Well, seems it’s official – the queen of my heart and voice of my soul, Taylor Swift, is going out with that one greasy lad from The 1975.
Ew.
I tried to deny it when The Sun broke the rumours of her pairing up with Denise Welch’s son Matty Healy last week.
“As if,” I said blithely, confident in my delusion that I could predict blondie’s real-life state of mind due to our 16-year-long, one-sided, parasocial connection.
This, I believed, was simply another fictitious romance created by the media vultures who have been obsessed with her dating life since she was 15.
Journalists, I thought, are the worst.
I would not stoop so low as to believe it. Sometimes love is truth. But often love is sticking your fingers in your ears and shouting ‘LA LA LA LA’.
Then today, rudely as I was eating breakfast, photographic proof of this accursed coupling emerged, so I can deny it no longer.
He’s at her through-the-years Eras Tour concerts cheering her on. They’re out to dinner in New York. It’s a thing.
Despite his mediocre indie-pop, the controversy surrounding his alleged racism and inappropriate behaviour, and the fact that, as my editor put it, ‘he just doesn’t seem very nice’, Miss Swift has decided Matty is the man of the moment.
But why him, why now? Well, as a friend put it in our dedicated Swiftie group chat (shut up): ‘Taylor’s in her messy era’.
Taylor Swift and Matty Healy spotted out for dinner with Jack Antonoff. pic.twitter.com/PCgOQToxav
— Pop Base (@PopBase) May 11, 2023
And honestly, haven’t we all been there?
My ‘messy era’ was awful – and so much fun
My own ‘messy era’ spanned about five years, from ages 22-27. If my personal life had been in the public eye during that time, I dread to think who I would have disappointed.
Because when we’re living our love lives in chaos mode, standards don’t really come into it, do they? You decide you want to raise hell, and the bar ends up in the fiery pits instead.
And looking back over my romantic CV, I’m certainly in no position to judge.
When Taylor sang ‘I can make the bad guys good for a weekend’ on her hit record Blank Space, it seems I really took that to heart.
My ‘messy era’ included a guy who lied about his name for three months before going off grid entirely (shady), and another who lied about his age for no discernible reason (I dated him for a further two months after I found that out).
There was the man who earnestly wore suspenders (even more sus), the dead-eyed, narcissistic with serious mummy issues, and the one with a nice accent and a penchant for ketamine-induced misogyny, all interspersed with a pretty steady trickle of guitar-dabbling, leather-clad, commitment-phobic, know-it-all bartenders, baristas, DJs and – most damning of all – writers.
In short, I have had what some may describe as poor taste in partners.
But that’s because I wasn’t looking for a partner.
Even Taylor is entitled to a greaseball every now and again
At 22, I’d just come out of a four-year relationship; I certainly wasn’t looking to get back into one any time soon.
I also was, to put it plainly, a bit of a nightmare. I was a typical temperamental, obsessive, possessive, guitar-dabbling, leather-clad, commitment-phobic writer.
And though I’ve finally learned that the right relationships will bring out the best in you, there’s nothing quite like being around someone who gives you permission to be the absolute worst, by being even worse than you are.
It’s alarmingly stupid, and stupidly fun.
Taylor Swift has been telling us for years in her lyrics that despite her Colgate-twinkle smile and halo of blonde curls, she’s no angel. So maybe Matty Healy isn’t the devil dragging her down.
Maybe knowingly dating greaseballs is just a part of the universal human experience.
And maybe even squeaky clean Taylor Swift needs to indulge in a ‘messy era’ now and then.
Who knows – maybe she’ll even slum it in Dundee with The 1975 at Big Weekend?
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