They say comparison is the thief of joy, but you know what else is a thief of joy? Thieves of joy!

Joy thievery is an occupation, a volunteer-based paramilitary calling with many dedicated adherents. Everyone has met a Joy Thief, one who believes so strongly in their own cultural correctitude, their own precious coolness that they expend exorbitant words, just so many words, pointing out that mainstream tastes are stupid, pointless and worthy of ridicule.

If you have not met a person like this, well, hold on...

(writer pauses to retrieve tiny, bejeweled mirror from an overpriced concert tote bag, holds it up)

There.

Joy Thieves can be found on first dates monopolizing the conversation with details about their tour of foreign eco-hostels mere moments after you say you really love living in your hometown. They will tell you about the sodium nitrite levels in your cheeseburger as said cheeseburger is entering your mouth. Their love language is sarcasm, their superpower, capital letters. Favorite phrases include "ACTUALLY" and "WHO CARES." They can be found in the comments section once this column is posted on Facebook.

A Joy Thief cannot simply register something that doesn't personally interest them and head on down the old, dusty trail. No, a Joy Thief must step in to correct their victim. This is different from, say, a critic who dissects art in a thoughtful, contextual way or an activist who calls out actual wrongdoing. A Joy Thief exists solely to be a huge bummer. A Joy Thief just wants you to know your music is bad!

Now, why are we talking about this? Because Taylor Swift is making her way around the country, thrilling audiences on her Eras tour. She will perform three concerts in my town of Tampa in a matter of days, her only stop in Florida. These concerts constitute regional news in the tenor of "major weather event" or "Super Bowl," like it or not.

Yes, I am going! Yes, I spent a lot of money on a ticket! No, I do not consider Taylor Swift a guilty pleasure. I consider her one of the best songwriters Of Our Time and I will gladly sit over a glass of a Joy Thief's favorite organic, sulfite-free wine and annotate the narrative arc of the teenage love triangle presented on the "Folklore" album.

Perhaps I am a little salty. My Lavender Hayes-themed concert dress (see what I did there?) showed up days ago and was the ugliest thing on the planet. I looked like I was assaulted by the Easter Bunny. I looked like a smashed Jordan almond from a bridal shower when all I wanted was to belly flop into the glee of crowd participation. I have gone back to the drawing board, sartorially speaking, so I am...

(writer pauses to find retail receipt)

...on edge.

Here's what I am saying, though. These days, in this world, it's a challenge to love anything. Like, it's hard to buy toothpaste without knowing if the pharmacy chain has committed human rights violations. It is impossible to watch a stand-up special without scanning the "personal life" section of Wikipedia for atrocities. Around 2017, I started saying "Love nothing, trust no one" each time I opened a website.

To be enthusiastic anymore somehow feels pure, silly, fragile. One of the many reasons Swift's fans adore her is because she embraces the joyful, goofy side of the fandom: the friendship bracelets, the Easter eggs in her posts, the unhinged fan theories. She supports fans dressing up like her cats, named for characters on a Joy Thief's least-favorite shows, "Law & Order: Special Victim's Unit" and "Grey's Anatomy."

Swifties are a little intense, yes, but that's because they are backed by Swift herself, who once uttered these wise words: "The worst kind of person is someone who makes someone feel bad, dumb or stupid for being excited about something."

Indeed! Next time a guy drinking a session IPA (fine to like IPAs, though!) calls your interest basic, overplayed, whatever, tell him he is wrong. Present the following list of things that are also fine for people to love until further notice. He will hate it:

Compact discs, Minions, "The Big Bang Theory," Red Lobster, comic cons, "The Bachelor," Pitbull, Starbucks, Kohl's, Dave Matthews Band, "The Office," Bitmoji, Diet Coke, "Bel-Air," Taco Bell, romance novels, astrology, mall pretzels, Target, scented candles, professional wrestling, Zumba, "Emily in Paris," Domino's pizza, Halloween and, reluctantly, Crocs.

Carry on with the business of shameless love, the perfect bedazzled shoes, the lyrics in your head rolling off your tongue. Feel the kin around you, understanding, forming a memory in real time. In the big picture, what a small pleasure it is to be a fan.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on Twitter or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: ktphotography at Pixabay