Megan Thee Stallion

Megan Thee Stallion chants “My man” over 90s R&B in studio tease with Saadiq

Interpolating Total’s 1996 slow jam “Kissin’ You,” Megan Thee Stallion unveils a brief, 25-second studio tease of her upcoming single, produced by Raphael Saadiq. Filtering R&B nostalgia through a trap-tinted lens, the track loops a soulful hook while Megan chants, “My man, my man, my man, my baby, my baby.”

Adorned in camo and tan boots, she references NBA star Klay Thompson, her publicly paraded boyfriend, as fans speculate the dawn of a new musical phase since April’s “Whenever.”

Megan Thee Stallion taps Warner for distro, keeps her masters and her distance

Megan Thee Stallion inks a distribution deal with Warner Music Group, cleverly threading major label muscle into her independent fabric. Her catalogue remains untouched—she holds onto ownership, navigating the terrain with precision rather than surrender.

The pivot follows disputes over control and attempted interference in her artistic affairs. Rather than compromise, she recalibrates, aligning with Warner strictly for distribution, not domination.

Megan Thee Stallion crash-lands in Love Island USA, twerks, sells swimsuits, exits

Megan Thee Stallion sashays into the Love Island USA villa clad in a gold cut-out bikini to the beat of her track “Her,” declaring twerking a perilous athletic feat. With tongue-in-cheek drama, she corrals contestants into donning pieces from her Hot Girl Summer swimwear line, sold at Walmart.

The islanders squirm through limbo, shimmy through a twerk-off, and solve puzzles, ending in a tie—boys limbo winners, girls puzzle victors. Megan wraps her cameo by unveiling two new bombshells: TJ Palma and Andreina Santos.

Megan Thee Stallion storms “Love Island USA” with bikini, twerk-off, no warnings

Megan Thee Stallion steps into the “Love Island USA” villa without warning, bikini-clad and broadcasting the physical equivalent of a triple exclamation point. She doesn’t just appear—she commandeers the camera’s attention with a poise that refuses interpretation.

She orchestrates a twerk-off, seemingly indifferent to propriety, as the show’s tempo shifts from casual flirtation to choreographed chaos. What unfolds is less reality TV and more an unscheduled spectacle of rhythmic autonomy.