From the album Loveland
Waterhouse narrates a romance where she's doing all the performing and her lover is just watching. She calls them shameless for lighting a cigarette instead of accepting breakfast in bed, but the real reveal is that she's constructed an entire fantasy of domestic devotion around someone who hasn't asked for any of it. The famous feeling isn't about tabloids. It's the high of being obsessed.
Just like you, it changes, nothing's the same / But I'll never change my wayward ways
She's comparing herself to a city known for constant reinvention while claiming she'll never change. The wayward wanderer framing doesn't match the devotional servant she becomes in the chorus. She doesn't see the gap.
Pleased to miss you / Did you miss me too? / Not my attitude
The shift from 'pleased to miss you' to needing confirmation they missed her back happens in three lines. She's performing detachment while clearly wanting proof of reciprocity. The 'not my attitude' feels like talking herself down from asking.
I bring you breakfast back to bed / You're my favourite flavour / You light a cigarette instead / My gosh, you're shameless
She's framing their refusal to engage as charming rebellion instead of indifference. Calling them shameless for not accepting breakfast she brought unasked suggests she's interpreting their lack of interest as sexy defiance. That's a narrator who needs the story to mean something it doesn't.
Like a sunbeam hits you after the rain / I'll throw my dancing shoes your way
The image of throwing dancing shoes is oddly aggressive for a love song. She's offering herself as entertainment, as something to watch perform. The sunbeam comparison positions her as sudden brightness in their life, but they never confirm they were waiting for light.
I'm a believer / You're a keeper / Always wanted you
No scene, no coffee, no papers. Just the raw statement of faith in someone who might not have asked for it. The past tense 'always wanted you' sits uneasily next to present devotion. It reads like she's been building this story longer than the relationship itself.
The song ends where it started, repeating the chorus like she's trying to make the scene real by saying it again. Waterhouse has written a love song to someone who might not love her back, but the brilliance is in how long she can sustain the illusion that their indifference is actually mystique. The famous feeling isn't tabloid attention. It's the narcotic high of being this obsessed and calling it romance.