Haag grew up in middle-class Hitchin in Hertfordshire, the youngest daughter of parents who “pushed me and Zoe into every sport, every extra-curricular activity, you name it”. As a teenager she took part in beauty pageants; she worked as a lifeguard, at a gym and at Boots while studying fashion retail at university.

But social media was always her passion and even at 16, when she started unboxing fast fashion “hauls” that she would upload to YouTube, she knew the power she could wield. When she was 18, she earned enough from influencing to rent her own flat in Manchester and moved to the northern city because a number of girls she knew from the influencer scene were already living there.

Nine years later, The Hague’s influence is unparalleled. Whatever she buys, her fans buy; where she goes, they go. So when she announced in September that she would launch her own clothing line, Maebe, with “high-quality clothing designed for everyday use,” the Hague army rallied. The range of basics – oversized blazers, chunky knits, pleated trousers – reflected The Hague’s own style, after she withdrew from the Love Island aesthetic, neon and bodycon, to promote a simpler, streamlined silhouette.

Within days, the Maebe Instagram account had 880,000 followers; Haag personally met more than 2,000 fans at a pop-up in London. It was terrible timing – she had just broken up with Tommy – but she was determined that the launch, which she had funded herself and which had taken three years to come to fruition, would go ahead. Within 24 minutes of the collection going live, it sold out.

Fran brings in an armful of Maebe clothes, while Molly beams with pride. “I actually did pretty much everything myself,” she says of the collection, a “passion project” for her. She caresses a blazer that retails for £140, the most expensive item. The material feels thick and looks luxurious, but it’s mostly synthetic fibers, like other items in the collection, something that has led to a backlash on TikTok, with users accusing The Hague of offering fast-fashion clothing at a price to sell.

“(It) is not the case at all,” she says, wounded, “on the contrary.” She explains: “I was quite surprised that people thought I would come out with a fast-fashion price point and products like that, because I actually haven’t worn fast fashion for a long time, probably the last two years.” Real? After all, this is the woman who leveraged her unique position to become creative director of PrettyLittleThing, owned by fast-fashion behemoth Boohoo, in 2021. She only left the brand in June 2023. (Can she confirm, I ask, that they paid her £400,000 a month? “No,” she says, “that’s not true.”)