If Taylor Swift truly cared about English teachers enough to call herself one in her engagement announcement, she would’ve invited some to the studio to sit her down, make her read the lyrics to her new The Life of a Showgirl album aloud and ask: How do you think you did?

Because I have the one thing a billionaire could crave desperately in this life — an English bachelor’s degree — I’ll ask: Ms. Swift, what do you think of this album? Do you genuinely believe this is the best quality of work you can produce in the almost 20 years since your debut? Did you actually use the word “legitly?”

In an interview with BBC about the new record, Swift said she worried her writing ability would “dry up” if she was happy in her personal life. If that’s the case, maybe it’s time to consider a second opinion. Take a writing workshop, journal, consider source material outside of your usual focus. The world can continue without a new album and its seemingly neverending vinyl variants.

Swift’s 12th studio album released Friday, The Life of a Showgirl, is irredeemable. It clashes the poppy, Mumford & Sons brand of millennial production with oddly dark or raunchy lyricism, a juxtaposition of image expectation and personal desire.

The showgirl legacy is one of maximalist glamor with a dark side. Oversized feathery headpieces, boas and glittery makeup mask six-nights-a-week performance exhaustion. The concept would be the perfect allegory to Swift’s grueling Eras Tour performance schedule and yet she misses the mark completely.

[Ed Sheeran’s ‘Play’ is heartfelt, but inconsistent]

Where is the brass? The belting or the Moulin Rouge high-energy choreography? What happened to fun? The entire album meshes into a confusing haze of acoustic guitar and simplistic stomp-and-clap rhythms.

The opening track “The Fate of Ophelia” is the closest Swift reaches to that coveted showgirl status. Yet, she still fails to sing the verses any more than a lilted talk, while producer Max Martin’s timid drums barely hold the weight to mask Swift’s weak contributions.

In “Father Figure,” the singer scrubs a superior George Michael track clean of flirtatiousness and sexuality to make a bizarre warning song seemingly to past industry mentors or collaborators.

Lyrics such as “Your thoughtless ambition sparked the ignition / On foolish decisions which led to misguided visions /  That to fulfill your dreams / You had to get rid of me,” could be intimidating, but Swift’s short-winded delivery instead lands with a middle school mean girl cadence. Sanitizing a George Michael sample into a weak retail commercial tune is disgraceful.

A showgirl is sexy, a showgirl is entertaining. A showgirl, apparently, brags about the amazing sex she’s having with her “gym teacher” fiance and participates in alleged petty fights with other pop stars.

“Actually Romantic” is speculated to be a scathing response to Charli xcx’s “Sympathy is a knife” — a song detailing Charli’s insecurities in the spotlight among other stars. Is Swift threatened by Charli’s open jealousy of her success? How does she hear “Why I wanna buy a gun / Why I wanna shoot myself?” from Charli’s song and twist it into a painful diss?

A soggy reheating of Pixies’ “Where Is My Mind?” melody, Swift fails to come up with anything more spiteful than calling her adversary “a toy chihuahua barking at me from a tiny purse.”

Swift’s fiance, Kansas City Chiefs player Travis Kelce, is another muse for this album. While not inherently bad, her lyricism takes a hit in its lovey-dovey-ness. “Wood” throws nursery rhyme superstitions and cringey euphemisms onto a whitewashed funk beat.

“Redwood tree, it ain’t hard to see / His love was the key that opened my thighs.” That’s great.

You’re 35, Swift. You can say “fuck” if you want.

[Zara Larsson is fun, but dated on ‘Midnight Sun’]

Within the album lies a somewhat meaningful track celebrating engagement and the desire to settle down. “Wi$h Li$t” is a sendoff to the fans who want her to win nonsensical awards such as—oh, I don’t know— an Oscar! A Palme d’Or! Obviously industry success isn’t the goal for her right now.

“Opalite” calls back to some of the better soundscapes of her earlier work with millennial whoops and an infectious hook. Swift’s imagery card is heavy-handed, but really, when is it not?

It’s clear Swift isn’t concerned with nuance. She’s not concerned with honing her craft and returning to the meaningful storytelling she demonstrated on past albums, such as folklore.

But the Taylor Swift machine depends on how much she can get you to pay. What are you willing to drop for exclusive offers and limited-time merch reveals from her website? She can’t just do an EP. It needs to be a full project for all your money’s worth.

I wouldn’t be shocked to see when her exclusive wedding photos drop. Do you think we can pre-order her future baby’s name, too?