I don’t usually talk about my personal business with anyone, much less publish it in a news publication read cover-to-cover by tens of people. However, Katy, you left my no choice; I’ve sent countless texts and more voicemails than I care to admit to, all asking for a chance to talk. I assume that you’re on tour and promoting your music, and that I’m nothing more than a convenient sexual exploitation to you, but hear me out.
Calvin Harris’ recent hit single “Feels” features you (with Pharrell and Big Sean accompanying) singing the chorus, I assumed at me. In the song, you tell me,
“Don’t be afraid to catch feels /
Ride drop top and chase thrills (Hey) /
I know you ain't afraid to pop pills (Hey) /
Baby, I know you ain't scared to catch feels /
Feels with me”
To summarize, Katherine, I am afraid to catch feels.
Don’t get it twisted and think for a second just because I’ve written this entire article to you that I’ve already caught feels, because I haven’t. But I’m a fourth-year who can never remember to grab his charger, and you’re an international singer and pop superstar. We each maintain slightly different lifestyles, and those differences give me pause on making our romantic involvement more serious.
I can’t keep following you on your world tours and being your side-piece as you attempt to destroy Taylor Swift. I get it; T-Swiss is amidst a bit of an artistic stumble right now, and you want to take advantage of that. This is a business, and that’s not lost on me. But don’t try to dissuade my perpetual anxiety that you’re not going to be there when I want to FaceTime or that you don’t want to “hit Virg” on a Wednesday night when I know that you’ve got so much going on.
Please explain to me when I’m supposed to have time to ride drop-top, much less also chase thrills, with you. I’ve got a problem set due in five hours and my printer actually broke this time, and you’re performing for Salman bin Abdulaziz Al Saud in Saudi Arabia. What am I supposed to do here? Compromise? You’re the one with the private jet! Just for once, come take the Outer Loop bus route with me and spend way too much time trying to find Ash Tree apartments for a pregame.
“Pop pills?” I’m going to assume that means take pills, and I’m going to assume pill aren’t the ones my mom still has to force down my throat — therefore, I’m terrified! I don’t really mess with that stuff, mostly because I’m scared that I’ll have an allergic reaction or not be my usual self. Why do you want me on drugs? Aren’t I good enough for you as I am?
Don’t you dare call me baby, and don’t assert that you know who I am, even if I will admit that you and I are very close, Katy. You’re great and all, and I love that you’re passionate about what you do and will concede that you are very pretty, but you need to take me seriously. Pretty soon I’ll be able to rent a car, so you need to step it up.
At the end of the day, Katy, you need to understand that you are replaceable — yes, I said it. I’ve caught feels for many women; you’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Sure, I’m a little timid at the thought of what you might say when you call me after reading this article. Absolutely, I acknowledge the fact that I may already love you, Katy, and that this is all some sort of feeble attempt at gaining control over my life. But know that I will leave you, Katy Perry.
Lady Gaga told me she has the cure, after all.
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