From the album Loveland
This isn't a power anthem. It's a confession from someone trapped by her own effect on people. She keeps performing mastery over men while admitting she doesn't understand why it happens, can't stop it, and needs a disguise just to leave the house. The bravado is hollow.
I should spend all my money on a good disguise / If that means that I can just go out tonight
The song claims to be about irresistible power but starts with her needing to hide from it. If this were actual triumph, she wouldn't be spending money to disappear.
There's a pattern here, I wish that I could tell you why
She presents herself as someone with total control, then admits she doesn't understand her own behavior. The mystery isn't how she does it. It's why she keeps doing it.
The model, the athlete, the stupid musician / They call, and they beg, yeah, they're fucking persistent / And like my cigarettes, I quit them
Calling the musician 'stupid' while dating him anyway tells you everything. She knows these relationships are worthless before they start. The cigarette line is maybe the saddest moment in the song—she quits things she knows are bad for her, then goes back.
I can have any man at all / Got a special touch, I'm not doing much / Just second nature, baby
Second nature means effortless. But she also calls it a burden she's been dealing with her whole life. Those two things can't both be true unless the ease itself is the problem—she attracts men without trying, which means she can't turn it off.
I wish that I could tell you why
After all the 'criminal mind control' posturing, the song ends where it started: confused. The performance of control was just that. She's as stuck in the pattern as the men are.
The real subject of this song isn't men. It's compulsion. She keeps pulling people in because she can, not because she wants to. The 'wish that I could tell you why' lands different the second time—it's not mysterious, it's powerless.