In recent months, even the quietest trill of Taylor Swift criticism has been tantamount to treason.
Dare ask, ‘what’s all the fuss about?’, and you’ll soon regret it – faced with death threats, doxing and internet pile-ons orchestrated by her rabid fanbase, the Swifties.
I learnt that the hard way, after arguing in a piece for the Mail last summer that this breakup-obsessed, 34-year-old billionairess was – whisper it – something of a cynical capitalist who can’t really dance, sing or produce anything that original.
But, after the release of her latest album – The Tortured Poets Department – and the shoddy, cringe-inducing PR leading up to it, something delicious has happened.
It seems that even the most loyal of Saint Taylor’s apostles are finally rousing from their Swift-delusion slumber and realizing that maybe – just maybe – she ain’t all that!
The criticism of the album began earlier this week when a pop-up promotional ‘library installation’ appeared in Los Angeles.
The display – sponsored by Spotify – featured bookshelves stuffed with ‘Easter egg’ clues about the upcoming release.
Books of teased ‘poetic’ lyrics scrawled on tea-stained paper – the same kind you made in fifth grade for that treasure map school project – were roundly mocked online.
