The Odd Duality of Taylor Swift
by Stuti Jane
It seems almost tangible that there are two Taylors: the brilliantly melancholic woman who penned folklore and evermore, whose only criticism, it seems to me, can be due to her name, and the woman who danced in a silver garter and fishnets, explaining her choice through lyrics such as “did you girlboss too close to the sun?”
The arrival of Taylor’s 12th studio album, The Life of a Showgirl, seemed to showcase for many of us a swift divide (no pun intended). Those of us who were raised on her devoutly seemed forced to accept the inevitable: that there were two versions of the woman whom we loved, and for many of us, it simply wasn’t possible to adore both.
There was the woman who appeared most fully in the sister albums folklore and evermore, who was scattered between her other tracks with lines like “you’re the loss of my life” or “cross your thoughtless heart.” And then there was the woman who screamed out “hey kids, spelling is fun!” in what can only be described as the opposite of a soulful ballad.
There was the woman with her sweet-lipped smile in her pinup curls and crimson stains, probably cradling a kitten or dancing to her own song in this adorably self-aware way, who seemed like somebody we wanted to talk to, get to know, like the friendly version of the cruelly popular blonde in our high school. And then there was the woman who seems to give fifty in return for every negative comment, who seems to lack (or simply dislike) the realization that, as a human being, it is simply the rights of fellow citizens to dislike her.
As an artist, I have always believed that in order to succeed in your form, you must never look upon your past works with reverence. You can enjoy it, sure, you can like it, feel attached to it, but in allowing our previous works to be our measurements, we will never grow. And this, it seems, is exactly what Taylor lacks, a continuous attempt to grow past her previous eras.
Swift’s previous attempts at continuation were more nuanced. Her era-ridden, gravelly album Midnights was perhaps the only record to accomplish what its two descendants fail to: balance dreary poetics and cheery glitz. It’s understatedness is its secret: it has no theme, no message. Even at it’s very cringiest (“I miss you, but I miss sparkling”) , its authenticity is impossible to criticize, and this is the reason that listeners did not question the switch from “best believe I’m still bejeweled” to “lost in a labyrinth of my design” within seconds. Swift has shown a clear drive to write with precision, yet an inability to abandon bubblegum pop that she is able to balance in this album.
So why did she fail to in her next albums? The answer is simple: an overemphasis on publicity and aesthetics, and a lack thereof on authenticity. The Tortured Poets Department and its extension, The Anthology, seems to have been written following the development of the visuals: in fact, her music videos and marketing are far more cohesive than the album itself. In fact, I would not at all be surprised if she announced the album, then scrambled through all of her drafts in order to find ones she could alter to fit the pitch.
The Tortured Poets Department seems to be driven by some kind of desperation, a desire to have everything at once. Taylor’s desire to be viewed as a talented writer, combined with her refusal to allow herself to ignore the charts (and potential monetary gain) results in oddly written songs such as Fortnight, which seem to combine “edgy”, half-baked metaphors, and The Tortured Poets Department (one of my greatest pet peeves in when artists write random, meaningless songs so they can have a deep title for a track.) Yet I do not categorize this album as a failure: in her understated tracks such as The Albatross, So Long London, as well The Anthology, you find significant growth. This perhaps explains the contrast between Taylor’s fans and the general public upon receiving this album: the fans immediately put the album in the context of her discography, the public didn’t know what to focus on. In total, The Tortured Poets Department reeks of pretense, but Taylor’s lyricism and genuine talent seems to be its saving grace.
The Life of a Showgirl, however, abandoned all authentic artistic ability, settling for pretense, or rather, clinging to it. It seems so purely materialistic that remarks of its resemblance to AI seems to be its most accurate critique. It has all the hallmarks of a Taylor Swift album: personified eras, a constant array of similes, necessary or not, a preoccupation with love, fairytales, and happy endings, and a perfect pop beat in sync to lines of feud, rivalry, and hatred. But the soul, the emotion of the work, is dead, gone. It instead seems to be a visual of pop stereotype at its worst: marketed, carefully packaged, and soulless, and, even worse for Swift, a visual of her own image at its most unappealing: pretentiously “clever”, pointlessly dramatic, and greedily shallow. The sad truth is, at this stage of career, she no longer seems to know her own point. This is a sad realization for many young Hollywood stars who grew up in the spotlight: that they have sacrificed their own life, their own childhood, their many years of self-discovery. If this is true, then the best thing for Taylor may be to take a break, focus on herself, and come back with a developed, adult, and self-aware voice for us to hear. It seems that at the moment, she has nothing new to say.
Taylor’s newest album, far from a Midnights-esque reflection on her public life, seems to be the continuation of a failed rebrand. As her music evolves, she seems to attempt to shed her previous years in a similar manner to Jojo Siwa: focusing on looks, not self-growth or any kind of authenticity. Taylor seems to imitate adulthood, not embody it, and her choosing to wear fishnets and smaller clothing in an attempt to symbolize her sexuality is offset by vapid, awkward songs about sex and a clear discomfort with innuendo. Much more effective, as a matter of fact, were her subtle nuances in lyrics, her penning songs like Gorgeous and Dress, and her natural development as an artist and person.
Keenly aware of her own image, yet seemingly less aware of herself, persona seems to have been the tool of choice for the majority of her career. She is not particularly skilled at it: her snarling, eyeliner-heavy Reputation persona seems again to do as she thinks a bad girl would, rather than show any kind of genuine change, and her subsequent switch to Lover seems to immediately erase the album’s significance, however she seems to lack any other way of being. It is this inauthenticity that leads many to shy away from her, however in her later years she seems to have discovered her two “authentic” personas: the Poet and the Showgirl. The problem is that she doesn’t seem to be able to combine the two, to reconcile her inner and public lives. She continuously views herself in the 3rd person, unable to accept unhappy endings, unable to allow herself to let go of this fairy-tale desire. Every new album (or lover/muse described in her work) seems to represent a new start to her, a chance for this perfect life that she never once seems able to grasp is nonexistent. Taylor does, in fact, show a remarkable inability to commit to her adulthood, to commit to her inner self fully, yet seems to dislike the idea of suppressing it either. It is this juxtaposition that likely leads to imbalance we find in her later works.
The Life of a Showgirl was a perfect opportunity to explore this predicament, to expand it, but as it seems, the task scared her. She resorts to her earlier tools, her earlier habits, and this is perhaps the only indication that her album does what it was meant to. “CANCELLED” and “Actually Romantic” do touch on aspects of public life, but do so in the most hesitant, redundant way, choosing to comment on specific controversy for public appeal, not public critique.
Taylor is, if nothing else, a master of controversy. Her entire career as an artist has been bathed in controversy, much of it- to her credit- misogynistic, desperate, and tone-deaf. There’s something about the success of a young, blue-eyed blonde with a middle class background and an innocent air that seems to fill the brains of listeners with either vitriol or adoration. It’s as if it’s not Taylor herself that they’re referencing, but a specific girl in their past, or, perhaps, themselves.
Because, after all, how often have you known that one girl get everything she wanted? That girl who seemed perfect, sweet, innocent, and attractive as hell, that no one but you know was secretly cruel behind her white-toothed smile? How often have you had that one girl lie to get her way, play the victim, take down everyone in her path?
But then, how often have you been her? Genuine, shy, awkward, idealistic? The girl who felt out of place everywhere and anywhere, the girl who was constantly underestimated? To many of us, Taylor seemed to represent the girl we dreamed of, the girl who once was us, but succeeded. The girl who, despite being pretty, blonde, powerful, chose to like us, choose us, care for us. It’s almost like, to the other side, Taylor represents some old fantasy: the nice popular girl, the girl that chose us.
Whatever side you’re on, it would take pure ignorance to describe Swift as talentless, or even more so, meritless. Her talent and business abilities are twofold and overflowing, and in a rare industry she seems to be able to represent the average person, to understand and detail her effortlessly. Her potential is right there already, but only time will tell if she will be able to find a period of growth, or succumb to the less honorable, business side of celebrity.
