Dear Taylor Swift

Dear Taylor Swift,

Girl, you have some problems. I’m sorry to have to tell you this and even sorrier to make it look like I know or care about your problems (which I admittedly only know from DListed anyway), but it’s just bothering me and I feel like I have to get it out there.

First of all, far be it from me to comment on the music business and you doing something that’s made you a ton of money, but eventually, you have got to stop writing about every boy who does you wrong. I know how easy it is (I have a blog, you know?) and how good it feels to let everyone know what a scum he is, but crying your heart out after every single breakup doesn’t make you look like an empowered, together person. It makes you look like an unstable bunny boiler, and eventually, the only boys who are interested in you are the ones who want that kind of attention. And no one should want that kind of attention.

Not that you should change what you’re doing only to get people to date you. This isn’t limited to dating partners. I wouldn’t want to date anyone who publicly slags me for my shortcomings, nor would I want to be friends with, work near, or speak regularly to someone who can only talk about their love life and how it continues to disappoint them. Or anything else on such an exclusive basis.

Plus, I mean, you’re a songwriter, right? Like, by trade? Don’t you have anything else to write about? Anything else going on in your life? It made sense when you were 15 and couldn’t drive, but now? Damn, girl, where are your thoughts? The only other person who writes so consistently about people who’ve disappointed them is Morrissey, and he’s an insufferable vegan prick, no matter what the nerds say.

Okay, fine, keep writing about boys if it makes you feel better. But you should know that not everyone who dumps you is a terrible person, because in spite of lyrical capacity, not liking you isn’t necessarily a character flaw. You’re probably too young to have watched this about 400 times in your life, but I guess IMDB it or something, because there’s this part in “Wayne’s World” where Wayne’s psycho ex-girlfriend Stacy asks Wayne’s best friend Garth what to do now that Wayne has dumped her. Garth replies with “get over it, go out with somebody else.” It’s the smartest, most succinct way to handle a batshit crazy situation, and by situation, I mean whatever’s going on inside your head.

You could always pull the “I never asked to be a role model” card, but like it or not, lots of little girls look up to you. It might be because you’re thin, or you’re pretty, or you have lots of money or you date cute boys. But others might look up to you because you can play your guitar, and I think you owe them something more than yet another chastisement of yet another male who didn’t meet your weird-ass expectations.

Jesus, you’re like 18 and it’s like you expect to marry every famedouche you meet. Relax, Taylor Swift. Get some other hobbies. Winning Grammys doesn’t count if you’re only doing it as a result of a hyperactive biological clock.

Speaking of Grammys, no one actually thinks you’re surprised when you win something or play Madison Square Garden anymore. That “OMG, squeeee!” face is about as sincere as when Meg Ryan crinkles up her nose (or could crinkle up her nose before she learned about Restylane). You know who doesn’t fake surprise at being super famous? Beyonce. Which is why she’s the queen of everything and you’re not.

Lastly, keep being on Ellen. It makes you kind of okay.



About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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1 Response to Dear Taylor Swift

  1. Carmen says:

    Dear Tay-Tay:

    Please explain exactly why you bought that house next to Ethel Kennedy, especially now that your summer romance with Conor Kennedy is now officially over and you’re back on tour with seemingly little time to spend in ANY house anywhere in the United States. Please do not contemplate writing about the Kennedys. You won’t be able to pull that one off without, how shall we say, “mysterious” consequences.

    Inquiring Minds Want to Know

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