Dear Miss Swift,
When we bumped into each other at last spring’s Village Jumble Sale, we didn’t really get a chance to talk so I do hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn here. However, as a fellow attractive and talented international mover-and-shaker, I feel I might be able to share some advice.
From what I understand through my preliminary research, you are a young country and western and/or pop singer. I myself don’t particularly care for that type of music—I tend to like songs that are pleasant to the ear—but that’s neither here nor there. I’m writing about the fact that, in recent times, you seem to be more in the news over the boys you are chasing, dating or hating.
Now I’ve been your age and I know the excitement of ‘putting it about a bit.’ If you want to fool around with a different man everyday, there’s nowt wrong with that as long as you make sure to wash and hydrate in between encounters. But I think what’s raising the red flag for a number of people, including myself, is that perhaps you’re not just looking for a means of sexual release in between gigs, but are actually hoping to find true love. Is this what you’re doing, Taylor? If so, I am begging you to cease and desist.
There’s a number of reasons why ‘serial dating’ is problematic. First of all, no one can find true love; if it’s going to happen, it will find you which it won’t because it doesn’t exist. So any attempt to actually seek it out is essentially an act of desperation, and desperation rarely looks good on anyone, especially those who are as thin and pale-skinned as your good self.
Secondly, I understand that many of your romances end up as references in your music. I suggest you don’t do this. Now if you are a frequent reader of Everyone Needs An Algonquin and I’ve no reason to assume you’re not, you’ll know that I have, on occasion, mentioned previous beaux in both positive and negative lights. However, there are a few differences to my style of kiss-and-tell: my motivations are purely to help others learn from my experiences, I offer plenty of entertainment through other means, and I generally wait years to discuss these matters to ensure that both my feelings and theirs have cooled and/or the men are dead.
Writing about a boy you are in love with is daft because when the relationship inevitably blows up in your pretty, little face, you won’t ever want to hear those reminders again. Yet as a professional recording artist, you’ll be forced to sing about how you knew this man was your one and only despite the fact that two days before you declared that your new man was actually your one and only and this time you really mean it. Songs like that only lead to your artistic integrity being questioned, and god knows that the twelve-year-old girls who make up your fan base hold artistic integrity in the highest of regards.
Writing about a boy you are no longer in love with is also not recommended, primarily because it closes all doors. Even if a guy’s been a shitty partner, you never know when you might get a craving for that special little thing he does with his tongue and you may be tempted to make a little booty call. No shame in that, unless of course you’ve already publicly claimed that you’re never, ever, getting back together. In that case, it won’t just be chafed thighs making that walk of shame uncomfortable.
The truth is, though, you can turn this around, and it’s easier than you might think. You need to stop dating. Simple as. Make 2013 the year of Taylor Swift’s music or her charitable acts or her CoverGirl/Keds/Diet Coke ad campaigns. Give them something else to talk about besides at whom you are making puppy dog eyes.
You don’t need a man to complete you, Taylor. No woman does. I know that our world doesn’t often teach that lesson, but please believe me. You make music that those with less refined tastes than my own genuinely seem to enjoy, and that’s got be some kind of gift. Cherish that and cherish yourself. I don’t, of course, but I don’t need to because I’ve got plenty of my own wonderfulness to keep me busy in the cherishing department. Stop looking for that perfect love from that perfect boy. You don’t need a man to tell you you’re wonderful, Taylor, and even if he does, it won’t matter until you believe it yourself. Trust me, you’re the best young American songstress I’ve ever pushed over when she tried to grab a used tea set I was interested in buying. I know that, but what really matters is that you know it.