Taylor Swift – Delicate

Open on YouTube

Delicate begins in total darkness. There’s no title, no music video glamour, nothing on the screen at all, just a solid, even black. It’s a quiet start for a video that’s about to drop you into the loudest kind of night there is.

When the picture comes up, you’re looking down from above at a red carpet outside a building at night. The carpet is a vibrant red, lined with gold stanchions and red velvet ropes. A glossy black SUV is parked on the left. On the right stands a white stone pillar and a brightly lit marquee edged with rows of small bulbs. Across the way, a stone building with arched windows glows from inside, and in the alley farther back, fog or smoke hangs in the air. Behind the ropes on both sides, a dense crowd is waving.

It’s the classic arrival scene, the kind you’ve seen a hundred times in entertainment news, and the video lays it out in full before it does anything strange with it.

At the center of all this, Taylor Swift stands with her back to the camera. She’s wearing a sleeveless floor-length dress in dark emerald or teal, with heavy fringe hanging down to her calves and ankles, and her blonde hair is pulled up into a bun or ponytail. That fringed dress is going to follow her through almost the entire video, so it’s worth picturing: shimmering, long, swinging whenever she moves.

Facing her is an interviewer in a light-grey suit, white shirt, and dark bow tie, holding a black microphone up toward her face. Security guards in black suits surround her on three sides. One, bald, stands near the SUV. Another, with a buzz cut and dark sunglasses, fills the right foreground. A taller one stands under the marquee. In the foreground, photographers hold up cameras, one with a big video camera on his shoulder, and flashes pop. The people at the ropes are dressed every way, some dark and semi-formal, some casual, all waving or holding up phones.

The lyric that floats over this crowded moment is a simple one: “You must like me for me.” She’s surrounded by cameras, a microphone in her face, and the song is quietly asking whether anyone actually sees the person under all this.

From the carpet, the video moves inside, into a grand hotel hallway, and the first thing you see is people’s faces reacting. The hall is beautiful in an old-fashioned way: a high coffered ceiling with circular patterns, spiral-fluted columns, warm golden chandeliers and sconces, and a polished marble floor reflecting all that gold light.

The people in the foreground are visibly startled. On the left, a woman in a shimmering silver-gray dress with a black waistband has her hand over her mouth. A man in a tuxedo holding a champagne glass looks caught off guard. On the right, someone in a dark blazer stares wide-eyed with his mouth open, and a blonde woman in a sequined top looks just as surprised. Two others, one in a leather jacket and one in a leopard-print jacket, hold up phones.

Taylor is in the middle of all this, but she’s out of focus, walking through the space in a dark blue or black fringed sequined mini dress. The camera chooses to stay sharp on the faces and soft on her. You understand right away how she feels in this place: stared at, filmed, reacted to.

That feeling deepens in the next shot. In a wood-paneled lobby with a polished light stone floor, Taylor walks with her back to the camera, her blonde hair in a high ponytail, wearing a shimmering sleeveless teal-blue dress with long tiered fringe to her calves. She glances slightly to the right. Four security men in black suits walk with her: a Black man with a shaved head looking straight ahead on the far left, a man with a full dark beard and shaved head next to him, a man with a mohawk in profile to her right, and a man in glasses with a shaved head on the far right. Behind them, a glass display case holds white lilies, and a tall column and white flared floor lamp stand off to the left.

There’s on-screen text here that tells you exactly where this is. Over an open doorway on the right, a plaque reads “HISTORIC CORE.” A black directional sign with white text and arrows points the way to “RESTROOMS,” “GYM,” and “POOL.” It looks like a working hotel, ordinary signage and all.

The next moment is the first time the video gets funny. From above, Taylor walks straight toward the camera with a determined, furrowed brow. Her dress here is a sleeveless knee-length blue fringe dress, sheer sparkly mesh layered over solid blue, with a wide shimmering teal waistband and layered fringe on the skirt. Behind her and to the left, a bellhop in a bright red uniform with gold trim and a red pillbox hat is literally in mid-air, mouth wide in shock, legs kicked up, as a man in a black suit grapples and tackles him.

She doesn’t turn around. She just keeps walking forward while the tackle happens behind her. A sign over a doorway on the right reads “MEZZANINE MEETING ROOMS,” and blurred guests in formal clothes stand far off to the left. The lobby light is warm amber. It’s a quick, almost slapstick image of what fame does to a room, everything around her turning chaotic while she tries to just get from one place to the next.

The video slows down in a dim, ornate dressing room. Tall vertical mirrors in dark wood frames line the walls, and between them, warm amber cylindrical sconces with a lattice pattern give off a hazy glow. The walls are cream or tan, with ornate arches above the mirrors.

Taylor sits in an ornate light wicker or rattan high-backed chair, facing left, looking down. Her hair has bangs and a ponytail, and she’s wearing a sleeveless vibrant blue dress with a shimmering beaded bodice, small silver round stud earrings, and deep red lipstick. In her lap, her hands hold something small and light, maybe a piece of paper or a card. The mirror beside her shows a clear reflection of her face, and another catches the back of her head and shoulder, so you see her from several angles at once. Warm gold surrounds the cool blue of the dress.

She doesn’t smile here. She just looks down, pensive. Over this quiet moment comes the line “Oh, damn, never seen that color blue.” The blue of her dress is the brightest thing in the room.

A similar quiet beat follows at a bathroom sink. Taylor is shown from the chest up at the left of the frame, looking down to the right with a furrowed brow. She’s in a dark blue sequined sleeveless dress, bangs and ponytail, dark stud earrings. A dark circular vessel sink sits on the counter beside her, with a dark metallic decorative faucet, and a large mirror behind it blurs warm lights. A golden metal lattice screen sits in the background on the left. The whole room is warm brown and gold. It’s a private, tired moment, the kind people have in hotel bathrooms when they finally get a minute alone.

The mood breaks in a burst of motion. In a blurred medium close-up, her face suddenly opens up: eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide in a joyful or goofy expression. Her bangs and high ponytail swing, her lipstick is red, and blue stud earrings catch the light. She’s wearing a sleeveless dark teal or navy mesh-sequin dress, framed by golden-brown curtains or paneling on one side and dark reflective wood on the other, with golden orbs of light floating behind her. Something has changed. She’s loosened up.

The next scene shows exactly how. In an opulent gold-toned lobby, Taylor is blurred in the background, wearing a turquoise-blue sequin dress, her bangs and hair up in a bun, bright red lipstick. Her mouth is wide open as if she’s shouting or pulling a face, her right fist up near her face, right behind a bodyguard. The bodyguard is the sharp thing in the frame: buzz cut, stubble, rectangular dark sunglasses, a silver stud in his left ear, black suit, white shirt, black tie, looking off to the right with a completely stoic face. Another bodyguard, a Black man in a dark suit, blurs at the far right edge.

He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t react at all. That’s the turning point of the whole video. Just minutes ago, the hotel couldn’t stop staring at her. Now she’s doing something ridiculous right behind a security guard, and no one seems to notice. It plays as if no one can see her anymore.

She tests it right away. In a low, almost spy-like shot, a large dark blurry coat or silhouette fills the left foreground. Beyond it is a beige stone lobby with two dark wood elevator doors carved with ornate arches and a framed notice between them. Deep red carpeted steps with a brass handrail rise on the right, framed by fluted pilasters. Two men in black suits, one bald with a beard and a Black man beside him, chat near the elevators. Down at the bottom of the frame, you can make out the blue sparkly fringe of her dress as she crouches and sneaks right past them on the light floor. They keep talking. It’s a playful little scene, like a kid sneaking past grownups.

From there, she dances. In a grand hallway with a high coffered gold-leaf ceiling, fluted white columns, arched doorways, a multi-bulb chandelier, and a polished light marble floor, Taylor throws herself into a big, strange move: leaning forward with her knees bent, her left arm thrust out in front of her, her right stretched out behind. Her teal-blue sequined bodice catches the light and the long tiered fringe flares out. Her mouth is open, her eyes wide. Around her, guests in formal clothes walk and talk in soft focus as if nothing is happening.

From another angle, she’s barefoot, mid-dance, in a teal-blue sleeveless sequined mini with long fringe flying, her stance wide, knees out, hands near her thighs, all of it blurred with motion. In the foreground on the left, a woman with her back partly turned wears an elaborate black high-low jeweled evening gown and holds a champagne flute. On the right, a woman with long dark curly hair in a black leather jacket over a short dark dress and black ankle boots holds a glass mid-conversation. People in suits and dresses stand and walk in the background. None of them react.

The dance carries her to the hotel’s reception desk, and there’s a small text detail here that’s easy to miss. Taylor stands at the center, singing and dancing with her arms out and palms down, mouth open, her blonde hair in a loose, messy updo. Her dress is teal or cerulean, with a sequined bodice, a wide blue waistband, and a fringe skirt in several tiers. Behind her runs a long polished dark wood reception desk with four small monitors, and on each screen, in a light-blue interface, is the text “Welcome to Hotel Delicate.” The hotel is named after the song.

Two men in suits stand behind the desk, deep in conversation with each other, paying her no attention. Behind them hangs a large mural of a sunlit atrium filled with palms, fluted columns, and a glass ceiling. The walls are cream with fluted pilasters and glowing ornate sconces, and the marble floor is dark and polished. Right here, she sings, “Is it cool that I said all that?” She’s practically performing on the front desk, and the clerks keep chatting.

The video keeps moving her through the hotel’s grand spaces. At a multi-tiered light stone fountain with a carved lion-head spout, a tall dark vase on the top tier, and stone dolphin or sea-creature sculptures flanking the alcove, she spins with her eyes closed, head tilted back, her right hand near her forehead. She’s in a sleeveless deep teal dress with a sheer sparkle at the neck and shoulders and long fringe tiers, her ponytail blurring with the spin. The walls are warm tan and gold, and the polished wood floor is laid in a chevron or parquet pattern.

In an empty ballroom, she spins again, alone, barefoot, head thrown back with a joyful look. Her dress here is a short sapphire-blue sleeveless fringe cocktail dress with a beaded top. The high-gloss parquet floor reflects her like a mirror, and the walls are dark, rich wood paneling with golden sconces glowing between the moldings. Behind her stands a large dark arched double doorway with glass panes and a half-moon window on top, with another dark doorway to the left. No one else is in the room. For the first time, she has an entire space to herself, and she uses every inch of it.

Against a wall of dark polished wood paneling, lit softly from the front, there’s a moodier moment. Taylor leans back against the wall, her head tilted down toward her shoulder, eyes lowered. She’s in a sleeveless teal dress with a mesh and sparkle bodice beaded in a geometric pattern up to the neck, a wide sparkly sequined waistband, and a long thick fringe skirt with slits on the sides. Her bangs, ponytail, and dark red lipstick are the same as before. In another shot against the same wall, she’s mid-dance, right arm stretched up and blurred with motion, head tilted to her shoulder. Quiet, then moving. Alone either way.

One small scene breaks the pattern, and it’s lovely. In a light wood-paneled elevator, two faces are shown in profile, a vertical mirrored or metal strip between them. On one side is Taylor, her blonde hair in a high wavy ponytail with bangs, red lipstick, in a sleeveless blue dress with a sheer sequin and bead bodice and a pleated blue skirt. Facing her is an older woman with a soft, dark, shoulder-length bob, wearing a maroon or burgundy velvet off-shoulder dress and a silver dangling crystal necklace, with a broad smile directed at her. It’s the one moment in the hotel where someone seems to look right at her and light up.

From the hotel, the video follows her into a transit station. You see her from behind in the lower left, her blonde hair in a low, loose ponytail with wisps coming free, her shimmering dark teal or deep blue dress showing a sequined panel across the upper back and solid blue below. The station is big, dim, and industrial, with metallic surfaces, polished floors, and a dark ceiling. A large bright orange cylindrical pillar stands to the mid-right, the one warm color in a cool palette of blue, grey, and black. Passengers blur past, one in a light green top, another in a dark suit, and glowing information boards hang overhead, too blurry to read. She walks away from us into the station.

On the train itself, she dances in the aisle. The car is all cool teals and greys, with dark teal seats patterned in orange and gold dots, silver grab bars and poles, rectangular fluorescent panels in the ceiling, grey walls, and a doorway leading to the next car. Taylor is barefoot in the middle of the aisle, kneeling on her left knee with her right leg stretched out, her dark teal sequined bodice catching the light and her long fringe skirt pooled on the floor around her. Her gaze is down near her waist.

The passengers around her are in soft focus and don’t react. A man’s head and shoulder fill the right foreground, a bearded man by a yellow partition holds a phone and a handrail, and a young man sits farther down the car. From another angle, low down the aisle, she’s crouched on her hands and knees, crawling or dancing in a sparkling sleeveless royal blue fringed flapper-style dress, her hair pulled back. Behind her, a man in a dark jacket and jeans stands by the doors with his phone in hand, a man in a black shirt sits looking straight ahead, a dark-haired woman sits behind him, and another passenger is visible through the glass door to the next car. The line here is “Is it too soon to do this yet?” She’s on the floor of a subway car and nobody is watching.

The finale takes place outside, at night, in heavy rain. White streaks of rain fall straight down. On the left, dark corrugated metal roll-up shutters are marked with white graffiti, below two bright horizontal fluorescent lights and a row of small red decorative lights along the top. The walls are light concrete, the ground is wet, reflective cobblestone or brick, and there’s a doorway far to the right. Taylor dances barefoot, standing on her right leg with her left bent behind her, in a dark teal or slate sleeveless mini dress with fringe flaring, her damp hair pulled back, her limbs blurred with motion.

In another shot, a beige or yellow concrete pillar stands on the left, glowing red from a light somewhere above, with a vertical pipe and a thin metal chain. Water pools on the wet asphalt and curb. She’s soaking wet now in a dark sleeveless shimmering sequined dress that hits mid-thigh, her hair slicked back, bangs plastered to her forehead, her body bent toward the camera, mouth open, feet and rain blurring together.

There’s a sign in this alley worth pointing out, because it’s the only business name in the whole video. In a wide shot, Taylor stands in the center of the alley facing the camera, soaked through, her hair slicked flat, her mouth open with intensity. She’s in a dark sleeveless knee-length dress with a textured or sequined top and a fringed skirt. On the left is the graffiti-marked shutter, a dark wet awning, and part of a white A-frame sign on the curb reading “JOE’S DELI.” On the right, a window or doorway glows warm. Orange and white construction barriers stand in the middle of the alley. The mood is cool blue and grey. As she faces the camera, she sings, “Is it chill that you’re in my head? / ‘Cause I know that it’s delicate.”

For the last big image, she ends up on top of a car. From above, Taylor holds a full split, barefoot, on the hood of a dark vintage sedan, its headlights shining bright white beneath her. She’s in a dark sleeveless mini dress with a fringed hem, her wet dark hair sleek, her torso upright and head tipped back into the rain, one hand near her head and the other arm raised. On the left, under a green awning beside closed shutters, the “JOE’S DELI” sign is lit up. On the right, round red lanterns throw a warm glow across the walls and shutters. The whole alley lines up in a single vanishing point behind her, cool teal and grey against warm red and white headlights.

In another view, she holds the split on the car’s roof instead, raindrops beading on the metal, her short black fringed dress and ponytail caught mid-motion, her torso twisted, right arm blurred, head turned over her right shoulder to look down the alley toward a bright haze at the far end. A glowing red paper lantern hangs over the closed storefronts on the right. As she holds that split, she sings, “Are you ever dreaming of me?”

The video ends on black again, with a single word centered in thin, off-white, lowercase letters: “delicate.” Nothing else. A final black screen carries a small line of white text at the bottom: “© 2018 Big Machine Label Group, LLC.”

Taken as a whole, Delicate is built like a slow escape. It opens on the red carpet, the most public place a person can stand, surrounded by cameras, ropes, security, and a microphone. Inside the hotel, the cameras give way to faces, and the faces give way to a strange kind of freedom, as if she’s suddenly invisible: bodyguards who don’t react, clerks who don’t look up, guests who keep walking while she dances through their hallway. The farther she goes, the less polished the setting becomes, from marble lobbies to a subway car floor to a rain-soaked alley outside a deli.

The structure mirrors the song. Delicate is full of nervous little questions, is it cool, is it too soon, is it chill, sung by someone who isn’t sure how much of herself she can show. The video answers those questions by stripping away the audience. By the end there’s no carpet, no crowd, no interviewer. Just her, barefoot on a car in the rain, dancing like no one can see her, which is exactly the point.

FAQ

What does she wear for most of the early scenes?

A sleeveless teal/blue sequined dress with long fringe; later a short black fringed dress in the rain.

How do other people react to her dancing?

In the hallway and subway, people nearby talk, walk, or look at phones and do not join her.

What on-screen business name appears?

A sign reading "JOE'S DELI" in the rainy alley.

Where does the video open?

A night red-carpet entrance with ropes, an SUV, photographers, and an interviewer with a mic.

YouTube URL?

Favorite this description

This post is Taylor Swift — Delicate. Favoriting follows this post. It stores the artist and song and does not change the official description.

Log in to favorite