<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve always liked Taylor Swift in her deficits. Swift is often best at her most unexpected, at her most doubted. From the shitstorm-causing<\/a> reputation, <\/em>to the complete shock<\/a> of folklore, <\/em>she seems to thrive when writing in secret.<\/p>\n Last year, Swift released her 11th original studio album, The Tortured Poets Department<\/em>, to a culture completely overexposed to her presence. In the middle of the highest grossing<\/a> tour in music history and in the process of (re<\/a>-)releasing<\/a> an insane amount of music, she has had more eyes on her than are comprehensible for a human being.<\/p>\n Statistically, The Tortured Poets Department<\/em> thrived. It was the fastest<\/a> album to reach 1 billion streams on Spotify, and \u201cFortnight\u201d stands as the song with the most streams <\/a>ever in one day.<\/p>\n Socially, however, it failed. It would be redundant to summarize the album\u2019s failures<\/a>, as it<\/a> seems<\/a> everybody<\/a> has already<\/a> done it<\/a>. In short, it\u2019s stylistically boring and lyrically corny. Not only was the album dull, but it was also shrouded in controversy. Many of the songs are seemingly about Swift\u2019s public appearances with The 1975\u2019s Matty Healy, a man who has a difficult<\/a> and confusing<\/a> reputation. It\u2019s bloated with an overreliance on sloppy, overdone, immature lyrics, seen in titles like \u201cI Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)\u201d and \u201cWho\u2019s Afraid of Little Old Me?\u201d These elements bred a culture of hatred for this album, one that I at the time played into.<\/p>\n