By Damn, is mad.That was my initial reaction after to her eleventh studio album, , which dropped at midnight on Friday. And this isn’t carefully curated, easily monetizable anger with a cute little snake mascot.
This seems to be real rage, the kind that comes from lived pain, the kind that has led Swift to maybe let us behind the curtain in a real way for the first time in a long time.It’s hard to imagine that we could possibly ever in this lifetime need to know anything more about Taylor Swift.
I’ve joked often that we now live in a Swift monoculture, but it’s kind of true. I really didn’t think she could get more famous after and Evermore, but then she did , the , and emerged from a more than six year relationship with to do all over New York City.
Then she started dating , and well, we all know what happened next.It really feels like Swift is inescapable. No corner of my life is safe from constant discussion about her: not the internet, not my group chats, not shopping at boutiques or going to coffee shops.
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