The new album is good, telling stories in easygoing, crisp, syncopated melodies, which are more uplifting than her previous album. The Tortured Poets Department with 31 songs is a superior album and not merely because it’s longer and themed to romantic loss and grief. It’s deeper. The Life of a Showgirl reflects upon a new upswing in Taylor Swift’s life. The young woman is engaged to be married for the first time.

Understandably, she’s more reserved about her privacy. Vulnerability is a superpower and Swift interviews, writes, sings, performs and trades as though she knows this. In song after song throughout her career, as I’ve written in recent years, she mines and explores the challenges, the turmoil and the heartbreak of romantic love, particularly through the lens of being famous in the envious, darkening 21st century. The Life of a Showgirl marks her progression toward personal—which is to say private— happiness.

This is what leftist critics despise: that she loves a man—that she’s capable of being happy and intelligent, writing lyrics and music that reflect the truth—that she’s selfish. As I wrote about her appearance as part of a couple at the Super Bowl, her defiance stems from egoism. Taylor Swift’s 12th album is no exception. Its theme is that, contrary to today’s rampant effects of altruism and collectivism, the anti-egoist slogan that your life’s not about you is wrong—“hundred percent,” as everyone keeps adding to everyone else in reply (in another overstated and annoying catchphrase)—Swift’s life is absolutely and unabashedly all about Swift. As yours is about you.

Taylor Swift turns catchphrase into wry commentary and profound, sometimes subtle, lyricism. The title song simply sings of pop stardom in duet with Sabrina Carpenter. With songwriters Max Martin and Shellback, Swift delivers more, new thoughtful pop songs. Dovetailing her chosen lyrics, themes and subtexts into each song as usual, the cumulative effect of the whole 12-tune album is still biting, bitter and cutting yet infused with romanticism and softness. The smooth-sharp contrast of “Elizabeth Taylor,” a twist on Shakespeare’s tragic flaw in “The Fate of Ophelia,” the breathy “Opalite;” everything’s cheerful with her familiarly clipped diary entry tone.

“Father Figure,” like Prince’s best songs, re-casts relationships with androgyny, and “Ruin the Friendship,” “Wish List,” the penis-themed “Wood,” “Cancelled!” and “Actually Romantic” can and will be taken any number of ways, with or without unique punctuation. Songs in sequence alternate and flow. The best tunes are the sweetest and most romantic: a standout song, “Eldest Daughter,” affords insightful, psychological astuteness and “Honey,” which makes an argument and case in point as it casts a spotlight, simultaneously casts a spell. As ever, vulgar lyrics pop, punctuate and abound. “Honey” in particular and The Life of a Showgirl in general tell a story, unfolding with seriousness, lightness, romance, love and joy.

Recently, a podcaster asked the billionaire about whether this would be her last album because she’s getting married and, presumably, contemplating having kids. Taylor Swift was taken aback, responding with an expression of egoistic love which rejects the false choice of ambition or family and conveys a proper orientation to romantic love between adults: “I love the person that I am with because he loves what I do, and he loves how much I am fulfilled by making art and making music. That’s the coolest thing about Travis. He is so passionate about what he does that me being passionate about what I do … connects us.” So does The Life of a Showgirl.

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