If you met me now, one of the first things you’d probably learn about me is that I love Taylor Swift. Upon entering my home, you’d find framed posters and magazines decorating the walls, snow globes sitting proudly on the fireplace, and a stack of friendship bracelets gifted to me by fellow Swifties. Anyone would think I’ve been a decades-long fan. But that hasn’t always been the case. It was one night during lockdown, wine drunk on a bottle of cheap red, that changed everything for me.
I do have to admit, although songs like You Belong With Me and Teardrops on My Guitar made their way onto my mostly emo playlists in the early 2000s, as I grew older, I bought into the media’s portrayal of Taylor as a terrible person. I was quick to judge her based on the numerous articles I read about her online. I now know this was wrong, and I’m ashamed to say my views stemmed from the internalised misogyny programmed into many of us, leading us to believe we should tear down confident and successful women. But what was it that made me come to this realisation?
Well, picture this. I’m in my room; it’s a typical Tuesday night… no, wait. I don’t know what day it was. Lockdown is a bit of a blur. Anyway, I’d recently moved into my own place, and it was one of those nights I fancied cracking open a bottle of wine and binge-watching random crap on Netflix. Three-quarters of a bottle in, a romcom or two down, and I’m unsure what to put on next when the Miss Americana documentary pops up on my feed. I’m not a fan of Taylor Swift, but why not?
So, I put it on.
Eighty-six minutes later, I’ve sung, I’ve laughed, and I’ve cried. I’ve remembered how much I adore Taylor’s music and realised that, despite all the shit she’s had thrown at her over the years, Taylor remains an incredible person. Her resilience struck a chord with me. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be thrust into the limelight as a teenager, only for people to make judgments based on things like your body or who you date. But Taylor has soldiered on, even after not one, but two horrific incidents with a certain musician (thank You, AimEe), along with sexual harassment cases, cyberbullying, having her work stolen, and more.
But most importantly, from watching the documentary, I realised that Taylor is every woman, including myself, who’s felt like they never really fit in; who’s been expected to act a certain way because that’s what society wants, without being true to oneself in the process. As someone with autism, I’ve spent my entire life masking—absorbing behaviours from everyone else I perceived as normal and mimicking them in an attempt to conform to the standards I thought were expected of me.
Taylor says it best in Miss Americana: “Throughout my whole career, label executives would just say, ‘A nice girl doesn’t force their opinions on people; a nice girl smiles and waves and says thank you.’ I became the person everyone wanted me to be.” As women, we’re taught we should be polite and agreeable and not cause a fuss. I haven’t always been the “nice girl”, I’ll admit. But I have tried my hardest to blend in with the crowd because I don’t want people to notice I’m different and punish me for it.
I’ve had my fair share of bullies, from my school years and beyond, and as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’ve been accused of being many things that I’m not: rude (for speaking my mind but unintentionally with a tone); high-maintenance (for expressing things people do that give me sensory issues or make me feel anxious); a slut (because I’ve always shared more mutual interests with men, who make up most of my friendship group). Although I’ve tried my best to mask and fit in, these things and more have still made me a target, especially to other women.
Nothing we do as women is good enough, and what’s even worse is that some of our worst enemies are other women. I’ve come to realise that much of this stems from societal conditioning, encouraging us to compete rather than support one another. Whoever you are, if you’ve ever caught yourself thinking or saying aloud that you actively hate Taylor Swift (believe me, I’ve met a fair few people who claim this), I ask you to look inside yourself and ask why you feel that way. From where I’m standing, Taylor is an incredibly talented businesswoman and musician, a humanitarian, and an excellent role model for young women.
Sure, if I hadn’t taken the time to watch Miss Americana and learn more about Taylor, I’d have probably remained ignorant of what an inspiration she is. My home wouldn’t be adorned with trinkets and memories surrounding her. I’d have never gotten to experience the Eras Tour in person. And I certainly wouldn’t have acknowledged that All Too Well (10 Minute Version) is the most perfect song in existence (I will take that to my grave).
But most importantly, I wouldn’t have realised that it’s okay to be myself and that staying true to that is more important than trying to be who everyone else expects me to be. Taking off the mask I’ve been wearing my entire life and focusing on the people who embrace the real me has been freeing. It’s a lesson Taylor’s story helped me learn, and one I’ll carry forever.
I feel like there’s no better way to end this than with the dedication I wrote to Taylor at the beginning of my novel:
To the American singer who taught me to live bravely and not be ruled by my greatest fears. Each day, you and your music inspire me more than you’ll ever know. From one tortured poet to another—thank you.