Drawing on this philosophy, Fatale describes the energy behind “Blood” as a different kind of exposure to "Is Love Real" — loud, guitar-driven, defiant. "It's not vulnerable the way ‘Is Love Real’ is. It's in that riot grrrl world of vulnerable, difficult feelings, but guarded with guitars and drums and a fuck-you attitude," she says. "It feels empowering when all the girls are shouting the lyrics back at me. Now it's not just me." By contrast, "Let's Get Married" and "An Apple In My Eye" are, in her words, "just fun love songs," while "It Could Be Better" began as a poem at sixteen, later reworked after a boyfriend cheated on her.
That same level of nurtured defiance persists into how Fatale's music is received. "The more that people attack you online for hyperfemininity, the more I dig my heels in the sand. I'm not changing, and this is fine," she explains. This continues to be sharpened as she moves through her day-to-day life, notably within her job at a local charity shop by conversations with her boss at Fatale acknowledges her as "a super strong woman, very feminist”, who poses the right, challenging questions.
"She asked once, ‘Do you think people underestimate you because of the way you put yourself forward?’ And I was like, yeah," Fatale recalls. "The attitude that the more feminine a woman is, the less respected she's going to be — I think it's ridiculous, even when it comes from other women. It's internalised misogyny, and I feel like I experience it myself." Asked what womanhood means to her: "Strength and resilience. There's so much strength in being a woman, inherently — what we experience, and the things our bodies go through. It does not get more hardcore than that.”
Beyond these thoughtful conversations with her boss, the charity shop provides more objective source material for Fatale to distill into her music. "I end up having long conversations with little old ladies, or women who only have a pound to spend, because that's all they've got. They're so inspiring," she says. It's part of why she pushes back against any “mysterious” artist label. "I am a normal girl in Hull. I work in a charity shop. I'm not out of reach, and what I do isn't out of reach," she says, admitting she'd initially tried the opposite. "I wanted to be mysterious. And then I realised I'm not, in real life. I’d be replying to people on TikTok and talking to them like they're my friend." This carries beyond the social world and into her live presence, as Fatale recalls a moment in which a fan cried in her arms after a recent London show — a moment that she notes makes it feel worth it. "She said she'd resonated with something I'd written, and I feel like it’s so powerful to give young girls that kind of space.”
Honouring where she comes from, Hull exists within the threads of the work for Fatale, middling within the tension between loyalty and claustrophobia that runs through the EP. She addresses the city's misjudged reputation, shining a light on a dismissed music scene, and an assumption that nothing serious happens north of Leeds or Manchester. But she's plain about what holds its scene together without real infrastructure. "There are no proper studios, maybe two rehearsal buildings. But there's a real DIY attitude. You make do with what you have, and figure out how to make it work on no budget," she tells me.
Most of Hull's scene, she notes, is post-punk or R&B, leaving her one of relatively few solo female artists doing something different within DIY spaces. Regardless, she has no plans to leave. "It's nice to still have that sense of community. Sometimes when I go to London it's a bit dog-eat-dog. And I’m sure it isn't once you're in it, but as an outsider coming in, you're just like, oh my god.”