She packs so much bittersweet pop lust into three minutes, creeping out the window for a secret rendezvous, until she’s crying in the back of the car. For the first ninety-eight seconds, it’s merely a perfect Taylor Swift song. Then for the bridge, she takes off into a deranged greatest-hits album’s worth of choruses from songs she hasn’t written yet. She feels ashamed of her secrets, yet proud of how ashamed she is, until she yells her dirtiest secret out loud: “I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?” But make no mistake, she loves her secrets more than she’ll ever love this
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"Cruel Summer" receiving the respect it deserves
