Dear Taylor Hanson,

You were my first love. Yes, Taylor Hanson, you whose juicy, dripping wet voice sang lead vocals on catchy hits like “MMMBop,” “Where’s the Love?” and “I Will Come to You,” and continues the juicy-voice-ness at the front of the brand new supergroup Tinted Windows.

When I was thirteen, I fell in love with you and your big blue eyes and long blonde hair, your rat-tail

and your keyboard and all those songs you wrote about love and yearbooks. When I was thirteen, I refused to entertain any option other than that I would meet you and we would fall in love and you would write songs about me and I would blissfully pop out little blonde Hanson babies until we died, happily, in each other’s arms. When I was thirteen, I harbored a pure, unadulterated obsession involving larger-than-lifesize posters and screen-printed pillow cases and lots of ear-piercing screaming and the purchasing of way too many “Tiger Beat” magazines, the glossy, full-color pages of which I mistook for Hanson-themed wall-paper.


Now, I am twenty-three, Taylor Hanson, and I blame you for the love-sick, hopeless romantic I have become. I blame you and that drinkable voice of yours, you and those electric blue eyes; you, Taylor Hanson, yes, you and all your songs about love.

When I was thirteen, I took those songs to heart, buried them deep inside me until I heard love to the tune of your voice. In a corny video with lots of bright colors and staring, you asked me, “Where’s the love?”

You said that it wasn’t enough, that it made the world go “round and round and.” In another corny video you pounded your keyboard in the woods and told me that when the night was dark and stormy, I wouldn’t have to reach out for you. You promised you would come to me, Taylor Hanson, oh, you would come to me. You never came, Taylor Hanson,

but other boys did. Boys with blue Mohawks and boys with green eyes, boys with lip peircings and boys in button-up collared shirts. Boys in loafers and boys in combat boots. Boys with warm lips and bedroom eyes. Boys with music in their mouths and boys with heartbreak in their hands. And because, deep inside of me, your most famous song of all warned me I only have so many relationships in this life that will last, so I should hold onto the ones who really care or they’ll be gone in an MMMBop, because you told me this, Taylor Hanson, I fell all the way for every one of those boys, those boys who may not have heard my spirit callin’ like you promised you would, but who were closer and more real, who I could touch, and who could hurt me and my silly little romantic heart.

But you know what, Taylor Hanson,

I don’t think you should get too worried about how this is all your fault. Because throwing yourself head first into love isn’t a bad thing. Living with a fiery passion burning inside you isn’t a bad thing. Being a hopeless, sometimes pathetic romantic isn’t a bad thing. It’s actually kind of awesome, don’t you think, Taylor Hanson? So pat yourself on the back, and know that, even though your love songs and your blue eyes sent me spiraling into a life of falling too hard too fast, I wouldn’t change a single thing, this or any other time around.