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The cover of Taylor Swift’s sixth studio album. | Facebook

You may be through with Taylor Swift, but she isn’t through with you.

Or so say the charts. When Swift dropped “Look What You Made Me Do” on Aug. 24, fans played the aggressive new single over eight million times on Spotify, a streaming splurge sur­passing any other song’s success on the day of its release.

The sub­se­quent music video broke YouTube’s one-day streaming record with 28 million views, beating out Adele’s “Hello.” And the official lyric video received 19 million views on its first day, more than double that of the pre­vious record-holder, “Some­thing Like This” by The Chainsmokers and Coldplay. Taylor’s Sept. 3 single, “…Ready For It” is also stirring a buzz.

So Swift has the country’s attention. No sur­prises there. Like most suc­cessful pop artists, she wields the ability to tap into her lis­teners’ emo­tions by writing songs just spe­cific enough to seem per­sonal, but just vague enough to fit many dis­parate moments all at once.

Lis­tening to or talking about her music with large groups of people reminds me of that scene in Paul Thomas Anderson’s 1999 movie “Mag­nolia” when all the main char­acters start singing along to Aimee Mann’s “Wise Up” in unison, even though they find them­selves facing wildly dif­ferent sit­u­a­tions in varied modes of life. All they really have in common is their humanity with its con­stant desires and mis­givings. Provide the right song, and they express divergent emo­tions with the same words.

Taylor pro­duces a similar effect in her lis­teners, even if she isn’t as great as P.T.A. or Aimee Mann. Looking back on my own life — short as it is — I’ve noticed her music manip­u­lating my course.

I first heard Taylor Swift on a car ride home from school in third grade. That day, I went swimming in a sewer pit during lunch and ruined my tie. In the afternoon, my teacher taught the class that wisdom is better than wit, and in the long run wisdom will cer­tainly have the laugh on her side. I think he was onto some­thing; I never swam in my dress clothes again and always laughed at those who did.

The year “Fearless” came out, I played a satyr in a school adaption of The Tempest. The director thought “Nothing But Flowers” by Talking Heads worked well as back­ground music for the mar­riage of Fer­dinand and Isabella. The audience’s frowns on opening night seemed to dis­agree. In an effort to save the play, the guy playing Fer­dinand sug­gested replacing David Byrne’s apoc­a­lyptic vision of daisy-covered Pizza Huts with Taylor’s “Love Story.” A noble effort, but unfor­tu­nately the wrong Shake­speare play.

My eighth grade ancient history teacher claimed to have dated Taylor while he was an undergrad at Notre Dame. The story seemed plau­sible. After all, Taylor’s brother was studying there at the same time as him. So when “Red” came out in 2013, my class bought our teacher the deluxe edition and hosted a lis­tening party for him during a study hall. It was then that we learned that his past romance had been a pious fib — an ill-con­ceived attempt to earn pubescent respect.

I have no sig­nif­icant mem­ories of “1989” except that I bought the CD (com­plete with fake polaroids) for my younger sister as a con­so­lation for her having to be home­schooled in seventh grade. She sub­scribed to Apple Music and most likely never popped the album in the ol’ Discman.

Until last week, I thought I could finally say goodbye to Taylor. I mean, she’s just a pop singer, right?

But I know her new work will even­tually squirrel its way into the mis­cel­la­neous rooms of my mind palace. I haven’t blown through enough Lucky Strikes to know how yet.

Ten years from now, I wouldn’t be sur­prised if I saw eight random people on the metro singing along to “Look What you Made Me Do.” Taylor is speaking to them as a group and as indi­viduals. This is some­thing that happens. That’s just the nature of a catchy pop song.