“Delusional,” as a colloquial concept, got a makeover last year. Like they are wont to do with crop tops, Gen Z–ers slashed it into a shorter, cheekier version of itself: being “delulu,” unlike its predecessor, isn’t always a bad thing, several publications eagerly explained. It can simply mean believing in yourself, despite all evidence to the contrary. If you hold fast and want something hard enough, the delulu doctrine states, it might just happen for you.

While “delulu” is a delighligh neologism, if you’ll indulge a brief solluluquy from me, as a life philosophy I’ve often found it wanting. Related ideas include manifesting and faking it till you make it. This is at odds with my view that the way through is usually to be realistic and do the work. (I’m not saying I always do the work, but I believe in the idea of doing it.) Take the TikTok creator who told HuffPost a few months ago that being delulu was the secret to building up his following of hundreds of thousands: Even though his early videos got barely any views, he believed in himself and eventually the numbers followed. To me, that doesn’t sound like being delusional at all—it sounds like working hard and sticking with it. Though I admit that’s a lot less fun to say.

Taylor Swift, however, throws a huge wrench into my commitment to pragmatism. (The wrench is bejeweled with Swarovski crystals.) The last year of Taylor Swift’s life essentially functions as a permission slip to be completely delulu. Her romance with football player Travis Kelce has played out like some kind of rom-com–meets–inspirational sports documentary from the very start, and it all culminated this past weekend with Kelce and Swift kissing on the field after his team won the Super Bowl.

So much of adult life, especially for women, is about resetting expectations and retraining your brain not to buy what Hollywood brainwashed you into thinking love and romance were supposed to look like. You tell yourself that there’s no such thing as love at first sight and that people running through airports to confess their love are a screenwriter-invented fiction. But what is the rational mind to do when confronted with photos and videos of Swift and Kelce embracing after the big game?