Taylor Swift – Blank Space

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Blank Space opens like a film premiere. Before any picture appears, there’s a solid black screen with white lettering centered on it. In bold capitals it reads “AMERICAN EXPRESS UNSTAGED,” and below that, “AND BIG MACHINE PRODUCTIONS PRESENT,” with “BIG MACHINE PRODUCTIONS” in bold and the little words “AND” and “PRESENT” set smaller. It’s a credit you’d only know about by seeing it, and it tells you right away that this video thinks of itself as a movie.

The first image is Taylor Swift in bed, and it sets the whole tone in one shot. She sits upright in the center of a large bed facing the camera, her mouth open mid-lyric. She’s wearing a black lace bra or bustier under a sheer, flowing black silk-like robe that drapes over her shoulders and arms, with a single black fingerless lace glove on her left forearm. A wide black lace blindfold is pushed up onto her forehead, resting just above her eyebrows. Her blonde hair is in a loose updo with thin strands framing her face, her lipstick dark red, her eye makeup dark.

The room around her is bright and soft. Behind her rises a white arched headboard, tufted in a diamond pattern with crystal-like buttons, and pale yellow or cream pillows with a circular pattern. Large windows with light, white sheer curtains let in diffused daylight. Thin black letterbox bars sit at the top and bottom of the frame, like a movie screen, and they stay there for most of the video.

There’s a small detail in the lower-left corner that’s easy to miss and worth knowing: a tiny, fluffy white Scottish Fold kitten sits on the bed, facing right. It’s a sweet, harmless little thing sitting right next to a woman in black lace with a blindfold pushed up on her head, and that mix of soft and dangerous is exactly what the video is about to play with.

The lyric that comes in here is the song’s very first introduction: “Nice to meet you / Where you been?” It’s a pickup line, delivered from a bed in a mansion, with the blindfold already up.

From the bedroom, the video takes you out onto a balcony, shot from below so you’re looking up at her. She’s mid-performance, mouth open, her hair in a formal low updo, her lipstick a bright classic red. Large blue-stoned drop earrings hang from her ears, and there’s a ring on her right hand. Her dress is black and long-sleeved, with intricate sheer lace in a floral and filigree pattern across her shoulders, chest, and arms, over a solid black bodice. In the foreground curves an ornate wrought-iron railing full of scrolls and leaf shapes. Behind her is a dark, recessed wooden paneled door framed with thick light-colored molding. A small dark plaque on the wall is partly hidden by the railing, its text too small to read. It’s gothic elegance, a woman in lace on a balcony like the heroine of an old romance.

The man enters the story in a moody dining room. He has dark styled hair and sits at the head of a long, opulent dining table, wearing a black suit jacket over a black dress shirt left slightly unbuttoned. His right elbow is on the table and his hand is pressed to his forehead or temple. He’s looking down and away, as though something is weighing on him, in a high-backed ornate wooden chair.

The table between you and him is crowded with luxury, all slightly out of focus in the foreground: a silver ice bucket with the neck of a bottle sticking out, deep red roses in gold vases, a bowl of fruit with a pineapple, and a tall ornate gold candelabra that partly blocks your view of him. Behind him, a tall window with white sheer curtains lets in light that rims his hair. The whole room is dark red, gold, and metal. She isn’t in this shot. You just see him, alone at the head of a very long table, looking tired.

The romance itself starts out dreamy. In a close shot angled slightly from above, Taylor lies on her back with her head tilted back, looking straight up into the lens, her mouth slightly parted. Her lipstick is bold red, her eyeliner dark, sharp, and winged, and her hair falls in soft vintage waves. She’s in a silver spaghetti-strap dress covered in rows of shimmering sequins and beads that catch every glint of light, with large ornate silver earrings set with stones in a swirling floral or wing shape. On the left side of the frame, a man’s arm and torso in a crisp white long-sleeved dress shirt lean over her, holding her up. The room behind is dim and elegant, the colors cool and muted blue-grey. It looks like a dip at the end of a dance.

The courtship moves outdoors, onto the grounds of the estate. In a wide shot, Taylor and the man walk side by side across a flat green lawn toward the camera. She’s on the left in a floor-length black gown with a plunging neckline, her blonde hair in vintage-style waves. He’s dressed in a black tuxedo with a white dress shirt and black bow tie, a long, heavy black cape over his shoulders, smiling slightly. In his left hand he holds the leashes of two dark-furred Doberman Pinschers that walk in step beside them.

Behind them stands a massive French-style chateau, cream or yellow and two stories tall, with tall, dark-framed symmetrical windows and a dark grey slate roof lined with dormers and chimneys. A wide stone patio with broad, shallow steps leads down to the grass, with stone balustrades on either side. The sky is overcast and grey, and the light is soft. Pale yellow house, green lawn, stark black clothes and dogs. It looks like a portrait of a couple who own everything.

The Dobermans get a moment of their own, shot from low to the ground. Three black-and-tan Dobermans walk from left to right across a vast lawn with mowing stripes, their thin dark leashes pulled taut by someone mostly out of frame on the left in a long dark garment. The dogs in the foreground blur with motion. They’re elegant and a little menacing, the kind of animals that guard a house like this.

From behind and above, the man stands alone in a dark formal suit jacket, facing a pair of closed dark wooden double doors set into a symmetrical light-grey stone building. Above the doors is a classical pediment with a round window at its center. Two large, ornate black lanterns flank the doorway, and large dark urns on either side overflow with pink, purple, yellow, magenta, and orange flowers and tall palm-like fronds. You only see the back of his head. He seems to be arriving, and the doors are still shut.

The courtship montage is the brightest stretch of the video. In a wide side view, the couple rides two bright white horses side by side through the woods, moving left to right along a flat brown dirt path. Taylor rides the farther horse in a cream long-sleeved knit sweater with flared sleeves, tan riding breeches, tall polished black riding boots, white-framed sunglasses, and black riding gloves, her hair now in a short, wavy blonde bob. She sits upright, looking toward the camera, her left hand on the reins. The man rides the nearer horse in a white long-sleeved dress shirt, a dark navy or black waistcoat, light brown trousers, and tall black riding boots, both hands on the reins, looking ahead. The horses’ long manes and tails flow behind them against a dense wall of dark green evergreens.

Inside the house, Taylor walks a long, cream-colored hallway with high ceilings and classical moldings, smaller framed portraits lining both walls into the distance, and a glass-paned door at the far end glowing with daylight. She’s in a sleeveless champagne or silver floor-length gown covered in intricate shimmering sequins, with a plunging V-neck, her hair pulled into a sleek low bun, her eyeshadow dark and smoky, her lipstick bright red.

She reaches out her right arm to a large portrait in a thick, ornate gold frame, a painting of a man with dark hair, a sharp jaw, a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie, and she traces his painted face with her index finger. While she touches it, she turns her head away from the painting, tilting it back, eyes almost closed, with a slight, confident smirk. She doesn’t even need to look at him. Right here, she sings, “I could show you incredible things.” It’s a promise, and that smirk suggests she knows exactly how it ends.

Outside, in a close shot, she looks down and slightly to the right with a subtle, knowing smile, her shoulder-length blonde hair caught mid-swing. Her lipstick is bright red, her eyeliner sharp and black, and large round white pearl earrings sit at her ears. Her shoulders are bare above a strapless dress. Behind her, softly blurred, is the pale mansion with its dark-framed windows and stone terrace, surrounded by lush manicured bushes and trees, a light stone walkway leading up. The daylight is bright. She looks completely pleased with herself.

The picnic is pure sweetness, shot from straight above. On a light blue-and-white floral blanket, Taylor lies on her back with her head in the man’s lap. She’s wearing a sleeveless high-neck top in pale yellow and white stripes with a matching skirt, her hair in a vintage updo, and pale pink thick-rimmed cat-eye sunglasses, with bold red lipstick and red nail polish. Her right hand is raised slightly toward her face and her left arm rests across her middle.

He’s shown from the torso down: white shorts, a brown leather belt, a white button-down printed with small dark shapes, maybe anchors or hearts, and a dark blue blazer. He holds a black smartphone and looks down at it. One tan suede shoe is visible.

The blanket is covered with treats. A silver ice bucket holds a champagne bottle with a gold-and-black foil top. There’s a white bowl of black-and-white heart-shaped chocolates, a stemmed glass bowl of pastel candy hearts, a small plate of red raspberries, and a dish of dark red or amber round candies. A tan wide-brimmed felt hat with a dark band lies in the upper left. The whole image is high-key pastel blue, white, and pale yellow with pops of red. It’s a perfect afternoon, except for one small thing: he’s looking at his phone. It’s a small detail, but in a story like this it reads like the first crack.

The turn happens in the library. In a grand study lined floor to ceiling with built-in bookshelves, Taylor stands on the left facing right, mid-shout, her mouth wide open, her eyebrows furrowed, her body slightly hunched forward. Her shoulder-length wavy blonde hair has side-swept bangs, her lipstick is bright red, and she wears a short-sleeved, form-fitting dark maroon top with a large ornate bib necklace of silver metal and dark gemstones.

The man stands in the foreground with his back to us, out of focus, in a navy and dark green striped sweater over a white collared shirt. Around them are a large arched niche holding a tall greyish-blue vase, white urns on low cabinets, a map on an easel, and ornate brass sconces. The light is warm. The fight is not.

A closer shot shows them face to face. Taylor, in vintage waves, dark eyeliner, and the same dark red top, has her hands raised near her face, blurred with motion, her mouth open, speaking or singing. The man faces her, clean-shaven, in the striped sweater, his hands slightly raised as he gestures back. Behind them, in soft focus, are tall bookshelves, a large window with ornate curtains, a white marble bust on a dark pedestal, and a world map on a wooden easel. It’s a real argument, both of them talking with their hands.

From there, she unravels. Leaning against a white marble fireplace or pillar with a carved circular detail, Taylor stares out with heavy black mascara smudged and running down her cheeks in distinct trails. Her hair is in soft vintage waves, her lipstick bright red, her eyeshadow dark. Her mouth is slightly open, her expression distressed, almost pleading. She’s wearing leopard print, with her right hand pressed to her chest near her collarbone, bright red nails, a thick gold link bracelet, and a large light-colored statement ring.

The next close shot goes further. Her mouth is wide open in a yell or snarl, teeth showing, brow furrowed, eyes fierce, mascara and eyeliner streaked down her face. Her blonde hair is tousled now, and the leopard-print blouse has a pussy-bow tie at the neck. Several thick gold bangles stack on her right wrist as her arm swings up in a blur. A white classical door frame or mantle with a round carved knob sits near her head. The palette is cool and drained. The line that lands here is “Screaming, crying, perfect storms.” It describes exactly what’s on screen.

The damage starts to show. Through a doorway, as if you’re peeking in, you see a luxurious bedroom with a dark wooden floor and a large bed with an ornate black wrought-iron headboard and a shimmering black sequined bedspread. A large window with sheer white curtains sits on the left, and a three-bulb candle-style sconce hangs on the white wall. The man stands in front of the bed in a crisp white button-down tucked into dark mid-thigh shorts, dark socks, and dark shoes, looking down at another white dress shirt he’s holding up at shoulder height. That shirt has been ruined, torn with several large jagged holes across the front, and small white scraps of fabric lie scattered on the floor at his feet. The dark edges of the doorway frame the shot, so it feels like you’re watching something you shouldn’t.

Taylor, meanwhile, is shown from the chest up in a bright white room, looking down with intense focus, her mouth slightly open. She’s clutching a bright red apple in both hands, squeezing it like she means to crush it. Her blonde hair is loose and messy with full bangs, her eyeliner heavy, dark, and winged, her lipstick a saturated red against pale skin. She’s in a sleeveless black dress with a deep V-neck. On her right hand is a large silver ring shaped like a coiled snake, with a chunky silver chain bracelet, large dangling silver earrings, and dark red nail polish. Behind her stand two narrow white panels trimmed with gold-leaf vines and topped with ornate gold candle sconces. A red apple in a woman’s hands, a snake ring on her finger. The fairy-tale reference is hard to miss.

The car scene is the video’s big, wild climax. In the driveway, Taylor swings a golf club into a classic silver or grey vintage sports car, leaning into the swing with full force, her shoulder-length blonde hair flying. She’s in a light pink or peach two-piece, a cropped top with a matching high-waisted mini skirt, a gold bracelet on her right wrist and a large ring on the hand gripping the club. The metal head of the club slams into the hood, leaving a visible dent with a puff of dust or debris. In the background, the man in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie throws his arms wide in disbelief. Behind the car stand the pale-yellow mansion, green ivy on the walls, and a massive black urn overflowing with pink, purple, and orange flowers.

She swings again. Bent forward, her blonde hair now in a ponytail whipping over her face, she brings the club down hard on the hood. The hood is badly dented and mangled now, white fragments and shards flying off it. The man stands in soft focus in the background, his hands raised near his chest in shock, on a cobblestone courtyard in front of the ivy-covered estate, surrounded by manicured hedges and tall trees.

In another beat, you see her from behind, her hair whipping in a blur as she leans toward the car with her hands near her head. She’s wearing a voluminous black feathered or faux-fur shawl over a light top, with a chunky gold bracelet on her left wrist. The car is a convertible with the top down and a wood-rimmed steering wheel, and from the driver’s side, a pair of legs in black trousers and black dress shoes kick up into the air, as though someone has been knocked back awkwardly inside.

The house itself gets a wide, quiet look, as if the video wants you to take in the whole estate at once. It’s a massive French chateau in cream and light-tan stone with grey detailing, a complicated skyline of slate-grey gables, pointed turrets, and tall thin chimneys, with an arched walkway running along the ground floor. Heavy dark green ivy climbs a wall on the left, and a low boxwood hedge runs along the bottom. On the cobblestone courtyard sits the vintage silver open-top car, two thin light racing stripes down its hood. Potted plants and small trees flank a stone entrance with purple and pink flowers. The light is overcast and soft.

In another wide shot, a red vintage convertible drives across the paved courtyard toward the mansion, seen from behind, the driver just a silhouette. The chateau’s turrets and ivy-covered arches loom ahead. The house is the real constant here. People come and go. The house stays.

The last scene on the estate is a burst of joy. On an upper-story balcony of the tan mansion, under a steep slate roof, Taylor stands in front of a pair of dark-framed French doors thrown wide open. The wrought-iron balcony has a crest in the middle, a stylized tree inside a circle, with iron garlands draped along it. She’s wearing a structured white sleeveless mini dress and sheer black stockings, her hair in a vintage updo, her lipstick bold red. She’s mid-twirl, arms raised, holding a large sheer white scarf or cape that billows out to the left, smiling wide on a bright, sunny day.

The title line lands right on this image: “But I’ve got a blank space baby / And I’ll write your name.” After everything that just happened, she’s twirling on the balcony, already ready for the next one.

Near the end, the video does something unusual: it shows scenes inside the frame of a tablet. A black, iPad-like tablet floats on a light gray background with a soft shadow beneath it, a circular home button and front camera on the bezel. On its screen, Taylor spins in a white-paneled room with dark molding, her blonde bob swirling, wearing a sleek floor-length black sleeveless gown with thin double straps on each shoulder and a dark bracelet. A man in a dark suit stands in a doorway with his hands on his hips, watching her. An ornate gold sconce hangs on the wall, and a large light oriental rug lies on a dark polished floor.

On the same tablet, another scene plays in an opulent marble foyer, white tiles with small dark diamond accents at the corners, carved stone walls and pilasters, and a large double doorway at the far end flooding the room with bright white light. A dark antique chair with a red upholstered back sits on the left beside a dark console, and an ornate gold-framed mirror hangs on the right. Taylor moves away from the camera, mid-dance or walking quickly, in a short long-sleeved leopard-print dress cinched with a thin black belt, her blonde bob bouncing, dark high heels on her feet. Two men stand near the bright doorway, one in a light gray suit and one in a dark one, watching her go.

The end card stays on the tablet. Its screen goes black, and in white brush-script handwriting it reads “TAYLOR SWIFT,” with “BLANK SPACE EXPERIENCE” below in smaller, clean white capital letters. A final black frame carries one last line of white text at the bottom: “© 2014 Big Machine Records, LLC.”

Taken as a whole, Blank Space is built like a full relationship compressed into a few minutes: the meeting, the dreamy courtship, the first crack, the fight, the meltdown, the wreckage, and a fresh start. It opens in a bed with a blindfold pushed up and a kitten nearby, moves through horses, picnics, and portrait hallways, and seems to tip somewhere around a small detail, a man glancing at his phone on a picnic blanket. After that, the same mansion that looked so romantic becomes the setting for screaming in a library, a shredded shirt, a crushed apple, and a golf club through a car hood.

The structure mirrors the song, which plays like a sly wink from someone choosing to play the dramatic character all the way through. The video doesn’t end with her heartbroken. It ends with her twirling on a balcony in white, a blank space ready for the next name, and a final title card framing the whole thing as an “experience,” a story you’re meant to watch again.

FAQ

How does the video open?

A man in a dark suit faces the closed double doors of a pale stone mansion with lanterns and flower urns.

What dogs appear on the lawn?

Three black-and-tan Dobermans walking on thin leashes across a manicured striped lawn.

What picnic details are visible?

Teal lace blanket, yellow-and-white striped outfit, white cat-eye sunglasses, champagne bucket, heart chocolates, conversation hearts, raspberries, tan fedora.

What car colors show?

A light blue/silver vintage convertible with the door open, and a red vintage convertible driving toward the chateau.

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