Imagine being her manager and having to be all like "damn, Tay, you fuckin' fine, all sexy with your tight body and horrificly stubby legs. I would totally have sex with you, both figuratively and literally." when all he really wants to do is fuck another 16 year old in his office. Like seriously imagine having to be her manager and not only sit front row while Taylor Swift flaunts her disgusting body in front of you, the favorable lighting barely concealing her stretchmarks and blotchy skin, and just sit there, rehearsal after rehearsal, hour after hour, while she perfected that performance. Not only having to tolerate her doughy fucking body but her haughty attitude as everyone on set tells her she's STILL GOT IT and DAMN, TAY-TAY LOOKS LIKE *THAT*?? because they're not the ones who have to sit there and watch her knobby fucking knees contort into shapes you didn't even know existed before that day. You've been fucking nothing but a healthy diet of blondes and supermodels and later alleged rape victims for your ENTIRE CAREER coming straight out of the suburbs of LA. You've never even seen anything this fucking disgusting before, and now you swear you can taste the sweat that's breaking out on her dimpled stomach as she sucks it in to writhe it suggestively at you, smugly assured that you are enjoying the opportunity to get paid to sit there and revel in her "statuesque (for that is what she calls herself)" beauty, the beauty she worked so hard for with personal trainers in the previous months. And then the choreographer calls for another run, and you know you could kill every single person in this room before the studio security could put you down, but you sit there and endure, because you're her fucking manager. You're not going to lose your future over this. Just bear it. Hide your face and bear it.