Rosemary Joaquin Is Breaking Pop's Rules

Rosemary Joaquin isn’t just making music; she’s staging a full-blown emotional exorcism in glitter and Calvin Kleins. She’s the kind of artist who could make a breakup feel like a slumber party from hell—with sequins, eyeliner tears, and a microphone as her weapon of choice. 2025 is her year, and she’s not just rising—she’s blowing the whole queer pop canon open with charm, chaos, and just the right amount of unhinged.

Camp, Chaos, and Calvin Klein

“Calvin Klein,” the viral beast that started it all, is basically the soundtrack to stealing your ex’s underwear and thriving about it. Think: post-breakup swagger meets early 2000s nostalgia, shot through with millennial pop irony. The video—directed and edited by Joaquin herself—throws us into a fever dream where a fictional lesbian boyband called “Lesbian Direction” serves synchronized thirst and queer fantasy on a tatami of denim and desire. It’s equal parts satire, soft-core power move, and queer cinema. Nine million views later, it’s obvious: this girl isn’t just a singer, she’s a director of her own mythology.

“Please Don’t Listen to This”—But Do

Her debut EP Please Don’t Listen to This is the sonic equivalent of crying in the club and then texting your therapist. Five tracks, fifteen minutes, zero emotional survival skills. Each song is a sugary grenade: Bestie screams into the void with friendship as a flotation device; I Get Why We’re Not Friends sits in the wreckage with self-awareness as a weapon. Flirt with Women is exactly what it sounds like—a flirty queer anthem so good it should come with a warning label. And then there’s 28, a melancholic confession that turns quarter-life panic into pop catharsis.