Adéla Was Born to Be a Pop Star—Now Comes the Hard Part

On a warm September night in a third-floor walk-up apartment in Ridgewood, Queens, there's a gaggle of young people sitting on the floor in pink wigs. They're probably from Amazon, I'm assuming, because one of them can't stop complaining about the fluorescent magenta tendrils itching the back of their neck. According to the Partiful invitation I received four days earlier from my friend from college, we're here to celebrate the release of Prima, the debut album from Slovak pop provocateur Adéla. Technically, it's a listening party, but the atmosphere feels closer to a religious gathering or perhaps a niche bachelorette party.

Within an hour, the tiny railroad apartment is awash in thumping basslines, glittering synths, and deliciously overproduced pop sounds that wouldn't feel out of place in an era when bedazzled Sidekicks were the norm. Then comes "Hitachi," a surprisingly sentimental ballad that uses a vibrator as a metaphor for an ill-fated relationship. Somewhere between the laughter and the earnest sing-along, I swear I spot a tear forming in the corner of someone's eye. It's a peculiar kind of devotion for an artist who, not long ago, was known primarily in stan Twitter circles for her elimination from a K-pop competition. Yet Adéla has achieved what countless aspiring pop stars have struggled to manufacture: a genuine cult following.

When we meet for our interview, Prima has already been out in the world for a month and a half. Everyone has something to say about the album, so the 22-year-old artist has sworn off social media, put her head down, and doubled down on her craft and album rollout. She has just finished up the first part of the East Coast leg of her Red Bottoms Tour, attended buzzy media events and red carpets, and come out as a special guest for Charli XCX at her L.A. show. Most notably, she appeared on The Late Night Show Starring Jimmy Fallon just four days before our scheduled call, learning her onstage routine in the span of hours. Much like the meme of Lady Gaga, Adéla's life is very much giving "bus, club, another club, another club, plane, next place." Despite a demanding schedule that would leave anyone mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted, Adéla locks into our hour-long conversation, carefully considering every word she says. She recognizes that, at this early inflection point in her fame, everyone is waiting for whatever she has to say next.

"There are a lot of things that are super new, like the excessive attention, but I feel pretty much the same. Maybe I just haven't processed it yet," she says, rolling over in bed sans her signature sultry eye makeup and adjusting her baggy sleep shirt printed with a photo of Britney Spears from the Baby One More Time album cover. "The only thing that does process to me is the quality of work that I put out there."

It would be an understatement to call 2026 the year of Adéla. Born Adéla Jergová, she has catapulted to mainstream celebrity over the last few months. Although she had a modest following as a former contestant in the competition that formed the global group Katseye, nothing could have prepared the industry for what was to come within less than a year of her debut solo EP: a sold-out tour; countless glossy editorials; praise from Zara Larsson, Demi Lovato, and Rosalía (which Adéla admits was "surreal"); and, of course, two hit singles on the Billboard Hot 100 nearly back-to-back. One song even got a stamp of approval from its namesake, actress Nicole Kidman.

It feels like Adéla's ascension to fame was destined, if not inevitable. Born in Bratislava, Slovakia, she grew up with aspirations far bigger than those that surrounded her in her Eastern European town. She taught herself English through Disney Channel and YouTube, studied ballet professionally until her teenage years, and had a rebellious streak in school. Her teachers let it slide because she was a great student, Adéla once admitted in an interview.

Growing up in post-communism Europe, Adéla idolized pop music, much like her mother, who, 20 years before, worshipped her smuggled Western pop culture posters. She served as a major inspiration behind Adéla's now-viral hit "Ain't in LA." Her childhood bedroom served as her altar to the feminist legends who came before her. "When you think of a pop star, you think of a woman—and that is so empowering to me," she notes, nodding to Beyoncé, Ariana Grande, and Lady Gaga. These are all women who, in her eyes, are far more than just beautiful artists singing and dancing on stage. They're shaping culture, speaking to people, and creating art. "People love to tell themselves that these women don't have this power, but they do, and I think they're just afraid to admit it to themselves," the singer adds. "A lot of people don't think much about pop music at all. It's funny to me because a straight man will never understand."

By 2023, Adéla traded the ballet barre for the recording studio, eventually moving to Los Angeles and landing a spot on The Debut: Dream Academy, the Hybe and Geffen Records reality show that can be likened to the K-Pop version of Making the Band. She was the first to be eliminated from the competition, with label executives citing her persona as more apt to be a solo performer. Despite the rejection, the experience introduced her to a global audience and, more importantly, gave her the budding platform to launch the artistic career she'd long envisioned. Less than two years later, Adéla released her first EP, The Provocateur, under Capitol Records. A gritty, sexually charged collision of industrial beats and distorted electro-pop, the project explored the darker underbelly of fame, ambition, and an industry eager to consume its next big star. Its accompanying visuals were equally confrontational. The opening shots of the music video for "SexOnTheBeat" feature a bleached-browed, pastel pink–haired Adéla simulating an orgasm. Subtlety, clearly, was never the point.

Beneath the shock value, though, was something more substantive: a young artist reckoning with the machinery of pop stardom she was determined to conquer. Now Adéla would say she always knew she was destined to be a star, even when she was dancing around in her bedroom to Hannah Montana as a child. "I make shit that I think is good and sick and satisfies my own desires and my own itch to make art," she admits, running her red talon–tipped fingers through her hair. "Whether it charts or it doesn't, it's okay." She says it matter-of-factly; there's no ego attached.

If The Provocateur was Adéla's introduction to the harsh realities of the music industry, Prima is her opportunity to revel in its spectacle. Released in September, her first full-length album trades the abrasive, industrial edges of its predecessor for a glossier, more exuberant brand of pop that feels indebted to the larger-than-life women whose music soundtracked her childhood. There's the infectious, tongue-in-cheek bravado of "KGB," the hypnotic club anthem "Boys," and the unexpectedly tender vulnerability of "Red Bottoms."

The album is laced with references to the pop and rap music on 12-year-old Adéla's iPod: A$AP Rocky's "Fashion Killa," Beyoncé's "Pretty Hurts," and Miley Cyrus's Bangerz. The latter's influence runs deep, and Adéla even enlisted songwriter and producer Theron Thomas, who worked on Cyrus's "We Can't Stop," to deliver the chopped-and-screwed vocal Easter egg that opens "Ain't in LA." Across the record, Adéla moves between camp, confidence, humor, and heartbreak, proving that after the interrogation of celebrity in The Provocateur, she is now determined to enjoy the ride to the top.

And ride to the top she is. Adéla might have expected fame, but certainly not this quickly. "Getting two hits is really surprising. I wanted to see if I could do it. I know I can perform really well, sing really well, and dance really well, but songwriting was always a mystery to me," she admits. "I wondered if it was even in me to write songs that people could connect to on a large scale. I honestly wasn't even expecting it all. I was just like, 'Okay, let's see how this goes.'"

First came "Ain't in LA," an ode to her hometown that sparked a viral TikTok trend, with users around the world paying homage to the places they call home. (You may have seen the "The baddest bitches are in [insert city here]" caption across your feed.) Then came "Nicole Kidman," a cheeky, high-octane pop anthem that became practically inescapable on the app. The single's cultural reach hit a surreal level when, during Chanel's S/S 27 runway show in Paris, Dua Lipa, Pedro Pascal and Kristen Wiig filmed a TikTok video lip-syncing to the track before passing the camera to none other than Kidman herself. (It was incredibly meta, if you ask me.)

There's this notion that to achieve commercial success, a musician must sacrifice their artistry or true creative vision. To some critics, there's no greater sin than releasing a chart-topping, label-manufactured hit engineered to permeate the masses, infiltrating every TikTok video and weekly streaming playlist across the globe. But what if making a massive pop hit is the artistic vision? Such is the case with Prima, where Adéla self-describes her shift into a commercially safe, mainstream format as the next step in her evolution. Certainly, she admits, her label was happy, but Adéla stands steadfast in the notion that her sonic shift was not the result of a label forcing her to abandon her creative process for streaming numbers.

"It makes me laugh when people say the album sounds the way that it does because of my label. These days, people talk about artists in a way that is a little bit patronizing, as if we have no autonomy or don't have a say in this or that it's just my label making me do this," Adéla explains. "I just wanted to make a pop-ass album, and that was my choice."

Not everyone has embraced Adéla's new sound. To some longtime fans, Prima's glossy production felt like a departure from the experimental music that first attracted them to her work. In the days following the album release, the singer says she had to get off social media entirely because of all of the attention—both good and bad—that followed. Being called a corporate sellout doesn't do wonders for the soul. "Everyone has a say. Everyone feels like a music critic. Everyone loves to be the contrarian and loves to hate the thing that's popular," she says. "At the end of the day, it's popular for a reason, though. It's reaching a lot of people. I just don't think it's that fucking deep. Let's enjoy the music."

At this point, it's hard to ignore the elephant in the room. With the Grammy nomination announcement just days away, Adéla's name has been circulating as a potential contender for Best New Artist given her mainstream breakthrough. Despite the growing speculation across social media, the singer reveals that she's opted not to enter the race this year. "I think it's a nomination you need to earn. I have so much more work to do before I even think of that. I have my tour, and I want to start writing my next album," she explains. "I think I need to do all the work I can this year and next in order to really earn it. Maybe in 2028 … I'll feel like I truly deserve to be in that room."

Adéla says she's already thinking about her next sonic shift, tossing and turning different directions in her head for her next project. "I had the thought for a split second, Is changing sounds too risky to do now that I've seen success? But I think that's exactly why I am successful—because I just keep following my own gut," she says.

For all her self-assurance, though, Adéla is quick to acknowledge that the reality of fame hasn't been entirely what she imagined. In the days following Prima's release, as thousands of strangers dissected her music, appearance, and every perceived artistic misstep online, the singer found herself becoming increasingly overwhelmed. She had a tour to rehearse for, interviews to conduct, and an album to promote, all while navigating an entirely new level of public scrutiny. At one point, the noise became so deafening that she began to resent the very music she'd spent months creating.

"I was getting really overwhelmed, and it was making me not like the songs anymore," she recalls. "There was just so much noise where I genuinely became very anxious very quickly. I wanted to literally escape, and obviously, I can't. This is my life that I've brought upon myself." Eventually, she sought refuge in the small, unremarkable, and mundane rituals of everyday life. One evening, a trip to the grocery store with her boyfriend offered an unexpected reality check. "No matter if people are gonna fucking like my song or not, I still am gonna go out there and buy a fucking carrot just like everybody else," she remembers thinking.

Of course, there's very little that's ordinary about Adéla's public-facing persona. Blending in at the grocery store is becoming more difficult—never mind the electric-pink hair that's become a bat signal to her fans, aptly named Adéliens. With her signature magenta strands, gravity-defying heels, and theatrical stage ensembles, Adéla and her stylist Chris Horan, who also styles pop royalty Charli XCX, have developed a visual identity that shot a small-town girl into bona fide baddie status. Yet the woman behind the spectacle is considerably more low-key than her onstage counterpart. On most days, she tells me, you'll find her in the Gen Z starter pack: jeans, heels, and a bra worn as a top. "It's a bit of a dance to see how far Adéla the person and how far Adéla the pop star goes," she explains. "The line is very much blurred." Even the hair, arguably her most recognizable feature, occasionally catches her off guard. "Sometimes, I look at my boyfriend, and I'm like, 'I really have pink hair, huh?'" she laughs. "I just have pink hair every day of my life now."

What comes next? If there's one thing Adéla understands about the fickle nature of pop stardom, it's that the public's adoration of successful women is rarely unconditional—or permanent. She's spent years studying the trajectories of her favorite female artists, watching as the same audiences that once worshipped them eventually turned them into punching bags. Now that she's found herself on the receiving end of that adoration, she's acutely aware that the pendulum could swing in the opposite direction at any moment.

"I think it makes me enjoy the moment less," she admits before clarifying that it isn't necessarily a bad thing. "I'm not getting my hopes up so high that everybody loves me and they're gonna love me forever." If anything, the perspective keeps her grounded. She recently discussed the inevitable peaks and valleys of fame with Larsson, whose own career (spanning more than a decade) didn't take off stateside until last year. A Lisa Frank–esque dolphin meme propelled Larsson back into the good graces of U.S. audiences after releasing her hit single "Midnight Sun." Just like the Swedish singer, Adéla knows that today's chart-topping success offers no guarantees about tomorrow's reception. "I'm not blind to the fact that right now I'm at this level of fame, and maybe the next album, I will go further," she says. "But then, at some point, you either just stagnate or you slowly go down."

Perhaps that's why Adéla seems less interested in chasing her next viral moment than in figuring out how to build something that lasts. Toward the end of our conversation, I ask what separates an artist who enjoys a fleeting moment of fame from one who leaves behind a genuine cultural legacy, and her answer is refreshingly straightforward. "You just need to want to be fucking great," she says. But ambition alone isn't enough. "You need to have something to say. You need to have fucking opinions," she adds. She points to Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Beyoncé as artists whose influence has extended far beyond their music, shaping culture and challenging the people who consume it.

As for her own legacy, Adéla hopes to be remembered as someone willing to have difficult conversations, empower others, and make people think. It's a noble pursuit for any artist, though perhaps an unexpected one from a 22-year-old whose biggest hit opens with "Every single night, I pray that my tits are sitting right." Then again, who says deep cultural significance can't come with a killer beat and a little camp?

"Now you might not think that based on my song 'Nicole Kidman,'" she says in reference to making music that makes people introspective. With a sly grin peppered with confidence that has become her signature, she adds, "But there's something there, girl."

Photographer: Dana Trippe
Stylist: Chris Horan
Editor in Chief: Kat Collings
Creative Director: Amy Armani
Hairstylist: John Novotny
Makeup Artist: Jimmy Stam
Manicurist: Juan Alvear
Set Designer: Montana Pugh
Style Director: Lauren Eggertsen
Entertainment Director: Jessica Baker
Director of Production: Erin Corbett
Creative Producer: Luciana De La Fe
Line Producer: Hannah Anderson

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