Taylor Swift on Sexism, Scrutiny, and standing for Herself IT’S A SUNDAY AFTERNOON in Tribeca, and I’m in Taylor Swift’s loft, in the previous publishing household that she’s got restored and fortified in to a sanctuary of stone, velvet, and mahogany. The area is hot and cozy and vaguely literary—later, as soon as we move across her bedroom on the way to her yard, ten percent of my mind shall think her wardrobe might start as much as Narnia. Barefoot…