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