Dear T-Swift

Dear T-Swift,

Speaking on behalf of every sentient being in the universe, we were all quite happy to hear that you finally broke up with Calvin Harris.

Honestly, what took so long? We hadn’t seen a more clear-cut case of the too-good-for-him’s since Rihanna got back together with Chris Brown. (And no, I’m not suggesting that Calvin Harris is even in the same league of evil as Chris Brown, but you know, at least Chris is technically a musician.)

As for your rebound with Tom Hiddleston, well played, my dear. We don’t care whether it’s a PR stunt. We’re just delighted that you’re finally hooking up with celebrities again. Yes, that’s right. Calvin was never really a celebrity. It’s true, he achieved a minor degree of fame as the world’s shittiest DJ, but at best he was merely celebrity-adjacent, and we’re sorry, but we can’t have you fucking below your station.

You were never meant to mate with mere mortals, Taylor. Sure, those at your level are allowed a weekend fling with the occasional high-fashion photographer, and we don’t mind if a hedge fund manager’s douchebag son invites you to Cannes on daddy’s yacht, but we can’t have you writing love songs about long-term boyfriends who don’t have their own publicity team. Celebrity culture has rules, darling. They’re grotesque and unfair, but such is life, and being an A-lister has its price.

Not that you’re deserving of any pity. After all, Tom Hiddleston seems like a fun way to spend a week in London — he’s got the boyish charm of Benedict Cumberbatch combined with the smoldering sex appeal of Michael Fassbender. He’s dangerous and goofy all at once — the kind of guy who could totally get away with naming his penis “Big Ben.” Plus, he’s taller than you, which means you won’t have to go back to wearing ballet flats all the time. (Oof. I really felt sorry for you during the Harry Styles days.)

One bit of advice, though. If this whole #Hiddleswift thing becomes more than just a manufactured tabloid romance and you actually start spending some time across the pond, whatever you do, please don’t pull a Madonna and turn up with a fake British accent.

We can forgive you this year’s Met Gala dress, but if you suddenly start talking like a freshman at Hogwarts, we’re gonna turn on you faster than you can say Gwyneth Paltrow.

Yours in publicity,

The Coquette

Pros and Cons

 

Do the pros outweigh the cons? (He’s my dirty little secret. I’m trying to decide whether to move past what I thought was just going to be sex.)

 

Coquette Summertime Mix

 

Coquette Summertime Mix:

1. Classic (feat. Powers) — The Knocks
2. Leave a Trace (Goldroom Remix) — CHVRCHES
3. Neon Dreams (feat. Exmag) —Probcause
4. Aloha (feat. Merryn Jeann) — Møme
5. No Rest For the Wicked (feat. A$AP Rocky) — Lykke Li
6. Old Love / New Love (feat. D’Angelo Lacy) — Twin Shadow
7. Be Apart — Porches
8. Call Your Girlfriend —Robyn
9. Made Of — Viola Martinsson
10. Golden Skans — Klaxons
11. Sweater Weather — The Neighbourhood
12. Diane Young — Vampire Weekend
13. Chimes — Hudson Mohawke
14. Clair De Lune (Live) — Flight Facilities with Owl Eyes

Year Zero

Coke Talk of the Day

 
After an extended period of international adventuring in lieu of the typical springtime music festival rituals, life is finally about to return to something roughly approximating normal.

I’m looking forward to sunshine. It will be my first summertime out of Los Angeles in as many years as my average reader has been alive. I’m looking forward to finding a new poolside scene, or whatever the equivalent is in whichever city I decide to find myself.

I have a few lunatics to keep me sane, and for now they’re who I’m calling friends. Well, that’s not fair. They are friends. Good friends, and I love them, but it’s all very ephemeral. That’s okay, though. At least I’m having a good time.

Also, bizarre coincidences are starting to happen. Now that I’ve wandered out into the fray, I’ve met several of you who have written in to me. It’s a very surreal experience to shake someone’s hand who thinks I am a stranger when the truth is that I know their deepest, darkest secrets.

It’s quite beautiful, really. It makes me feel immediately protective. As far as they can tell, I’m just being polite, but if that horrible person they wrote to me about were to suddenly walk into the room, I would eat that bastard alive with a little hot sauce and a side of fries.

There are people in my life now who are devoted fans of my work who have no idea that I’m the person they credit with their relationship choices and career paths. It freaks me out a little bit when I hear them tell me they grew up reading my advice.

Then I think about how long ago 2009 really was. When you click on All The Advice, you can pick from eight different years. Eight. And it’s true, the teenagers who started with me at the beginning are in their mid-twenties now. The twenty-somethings have become thirty-somethings. It well and truly blows my fucking mind.

Not too long ago, I discovered that a therapist who had been recommended to me by a mutual friend was actually a long-time reader who had chosen to become a therapist in part because of my influence. Needless to say, I chose not to set up an appointment. That would have been way too weird for both of us.

Still. I’m open to whatever extraordinary shit comes my way. 2016 has been a profound loop around the sun so far, and the lovely bow at the end of it will be the election of our first female President. I refuse to be cynical about that. I’m genuinely looking forward to it.

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