I found myself unknowingly adjudicating their sincerity on the subject. Kay Burley was the only believable Swiftie. Lorraine laid it on a bit thick. Yes, this was definitely going to be one of those weeks, when pop culture temporarily swallows the grim news agenda, offering a flighty young reprieve.
By Tuesday, the Daily Mail was running commentary from the auntie of one of Swift's brief ex-boyfriends, Matty Healy. The one who looks like Harry Styles if he'd never taken a bath. Not the pin-up new American footballer one.
Debbie, a perfectly lovely, bluff Northern woman was suddenly, inexplicably quote-worthy. It was impossible not to get caught up in the froth and madness of it all.
Soon after, Ms Swift clocked a billionth stream for her new album, a bitchy piece of work that betrays her inevitable positioning into full, grudge-baring Bette Davis/Norma Desmond/Stormy Daniels mode, called The Tortured Poet's Society. Its thematic threads are constructed from the offcuts of her relationship with Auntie Debbie's nephew.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة April 26, 2024 من Evening Standard.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة April 26, 2024 من Evening Standard.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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