Someone finally wrote a pop anthem where therapy receipts feel like accessories, not confessions.
On Fabulous, London pop outsider MEEK turns heartbreak into high-camp survival theatre, a chant-ready indie pop rush that sounds like mascara applied mid-meltdown.
It is glossy, dramatic and knowingly theatrical, the kind of debut single that arrives already convinced it belongs under neon lights.
London pop newcomer MEEK writes from the edges of queer nightlife rather than the centre of chart pop, and that perspective gives the song its bite.
Beneath the glitter, Fabulous circles heartbreak, therapy and self-presentation, where looking confident becomes a coping strategy rather than a victory lap.
The repeated claim of feeling fabulous after everything falls apart does not read as denial. It reads as staging.
She turns personal chaos into performance, echoing the drag-inflected humour and nightlife energy that shaped the track’s early reception in London’s LGBTQ+ spaces.
The smile never fully convinces you. That’s the point.
Sonically, the track leans into neon-lit indie pop theatrics. Piano stabs bounce against glossy strings while the chorus lands like a communal chant built for sticky dancefloors rather than polite playlists.
Once the hook hits, it locks in fast, trading perfection for presence. The repetition feels deliberate, almost ritualistic, turning the confession of heartbreak into something you can shout with strangers instead of whisper alone.
Lyrics about heartbreak, therapy and exaggerated glamour underline the idea that confidence here is styled, not inherited.
The Sophie Muller and Theo Adams video sharpens that idea further. Shot across Blackpool’s faded promenade, MEEK storms through seaside streets in a procession of camp outfits, flanked by drag dancers and flashes of Northern kitsch.
The visuals treat the Golden Mile like a runway and lean into theatrical optimism, matching the song’s refusal to wallow even when the world looks messy.
What makes Fabulous interesting is not the empowerment slogan but the contradiction underneath it.
She sings about tax bills, therapy sessions and romantic fallout while insisting she feels untouchable, and that tension gives the anthem its edge.
In MEEK’s world, confidence isn’t proof that the pain has gone.
It is the outfit you wear so nobody notices it arrived with you. The song does not chase healing.
It chases spectacle, and in doing so reveals how modern pop often survives by turning vulnerability into something you can dance through rather than escape.
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