Taylor Swift – Look What You Made Me Do

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Look What You Made Me Do opens from very high up, looking straight down into the dark. The whole frame is navy and black, with thin black letterbox bars at the top and bottom like a movie screen. At the center sits a small glowing rectangle of warm orange-yellow light, ringed by tiny white lights in a circle or hexagon. A pale blue beam of haze cuts diagonally across the picture. You don’t know what you’re looking at yet.

From that aerial view, the video drops you into a gothic graveyard at night. Thick, low, blue-tinted fog rolls over the ground. Silhouetted crosses and monuments crowd the hillside between leafless trees, and on a hill in the upper right, the windows of a gothic church or manor glow an intense orange, like the building is burning from the inside. Cool blue fog below, warm fire above. The whole palette of the video is set right here.

There are two pieces of on-screen text in this opening that you’d never catch through sound, and they’re the reason this scene matters. At the center of the graveyard stands a multi-tier stone monument, and carved into its base are the words “HERE LIES TAYLOR SWIFT’S REPUTATION.” A black crow or raven perches on a cross above it. Off to the left, a rounded, weathered tombstone carries the faded words “A JOSEPH KAHN FILM,” the director’s credit slipped onto a grave like it’s always been there.

That monument is the thesis of the whole video. Taylor Swift isn’t the one buried here. Her reputation is. Everything that follows is about what comes out of that grave.

The digging starts almost immediately. A long-haired figure in a tattered silk slip, pale blue or off-white, bends over a fresh grave, working a shovel so hard it blurs with motion. White mist curls around the tombstones, black crows sit on the grave markers, and an orange lantern glows somewhere in the distance.

The next figure you see is a zombie version of Taylor. Her skin is a pale, decaying gray, her light blonde hair is matted, and her floor-length off-white or light-blue gown hangs in dirty, tattered layers from thin straps. She stands hunched, holding a silver shovel in both hands, with a stare that’s either vacant or menacing, hard to tell which. Ravens perch on the headstones around her, one flapping off, and the color is drained down to a cold blue-teal.

In another shot, she crawls low toward the camera, close enough to see the details. Her sunken eye sockets hold light, glowing irises, her cheeks are skeletal, and one decayed-looking hand reaches into the foreground, fingers curled, through dark leaves and soil.

The line that plays over this is the most direct thing the song says: “Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time.” The reputation is buried behind her, and she’s crawling right back out toward you.

From the grave, the video cuts to the opposite extreme: a bathtub full of diamonds. Taylor reclines in a deep teal or black vintage soaking tub filled to the brim with clear, faceted diamonds and jewelry, long gold chains draped over the front rim and pooling on the floor. Silver and turquoise bracelets are stacked up both wrists, large rings sit on nearly every finger, and she’s layered in diamond, pearl, and gold necklaces. Her right hand rests on the rim, nails painted red, and her left is raised palm-up near her face, almost a shrug.

The room is pure excess. A tall, ornate gold faucet rises over the tub, mirrored walls multiply lit gold chandeliers into a blur of warm light, a gold candelabra burns, and loose jewels are scattered across the dark floor like someone spilled them on purpose.

The lyric here: “I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time.” The zombie has turned into something polished and armored, wearing her wealth like protection.

The throne room comes next, and it’s the darkest, grandest space in the video. A Gothic hall rises into vaulted ceilings ribbed with gold scrollwork, held up by dark pillars with gold capitals. At the end of it, on a raised platform, sits a golden throne with a pointed-arch backboard in gold and white damask. Taylor sits in it, centered, legs crossed, in a floor-length vibrant red robe or dress and a crown, her arms resting regally on the armrests. A spotlight picks her out from the deep shadow around her.

The floor is covered in snakes. A mass of dark, tangled snakes spills across the floor and up the lower stairs toward the throne. She isn’t hiding from them. She’s sitting above them like they belong to her.

There’s more text to notice. On the dark pillars flanking the throne, vertical gold letters spell out “ET TU BRUTE,” the old line about betrayal, written right into the architecture.

A closer shot, cropped from the neck down, shows the details of the throne and the dress. The red wrap dress has wide flowing sleeves and cream piping, and on her feet are metallic gold ankle sandals with a spiral scale texture, like snakeskin made of metal. The armrests of the throne are carved into lion heads. Snakes, some dark brown and black, others banded red, white, and black, crawl over the floor, the base of the throne, and the armrests themselves, and gold snake ornaments stand on poles to either side.

Over it all, she sings: “I don’t like your little games / Don’t like your tilted stage.” The snakes cover whatever the spotlight doesn’t reach.

The camera comes in tight on her face, shoulders up. She stares straight into the lens with wide blue eyes, mouth slightly open mid-lyric. Her eyeshadow is heavy, dark, smoky, and winged, her lipstick a high-gloss deep red. Large teardrop diamond earrings hang at her ears, and long, glossy red nails blur at the edge of the frame. It’s a confrontational shot, made to feel like she’s looking right at whoever she’s singing about.

The tea scene is one of the strangest little images in the video, and one of the most pointed. From the chest down, Taylor sits in a deep red cold-shoulder dress with geometric cutouts at the neckline. She holds a teacup on a saucer, and pouring into it is a white porcelain teapot painted with pink flowers and trimmed in gold, with a large, brown, scaly snake coiled around it. Steam rises from the cup. She wears a thick silver snake necklace set with white stones and a silver snake ring, with metallic gold stiletto nails, seated in an ornate golden chair. The snake isn’t threatening her. It’s serving her tea.

The crash scene is packed with details you’d miss without seeing it. On a night street, a mirror-finish gold luxury sports car has crashed into a black vintage lamppost, which now leans at an angle. The driver’s door hangs open, showing a hot-pink interior. The back of the car is engulfed in orange flames, pouring thick grey and black smoke, the spoiler still raised and the round red taillights still glowing. Shattered glass and gold sequin debris shimmer on the wet asphalt.

Taylor lounges across the seats in the wreck as if nothing happened, wearing a shimmering gold-green sequined floor-length gown and high-heeled sandals, holding a gold Grammy trophy in her left hand. On the left, five or six paparazzi in dark clothes aim cameras with long lenses, their flashes going off.

Behind the car is a storefront with two red awnings, each printed in white serif letters with “TS,” its lit windows full of merchandise. It’s a crash staged like a photo shoot, the trophy still in her hand, the cameras still clicking.

From the crash, the video locks her in a cage. Waist-up, she wears a bright orange jumpsuit unzipped over a matching orange top, with gold fingerless gloves and a gold choker. She grips two vertical bars wrapped in maroon fabric, head tilted back, mouth wide open.

A wider view shows that the cage is more of a private dining room than a prison. Inside a large circular cage of gold bars, she sits at a glass table in the orange jumpsuit and gold gloves. Her right hand raises a champagne flute of golden liquid, and her left rests near a large white platter piled with bright red cooked lobsters. A silver ice bucket holds a bottle of champagne with green foil. Outside the bars stand six men in identical black tactical outfits with oversized, square-padded shoulders and dark sunglasses, all at attention.

The lyric here is “I don’t trust nobody and nobody trusts me.” She’s locked in, but she’s the one eating lobster. The guards are outside. It’s hard to say who’s really trapped.

The podium scene turns everything hot pink. The lighting is intense magenta and red, and the floor is glossy black. Taylor stands center at a clear acrylic podium on a low red-lit platform, in a black patent cage-cutout bodice, a long shiny black vinyl cape, glossy deep red elbow gloves, and thigh-high red heels, her lipstick almost black, her mouth open mid-line.

Flanking her are two performers in matching shiny black military-style uniforms with sharp, exaggerated shoulders, black masks covering their noses and lower faces, and high spiky buns, hands planted on their hips. As she stands at the podium, she sings, “I don’t like your kingdom keys.” It plays like a rally speech, a leader with her guards at her side.

The heist is the most playful scene in the video. It takes place in what looks like a vault or data center, with floor-to-ceiling reel-to-reel drives and server racks. Red LED tickers scroll the words “STREAM CO.” across the walls, a company name you’d only know from reading it. Men in colorful suits sit at white desks with vintage computers, wearing headphones.

Taylor walks straight toward the camera swinging a wooden baseball bat, blurred mid-swing. She’s in an oversized black hoodie with the hood up, a large colorful sequined tiger face on the front, and a green sequined hem that reads “BLIND FOR LOVE.” Her boots are metallic red and thigh-high.

Her crew walks with her. On the left, someone in a bright pink varsity jacket and a pink tulle tutu rests a golden bat on her shoulder. On the right, someone dressed head to toe in yellow, cap and sunglasses included. Farther right, a figure in a red tracksuit and heart-shaped sunglasses carries a large black duffel bag, with stacks of cash in both hands. Robbing a streaming company, bat in hand, cash in the bag. It’s a joke, and it’s clearly meant to be read as one.

Next, Taylor pushes through a pair of tall golden-brown wooden double doors with glass panes and ornate gold handles, walking right toward the camera. She wears a black long-sleeve cropped sweater over a black bodysuit with black fishnets, her hair in shoulder-length curls with bangs, her lipstick deep burgundy or black, her mouth open in an intense round shape. Behind her, a crystal chandelier hangs in a room with pale teal walls and heavy crimson velvet curtains, and a bright backlight makes a halo around her as she bursts through.

In a quieter medium shot, her blonde hair is slicked back in a wet look with wavy strands, her lipstick a bold dark red, and long thin silver chain-link earrings hang down. She wears a black textured velvet or faux-fur top off the shoulders, and across the chest, in glittering silver lowercase sequins, is the word “rep.” A bright turquoise or cyan rectangle of light stands directly behind her, glowing through haze against a near-black background. The word is worn on her chest and lit up like a sign.

The crowd scene is where the video gets chaotic and self-referential. In dark teal fog, a crowd of Taylor’s personas pushes and shouts. At the center, one version of her in thick black glasses with disheveled blonde hair wears a white crew-neck T-shirt with multicolored trim, covered in handwritten black names. You can read “martha” on the sleeve, “Selena” and “BLAKE & RYAN” on the chest, and “ESTE” lower down. She throws her head back and screams. On the left, another figure in a white headband and sparkling tiara is shouting too, and silhouettes on the right raise their arms.

In the same fog, a ringmaster version of Taylor screams in a black sequined top hat and a black jacket with gold braided cords and red sequined sleeves, thick green smoke all around her.

This is where the song’s most famous spoken line lands: “Oh, ’cause she’s dead!” She’s screaming in a fog made entirely of her own past selves.

A calmer moment follows. The ringmaster floats diagonally through a green void, falling or drifting with her eyes closed and her face completely serene. Her hair is a bob with bangs, and she still wears the braided jacket with red sequined sleeves. A baton with a round red ball floats behind her, and a sharp, brilliant green beam of light cuts across her middle. After all the screaming, she just drifts.

The dance number takes place in an ornate ballroom lit by three warm crystal chandeliers, with a polished dark wood floor that reflects everything and dark green velvet armchairs lining the sides. Taylor stands center, legs wide, leaning forward with her mouth open, in a black long-sleeve high-neck bodysuit, black fishnets, and black over-the-knee boots with a thin white stripe at the top.

Eight male dancers fan out behind her in two diagonal lines, crouched wide. They wear black crop or tank tops, some printed with “I ❤️ TS,” a gold I and TS around a red heart, plus black shorts over fishnets and high-heeled black boots. The shirts are another wink you’d only get by seeing them, a squad of dancers wearing her fan merch.

From a closer, higher angle, her curly blonde hair frames dark smoky eyes and deep plum lipstick, her expression fierce. Her right hand is at her neck, her left on her hip. A harness of dark red or gold jewelry crosses her hand, and the dancers move around her in soft focus while tall glass doors open onto a bright room behind them.

The video’s finale happens in a dark hangar with a wet, reflective floor. A sleek black private jet sits under bright vertical pillars of light, god rays slicing through the haze. Across the fuselage, in neon pink spray paint, is the word “Reputation.”

Lined up in front of the jet are about fifteen versions of Taylor, each dressed for a different chapter of her career. You’ll find the red ringmaster jacket and black hat, a silver fringed dress with an acoustic guitar, a white Grecian gown and a cream Renaissance one, a black sequined leotard at the center, a white signed Junior Jewels tee with plaid pajama pants, and a white ballerina tutu crouched down low. The tattered blue zombie dress is there too, dirty skin and hair and all, and one more figure sits perched up on the jet near the graffiti. Most of them face the camera. It’s every version of her standing in one line, the zombie from the opening right there among them.

The last close moment by the jet puts two of those selves side by side. On the left stands the ringmaster in a red sequined jacket with gold trim, black lapels, and gold chains, a high-collared black shirt with a white ruffle and a dark jewel, and a tall black top hat with a silver band. Her hair is straight with bangs, her lipstick bold red, and her expression stern, looking straight ahead. On the right stands a version in a silver fringed sequined flapper-style dress, tight bouncy blonde curls, and smudged mascara running down her cheeks. She’s crying, looking down, holding a silver glitter acoustic guitar, and on the back of her right hand is a large black “13.” The jet’s dark fuselage curves behind them with a gold stripe.

This is where the title line comes in: “Look what you made me do.” One self stern and in control, the other crying with her guitar, sharing one frame.

The video closes on a solid black screen with a single line of small white text centered at the bottom: “© 2017 Big Machine Label Group, LLC.”

Taken as a whole, Look What You Made Me Do is built like a funeral that turns into a resurrection, followed by a parade. It opens on a grave labeled with her reputation, pulls a zombie out of it, and runs through a series of over-the-top tableaux: diamonds, a snake throne, a snake tea service, a burning gold car, a lobster dinner in a cage, a rally podium, a streaming heist, a ballroom full of dancers in her merch. Each one plays like a costume, a persona put on for the camera.

The structure mirrors the song. The track is about being pushed into becoming someone harder and colder, and the video makes that literal, building a new version of her for every scene. The ending in the hangar doesn’t pick one. It lines all of them up together, the old selves and the new, under a jet with “Reputation” spray-painted across its side, and lets them stand side by side. The girl who rose up from the dead is standing right there in the lineup, proof of the line she sang in the graveyard.

FAQ

What Latin phrase appears on the pillars?

"ET TU BRUTE" on vertical gold capitals flanking the throne stairs.

What animals fill the throne room floor?

A mass of dark snakes on the steps and foreground.

What is printed on the dancers' crop tops?

"I ❤️ TS" (and partial "I ❤️" / "I ❤️ T" views).

What number is written on a hand?

A dark "13" on the back of the hand resting on a silver glitter guitar.

YouTube URL?

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