I have a confession to make. As a Swiftie, I did not love Taylor Swift’s new album, “The Life of a Showgirl.”

These words seem blasphemous on paper. Even while typing this, I hold my hands up in defense, wanting to float a disclaimer before I get attacked by the pitchfork-wielding horde of Swifties, ready to defend her artistry to the bitter end. The discourse seems inescapable—whether through whispers in the dining hall, hot takes on the internet, or quippy references from lecturing professors. 

It was the only thing my ears heard, and of course I decided to contribute to the problem by writing an article about it. 

This was supposed to be Swift’s return to pop; after four albums of introspective experimentation, she was supposed to be back with “12 straight bangers.” I was ready to hear bulletproof melodies, ones that evoked the same feelings that “1989” and “Reputation” did. So when I opened up my laptop and pressed play, it was safe to say I felt very…confused. I racked my brain as thoughts ran through my head. I was poring over the album, thinking that there must be some secret meaning I’ve been missing. 

I remember screaming my heart out to “Our Song” in late night karaoke sessions and long car rides. I remember frantically making my mom log in to Ticketmaster at 8 a.m. on a school day, prepared to fight anyone and everyone for the Eras Tour tickets I had already claimed as mine. I remember making friendship bracelets the day before the concert, hoping to exchange them with fellow Swifties, and coming back home with a whole new row of bracelets on my arm. I was left believing the album was lackluster in its entirety, the main disappointment being the inconsistent songwriting. It is a universal agreement that, as a songwriter, Swift’s talent is her magical pen, and it was disheartening to see the album fail to live up to her usual standards. Yet, despite some notably cringeworthy lines—“He ah-matized me and opened my eyes / Redwood tree, it ain’t hard to see”—which were an abomination to my poor ears, there were a couple of songs that shined. “The Fate of Ophelia,” for example, went straight to my playlist. 

It is surprising to see that no one on the internet shares my opinion. Rather, the response was extremely polarized, with one side deeming “The Life of a Show Girl” a godly creation, while another judges it as objectively the worst piece of art made in history. The discourse about this record has been exhausting; it became hard for me to even decipher my own thoughts. 

It is now impossible to view this album as an isolated body of work without the internet’s opinions clouding it.

Despite crucifixion on the internet, the charts seem to differ; the album has amassed around 250 million global streams, becoming Spotify’s most streamed album in a single day this year. Success and Swift seem to go hand in hand, and many people will lather on praise due to the weight her name holds—precisely the problem. Why are we letting one woman have such prominent control over the music industry and its accompanying discourse? The result is stifling; it feels as if no one can provide an honest opinion without the media swaying the narrative. As a figure so polarized, public discourse is distorted, publications being too afraid of facing backlash either by her fans or the general population.

In an article in Teen Vogue, Boston resident Annabelle said, “My friend said the other day, ‘In many ways, to be a woman is to have a complicated relationship with Taylor Swift.’” Is it ever that serious? Why are we attaching such a personal relation to a celebrity who has no knowledge of our existence?

The only toxic relationship that exists is the media’s constantly shifting parasocial relationship with Swift. Constructive criticism seems to be a lost art where extremism is the only form accepted—there is no space for a middleground. We don’t need to excessively praise mediocrity, but we don’t have to drag it down with scorched-earth judgement either. Swifties have been referred to as a cult fanbase, but her haters are just as loud and devoted. It is unnecessary to act as if this album is career ending, especially considering we will all be bopping our heads to the songs on the radio a few weeks later when it inevitably turns into a Tiktok trend or popular dance. 

Even so, the internet’s uproar perplexed me; beloved artists have released average albums before, so why was this response so extreme? As an icon with enough global reach to earn her the Time Magazine’s 2023 Person of the Year, many view Swift not just as an artist but the voice of the generation. While Swift has shaped pop culture, we should be aware of how much we project onto her and allow her to control our cultural perspective. 

This bitterness only fuels conflicts and makes art a test of allegiance, rather than a place of enjoyment and joy. While music should be thought-provoking, when we fall into a monoculture, it becomes less of an exploration and more of an echochamber.

If you like the album, congratulations! Keep enjoying it. If you don’t like the album, you aren’t being held hostage to listen to Swift, and there are thousands of artists ready to be explored. If you’re a fan but don’t like the album, don’t worry—you aren’t a fake Swiftie, and you have a discography of 11 different albums and over 300 songs to listen to. 

Our identity is more than the artists and music we listen to. We shouldn’t act as if it fully makes up the sum of our character.