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If you are one of the few humans left on the planet who has somehow escaped the gravitational pull of the song that has quickly become as ubiquitous as the element it’s named after (spoiler: water), your days are numbered.

Soon after Tyla’s now-hit was uploaded to the internet last July, its uniquely hot vibe catapulted her monthly Spotify streams to 29 million and infiltrated every single one of my playlists. The accompanying choreography spawned a whole pop culture moment of its own on TikTok. Even as a 37-year-old mom, I found myself playing it on repeat while popping that thang everywhere from the beach to the Winelands during my COVID-redo honeymoon in sunny South Africa earlier this year.

I soon became fascinated with this new global pop (or “popiano,” if we’re being technical—more on that later) star from South Africa. And it wasn’t just because of the shiny new self-titled debut album and freshly won Grammy. It was also because she’s sparked nuanced conversations around the world about racial identity simply by being who she is, a proud member of the Coloured community of South Africa (more on that later too). Something that’s even more powerful than a chart-topping track.

We might live in an era when trending songs disappear faster than we can put a face or name to a sound, but Tyla is poised for the kind of stardom and staying power we rarely see from breakout talent these days. As the former editor-in-chief of Teen Vogue and a current Project Runway judge and red carpet commentator, I’ve seen every star track imaginable. The flash in the pan, the social-media-grown sensation, the Disney-to-troubled-rebel pipeline, the rising talent thanks to the support of an even bigger star. And my takeaway on Tyla—after hanging out with her in the kitchen of her West Hollywood pad, getting to know her over platefuls of homemade South African cuisine—is that her success story doesn’t fit neatly into any of these categories. Just like Tyla herself doesn’t fit into any category I’ve known.

She’s not the self-deprecating newbie or the doe-eyed foreigner who’s “just happy to be here.” While she is very much new to America—and over the moon about it—Tyla gives anything but “new here.” She walks into every room like she belongs, because the truth is, she always knew she did.

That confidence is cooler when you realize it’s not because she’s wearing her “pop star” costume all the time. In fact, she welcomes me into her house wearing a long gray Rangers hoodie and nothing else. I’m assuming underwear. But no pants. Just a pair of mismatched socks.

She brings that wonderfully unpolished energy as we speak about her journey to get here—and why this moment is so distinctly hers.

Tell me the story behind “Water.” Did you always know it would be huge?
I recorded it in a bedroom. I never thought, This song is going to blow up. And then I started performing it and seeing everyone singing every word. And I knew it was something bigger than what we thought. People from everywhere are listening to it and dancing to it, no matter their age. There’s babies, there’s old people. I just love that it’s an African sound that is so universal.

It really sticks with you. How did your family react to the sexiness of the song and the dance that followed?
My mom was the person that saved me because my father was like, “What are you singing about?”

I represent people that didn’t know they could make it in America. I thought you had to be American to be famous. That’s why I loved Rihanna, because I was like, “Okay, she came from somewhere else and she did it.”

This brings me to the idea of legacy and creating your own lane. You do get compared to Rihanna a lot. And even though you admire her, I imagine that can add pressure for someone who’s trying to figure out who they are. How do you feel about that at this point in your career?
It’s flattering because Rihanna is Rihanna. It’s a compliment. But at the same time, I’m my own artist. I’m Tyla. And I know as people get to know me and my music, they will see me as just Tyla. So I’m fine with it now. People want to tie me to something familiar to them, cool. But at the end of the day, we’re doing something no one’s done before, and it can’t really be compared to anyone.