
As a lifelong Swiftie, I've cared about a lot of things.
Snakes. Clocks. The movie Cats. The colour orange. The concept of existential dread. Running to the nearest Spotlight to secure beads for friendship bracelets.
But I've never cared about any of Taylor Swift's boyfriends.
In my world they are simply the muses of her romantic ballads and, at times, agents of her emotional destruction. Before you have a parasocial freak-out, I'm not saying they don't live interesting and vibrant lives of their own (sure!) but I am saying for me, the music fan, they've never held any great significance.
I have liked some of her boyfriends (hello, Tom Hiddleston). I have disliked some of her boyfriends (hello, 32-year-old John Mayer and his obsession with a 19-year-old country music superstar). I have been indifferent to some of her boyfriends (yes, I'm talking to you, Joe Alwyn).
Joe was a fine actor — whatever — but he was also the inspiration behind many of her happiest, and then some of her most gut-wrenching and devastating, songs. He was a musical muse! And that was enough. Joe didn't need to mean more to me and frankly, it would have been weird if he did, given we know precisely three things about him as a real person.
These men exist, and that is none of my business.
Miss Taylor Alison Swift is my favourite singer. Why would I care more about her ex-boyfriends than her music?