Serious Question: Does Taylor Swift Give a F**k What We Think About Her?

Serious Question is when we pose a question and then try to answer it. Usually the question is not very serious.

In the Bible, one of my favorite books, the serpent represents lies and deceit. It also represents the devil, but for the record, that’s not the comparison we’re trying to make here. Taylor Swift is not Satan. That would be silly (and unexpected, really, because it would seem that Satan would have bigger interests upon walking the earth than putting out commercial pop and country music). Taylor Swift is, though, somewhat deceptive and toying and serpentine. That’s what we are going to talk about.

Why is Taylor Swift a serpent? Well, for that to be true, she would have to have a history of plotting and conspiracy and disingenuousness. Indeed, she has those things. Taylor Swift’s brand at this point is so precisely manicured and so specifically presented that, intrinsically, she must be hiding a few things. Whether that’s a relationship with Tom Hiddleston that didn’t exist or an album that was scrapped just before release or a Kanye West approval she now denies, Taylor Swift definitely chooses to withhold things, even though she tries so, so hard to make it seem as if she does not withhold things. That’s a serpentine move designed to disguise the fact that you’re a serpent. The defense rests, your honor.

At this point in Taylor Swift’s career, musical or celebrity or otherwise, the serpent conversation is not really a controversial or interesting one, however. We’ve kind of reached a consensus on that as an audience. What’s more compelling is asking ourselves if Taylor Swift cares about being called a serpent, because if she does, that will mean different things in regards to the release of her new album Reputation on November 10. Basically, if we can figure out if Taylor Swift cares about her serpentine image, we can better project Taylor Swift’s career going forward.

How do we determine if someone cares about their image? It’s very simple. When we examine Taylor Swift’s story arc, we need to look for moments we might describe as corrective. Performers have two options when they sense the public’s perception of them doesn’t match up with reality. Option 1: They can throw a middle finger to the public and keep up a DGAF attitude (think Kanye West ranting against everything on the Yeezus and Life of Pablo tours). Option 2: They can issue a corrective to try and force public perception back to something they’re more comfortable with (think LeBron James doing literally anything in his career). Option 1 is a clear sign of not caring about your image. Option 2 is a clear sign of definitely caring. When we look at Taylor Swift’s career, we need to keep an eye out for proverbial middle fingers and literal correctives. I mean, I suppose we could also keep an eye out for literal middle fingers, too, but that feels unlikely.

[Also, when I need to use the f-word in this article, I’m gonna star it out because I’m trying to swear less and I think that will help. This initiative is not going great outside the realm of this website, I must admit.]

Serious Question: Does Taylor Swift Give a F**k What We Think About Her? 

“Teardrops on My Guitar” (2007)
We start with “Teardrops” because it’s Taylor’s biggest early hit. Yes, she had “Tim McGraw” come out before this—that was the lead single off her 2006 debut, Taylor Swift—but that song was contained within the country-music world. “Teardrops” had just the tiniest bit of crossover, peaking at #13 on the Billboard Hot 100. Now, this is before Taylor had entered serpentine territory, but it’s still a useful artifact in determining the kind of artist she was and the kind of image she wanted for herself early on.

This song is so full of caring it’s painful. It’s needy and longing and clingy and broken and it just seeps outward like a spilled glass of breakup wine across the carpet. “Drew walks by me/Can’t he tell that I can’t breathe?/And there he goes, so perfectly/The kind of flawless I wish I could be.” Yeesh, is anyone else blushing?
How Many F**ks Taylor Gives: Dude, it’s more than a few f**ks. 

“Forever and Always” (2008)
This is a very important Taylor Swift song, because it’s the first song about a famous ex-boyfriend—in this case, Joe Jonas. Taylor and Joe dated for three months, and then this song came out about a month after they broke up. Tonally, the song is heartbroken and wallowing and, ugh, it’s tough, man, but lyrically, the song is a bit spiteful. In terms of the f**ks Taylor gives, they’re still present, but it’s not as desperate. By this point, her brand is still to be young and free and breathless, and “Forever and Always” still carries that spirit. It’s kinda nice in that way.
F**ks Taylor Gives: A medium, just-right amount of f**ks.

“You Belong With Me” (2009)
Let’s say this real quick: Anyone who doesn’t think this is a Top-Five Taylor Swift Song is a meth addict. “You Belong With Me” is 40-percent banger, 40-percent classic T-Swift ballad, 20-percent cash-in on everything that made pre-Red Taylor momentous. The song is wonderful and its video is, infamously, perfect (Taylor playing both the nerdy chick and the evil cheerleader is a true stroke of inspiration. It’s also wonderfully prophetic in retrospect). “You Belong With Me” is savvy, but honest. It’s calculated, but sincerely spirited. The conclusion: Taylor knows her image and is content with it, but at the same time, is starting to experiment a bit.

Oh, but one last key detail: Remember that before Kanye interrupted her at the VMAs, she told the crowd that she “sang country music” and never thought she’d win a VMA. At this point, that’s starting to be a half-truth, and one has the sense that even when Taylor was saying that, she knew it wasn’t quite all the way 100. The serpent flicks its tongue into the air.
F**ks Taylor Gives: Just one or two solid f**ks. 

“Mean” (2011)
This is when the perfect vase of Taylor’s approval rating begins to see some chips. “Mean” is pretty darn good, but that’s a given with Taylor at this point—she can’t make bad music. The song falters in its point of view, though. It’s tone-deaf to Taylor’s complete lack of underdog status at this point in her stardom. Speak Now, Taylor’s third studio album and the album that contains “Mean,” debuted at No. 1 on Billboard and hit a million sales in its first week. Ten of its tracks cracked the Hot 100 (no woman had ever done that before) and Rolling Stone included it in their 50 Best Female Albums of All Time list. I mean, for goodness’ sake, it’s not the time to be biting back at your haters and positioning yourself as someone who’s gonna show ‘em all by making it big. You’ve dated John Mayer, Taylor Lautner, Jack Gyllenhaal, and Joe Jonas at this point. Plus, you were in a Hollywood movie (we don’t talk about Valentine’s Day enough). Give it a rest.

The point is, Taylor’s beginning to trend back toward giving a f**k. She was veering into pop star territory, and when she sensed some resistance from her core audience, she made a corrective move back toward “scrappy young country girl.”
F**ks Taylor Gives: Enough f**ks to wake you up in the morning, you know?

“I Knew You Were Trouble” (2012)
Sonically, “Trouble” is certainly the most DGAF song in the Taylor Swift library. Its drop is memorable enough to the point of parody, and it’s Gyllenhaal backstory has forever covered the actor in an “Ew, can’t believe you liked ‘em young, Jake” sorta slime. Thematically, “Trouble” is really directed and targeting. It comes at a time when people are starting to question Taylor’s breakup spree as not-so-squeaky-clean as she might suggest. You know the saying: If you walk through the world and everyone you meet is a douchebag, then turns out, you’re the douchebag. At this point, we’re tipping toward the “Taylor Swift is a douchebag” narrative, and she’s scrambling to correct that by placing even more blame on her exes within her songwriting.
F**ks Taylor Gives: Enough f**ks to keep you up at night, which is more than the amount of f**ks that wake you up in the morning. You understand. 

“Shake It Off” (2014)
1989 seems to have dipped a bit in terms of reception, but its most popular songs will forever be etched into the Taylor Swift Mount Rushmore. “Shake It Off” was a moment and a half, the no-going-back point of Taylor’s venture into pop. Yes, the video is cringey and the song feels a bit airbrushed and machine-made, but just because a Wendy’s frosty came squirting out of a metal pipe doesn’t mean it isn’t delicious, you know what I’m saying?

For all its forced “Taylor 2.0” branding, “Shake It Off” is permanent. Taylor’s hardcore hustling on this one. Amid her worst stretch of career backlash yet, in which people accused her of exploiting boyfriends and selling out, the correction here is more reminiscent of the “Mean” days three years prior. Taylor’s back, she’s richer and more famous than ever, but don’t you forget, she’s still fighting from the bottom of the dogpile. This Taylor knows you think she’s a serpent, and she cares a lot. This Taylor could never be a serpent. That would ruin her.
F**ks Taylor Gives: The most desperate amount of f**ks. All the f**ks she can muster. 

“Blank Space” (2014)
As a Taylor Swift song, as a thesis statement, and as a bona fide hit, “Blank Space” is close to a masterpiece. It’s a meta-song about the meta-narrative of its singer’s career, and how that career relates to her image, which is exactly what we’re talking about in this essay. What’s shocking about “Blank Space” is how it appears alongside all the pandering New York tunes and eye-rolling self-empowerment anthems that clog 1989. It feels like it belongs on a smarter Taylor Swift album. In fact, it feels like it belongs on an album called Reputation. For Taylor to create a song that leans into her siren-esque image so unabashedly is probably her single greatest career move. It’s a corrective (“See, I can laugh at myself!”), but it’s so surprising and shameless that it’s respectful. It seems like a moment where Taylor surrendered to the manipulative and puppet-master perception we all had of her when this album came out, but what makes it perfect is how she leveraged that adjustment to make herself more powerful in the world of music. Whether she cares about us or not is irrelevant. This put Taylor back in control of her narrative.
F**ks Taylor Gives: Honestly, it doesn’t matter. 

Reputation (2017)
And yet, the years since 1989 haven’t been kind to Taylor Swift. That album has, aside from a few sticky singles, become oddly dated. It’s a timestamp for when Taylor tried to become a trendy, hipster New York girl, someone who was starstruck by the supermodels she hung out with. In 2014, the musical swerve 1989 represented distracted from its thin, not-a-country-girl-anymore veneer. As we’ve come to realize Taylor Swift is no longer the wide-eyed teenager we all fell in love with, we’ve poked more and more holes in her mask. You can’t be one with the people and still have #squadgoals. You can’t trip on treadmills and then leave the house in five-figure shoes. You can’t be heartbroken over publicity-stunt relationships. Taylor has gone three years without an album, and since we haven’t been able to focus on her music, we’ve had to focus on her celebrity, and it’s changed our relationship to one of the millennium’s biggest stars.

Looking back at the way Taylor’s course-corrected over the years, one trend emerges: The more Taylor cares about us, the less we like her. We respect celebrities who don’t need us. People like Michael Jordan, Frank Ocean, David Lynch, or Daft Punk. Some of the great figures of recent generations have carved out careers marked by inexplicable hiatuses or mysterious retreats. We’re drawn to that. It makes the moments they finally hit the stage or the court or the screen again that much more powerful. They’re back. What will they teach us this time?

And when artists or athletes or any public figure communicates that they need our approval or our attention—LeBron James, later Kanye West, recent Taylor Swift—they might receive that approval or attention, but they lose our respect. We hold the power and the agency to refuse someone, and in modern society, where we view things as a meritocracy and attach privilege to public platforms, the ability to refuse someone is all that matters. Celebrities and artists are supposed to direct us, because we think they’ve earned their stage and thus have the right to speak to the masses. Right now, it’s not clear if Taylor Swift has that power. That ability still lies in us, the people, who can stiff-arm Reputation and shake their heads at it.

Inevitably, however, we won’t. Taylor Swift is a superstar, so we will listen to this album and chances are we’ll think it’s pretty good. The real mystery, though, is if Reputation will dwell within the dynamics that “Blank Space” did. Will it be honest about Taylor’s image, Taylor’s contradictions, Taylor’s relationship history? Will it apologize for anything? Will it lash out? It feels like it can do any of those things. What it can’t do, and what it won’t do, is backtrack. Taylor doesn’t backtrack; she just changes course.

Reputation will tell us if we’ve damaged Taylor over the past three years, but beyond that, it will tell us if she wants to make up or not. It’s bold for an artist to use their music to discuss how they relate to their fans. Done the right way, it can give the creator some power back, but the sword has two edges. If Reputation has a hint of trying, a suggestion of pandering, a whiff of Taylor begging us to love her again, we will roast her for that. It’s a make-or-break album for one of the biggest pop stars in the world, and it will cap either one of culture’s greatest love stories or one of culture’s most epic breakups. And who will write a song about that?