so well with the nasty, aggressive songs. I have songs about drugs, drinking, and partying, where I’m the crazy girl who wears stripper heels and walks down the street naked. On past projects, it was meant to be seen as cool. Here, it comes from this very dark place where I’m running away from something. Over the years, I’ve built up an armor around myself so people don’t know the real me or what I struggle with. I put a fantasy filter over it all, and this is the first album where I’ve let people in. It taps into why I feel like everyone hates me so god damn much all the time, and finally being at peace with who I am. It took me a while to get here.
You’ve mentioned feeling attached to the late Brittany Murphy, whom you’ve named a song after on the album. When was the first time you felt so connected to her?
Uptown Girls is one of my favorite movies of all time, and I could probably recite the script off the top of my head. She’s someone that I have always looked up to. When I was younger, I hated having curly hair, but then I’d be like, “You know what? I like my blonde curly hair, because Brittany Murphy has blonde curly hair.” This isn’t a song about her, but more like an homage to her. The lyrics are about my personal experiences with suicidal ideation and feeling like I’m not good enough.
When I watched the [What Happened, Brittany Murphy?] docuseries, I felt tied to her story as a girl from New Jersey who wanted to be a star and had a broken relationship with her father. She was charming, and she had all this life in her until the industry broke her down and told her she wasn’t blonde or skinny enough. I remember when my dad read in the newspaper that she had passed away. I was so shocked, and it broke my heart. It is genuinely one of the greatest tragedies to me.
This era has such a gritty glam-meets-Americana aesthetic. What was on your moodboard, and how are you bringing that visual world to the stage at festivals this summer?
I’m going to be performing with a band for the first time, which I’ve never done. The music really called for that, and I didn’t want it to be me and a DJ performing to a track. I was really inspired by the Soul Wax tour documentary and how no two shows were ever the same—they would switch it up every single night. Worst Girl in America lends itself to a live setting so well, and I’m excited for festivals to give it a different energy. My biggest goal for the tour is to make it feel like people are stepping into a music video with the set design and the band.
WOR$T GIRL IN AMERICA is now available to stream.
Parts of this interview have been edited and condensed for clarity.
