I am the girl in her thirties crying at a Taylor Swift concert. Make that two… in the same week. I have never been as big of a fan of Taylor swift as I am today, at 32 years old. I first heard her music in the car with my mum in 2008; I was sixteen and we were driving home when Our Song was playing on the radio. As soon as we got into the house I ran up to my bedroom, turned the radio back on and listened to the rest of the song, desperate to catch the name of whoever it was singing. I was in a phase of finding new music via all the Hilary Duff chick flicks my best friend and I lost ourselves in; our ipods heavily featuring the likes of Superchick, Aly & AJ and Kelly Clarkson. There was a lot of drama in my teen years; I was only interested in boys; writing in my diary about boys, watching films about boys, reading books about boys and listening to music about boys. Naturally, I was an instant fan of Taylor Swift. And discovering her first two albums, an extensive collection of maddeningly heart-wrenching songs through which I would relate my own problems, was like uncovering a rare treasure I would hold onto for the rest of my life.
About a year later I set my ringtone for my then boyfriend to Forever and Always. I couldn’t listen to Should've Said No for at least a year after said boyfriend cheated on me, and upon leaving school and home to start university, I ditched my fandom of Taylor completely, citing she had gone too mainstream for me.
Of course I celebrated my 22nd birthday blasting 22 in my car and there was always a time and a place for Shake it Off, but the change from country to pop had dwindled my interest in her music. But I found my way back when she released Reputation and the obsession grew in lockdown when she surprised the world with Folklore, an album I got totally lost in while trying to survive the pandemic as a 27 year old living at home with my parents while my friends were all getting married or having babies. I loved this new genre she was tapping into; her songwriting had become so much richer, like stories for me to unravel with each listen. It was escapism at its finest.
I felt alone for a lot of my twenties and sometimes the sadness was so hard to navigate, with no tangible person or thing to blame, that I couldn’t listen to music, let alone relate to it. Something about the pain of facing what it is you’re really feeling, rather than just pushing it further down and away, as if it’s not really there or happening at all. I don’t know what changed in me to allow myself to feel difficult emotions again, but Taylor’s music has played a huge part in helping me process some of my feelings, when it has felt like absolutely no one in this world could understand.
And it’s not always about the lyrics. Since discovering my love for running, there are melodies to which I can let out my anger, frustration, sadness, excitement, hope and gratitude while I move. Having the space and freedom to experience music in that way is so incredibly liberating and healing.
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Have you seen those people who express their second-hand embarrassment at the raw human emotion women like myself are showing as a result of seeing Taylor perform live? I think perhaps years ago I might have had a similar reaction, but since entering my thirties, I find myself caring less and less about what it is I’m ‘supposed’ to be doing. When you find something you love, don’t abandon it because it’s basic or cliche or already popular. There is something so freeing about allowing yourself to be exactly who you are and like exactly what you like -- rather than trying to fit into the box that someone else has deemed appropriate for you.
Taylor Swift is not cool; she is over the top, melodramatic and cringe, and she knows it. It's part of her appeal, even though we know she’s nothing like us, there is still that little bit of relatability she exudes that keeps us interested.
What it boils down to for me, however, was that finally getting to see her perform live was like reliving every core memory from the last sixteen years, and getting to do so with thousands of others who have their own stories to tell – their own sadness, loneliness, heartbreak and loss. We were all there experiencing it together, amidst the mundanity of everyday, ordinary life, and I still cry when I think about it now.
