Wipe Those Tears Off Your Guitar, Taylor. He Doesn't Like You.

It's recently come to my attention that there are some libelous rumors being spread around the United States and it's going to take some serious cynicism to set things straight.


So grab your cheap acoustic guitar, a box of tissues, and all the wailing teen-girl angst and melodrama you can carry, because we're headed deep into the bowels of a Taylor Swift song!

Debatable. 

Just to clarify, I have nothing against Tay-Tay Swiftikins. Her music is, without a doubt, the insanely catchy, country embodiment of America's emotionally unstable and hopelessly romantic youth.


In a musical era of overly-synthesized club jams and their subsequent, even-more-overly-synthesized remixes, I can truly appreciate her juvenile chord progressions. What I cannot, and will not tolerate, however, is her nation-wide, doe-eyed, ceaseless bleating about love.






Let's consider the song "You Belong With Me."

Right off the bat, Taylor's telling us how desperate she is by alluding to the fact that she's sitting in a tree outside his house with a cheap coffee and a pair of high-definition Sharper Image night vision binoculars she spent 6 weeks-worth of allowance on. She knows that he's on the phone. She can see it right through his bedroom window.

How does she know [his] girlfriend's upset/that she's going off about something that [he] said? That's a simple one, people--she's bugged his room, and possibly his telephone.

Keep in mind though, this despicable invasion of privacy is justified by the fact that she laughs too loud at all his jokes. 

TAYLOR would NEVER get upset with what's-his-face, because he's PERFECT, and HILARIOUS.


Let's not forget:  

Taylor's actually a leading energy resource scientist looking to experiment on the latest source of clean, renewable energy. A falsity, yes, but a disturbing image nonetheless.

What's-his-face's girlfriend and Taylor, well they just don't like the same kinds of music. Taylor knows this because she wrenched open Girlfriend's locker at school, pilfered her iPod, and checked to make sure. 


You know who wasn't on Girlfriend's iPod? Avril Lavigne.


How fitting.

Now, since Taylor's an imbecile  a juvenile with no sense of of perspective on just about anything, her feeble, angsty mind simply cannot comprehend that the concept of "preferences," leading her to quizzically list the differences between herself and Girlfriend as such:

Maybe He LIKES her athleticism. Maybe he likes a girl with some junk in the trunk. Maybe he likes that she likes things other than country music and crying and pity-dating werewolves with no acting talent.


Maybe he just isn't into nerdy blonde chicks who write ironic songs crying out for attention they already have.


But within the context of this song, even if Tay-Tay just ain't his thang, he looks like a complete asshole.


Where is the logic in that? Why should he have to wake up one day, look out the window, see Tay-Tay asleep in that tree, and find that THAT'S the girl he's been looking for, and that she's been here (i.e. stalking him from up in the tree) the whole time?


Essentially, Tay-Tay is say-saying that all girls with a crush should wait idly by, surreptitiously spying on their objects of affection, nursing a worsening addiction to heartache and Nutella, and pining away till there're no more pine trees to pine with. 

Taylor endorses a culture of sobbing, terribly dependent, and genuinely creepy romantic interactions. Everyone is safe to hide behind illusory idyllic dreams, but be too shy to enact any of them for themselves because--wait for it--their one true love will wake up one morning possessed by the thought of marrying this person they've clearly never before expressed interest in whatsoever.


If you're looking for THAT sort of thing, I suggest becoming a Wiccan and brewing up some love potions or at the least some potent aphrodisiacs.   


But if you're skeptical, or simply not up to switching religions, then I'm sorry, you should probably just move on if the other party isn't interested. There are plenty of fish in the sea--although that's debatable now, due to overfishing. 


I'm not saying I don't believe that it can happen to a select few individuals (spontaneous auto-hypnosis), I just don't agree with the idea of raising every girl's expectations to the point where they become hopelessly hopeless romantics. 


So, Taylor, please stop breeding an army of RomCom consumers, date someone your own age, and try to be a little more pragmatic in your next bunch of songs--is that so much to ask?


And to anyone reading this in a Taylor-induced RomaComa, put down the guitar, the spy tech, and the gallon containers of ice cream, and get the fuck out of that tree.


D