Taylor Swift, the American dream and The American Dream

East Rutherford's hottest event behind the Mr Beast Burger opening

May 26th, 8am - I’m in bed. I sleep with a white noise machine because in my old place I had mice living under my bed and the only way to ease the anxieties surrounding that is to pretend my bedroom is a pressurized cabin. A high pitched voice pierces through the artificial hum. I begin to drift awake as the words being chanted on the sidewalk below process through my brain and ping as familiar;

“Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift!”

And my day begins- I am now certain that I know nothing about what I’ve agreed to. 

I’m no Swifty. If this is the church of Taylor I am agnostic.

When I was in the 8th grade I was forced to transfer to a school that was two towns over from where I lived, so every morning my mom would drive me into Hoboken and drop me off at a friend's place and then they would drive me (along with their much younger daughter) to school. 

This was right when Taylor Swifts ‘Red’ came out, and since I was a guest in the car and since my back seat peer was capital Obsessed with the singer songwriter- that is all we listened to for a full year. This is my most notable exposure to Taylor Swift. 

It's been 10 years since then, that girl is in high school and I’m about to be 24 (an age of which Taylor has no lyrics referencing, banging my head against the wall that I didn't write this two years ago) and my sister asks me if I want to come with her to see The Eras Tour at MetLife Stadium. 

My first instinct was ‘No’- I have a ‘thing’ with concerts (any of my exes will tell you this followed by a head splitting eye roll.) I used to not be able to handle strobe lights (very metal of me) I also have a disdain for crowds and am morally opposed to any event where 9th graders are the leading demographic. 

But- since my brain has developed some strobe immunity (perhaps from my blue man related exposure therapy) and I’m a grown adult who shouldn’t be fearful of high school freshmen, (additionally, Phoebe Bridgers was opening and if you know me you’d think I must be off my rocker if I didn't agree to go) I agreed to go. 

I didn’t know what I was getting into but I had heard the stories. Fans of the singer are among the most notoriously hostile in recent years, landing somewhere on the scale of Beatlemania to Heaven's Gate.

Our favorite human embodiment of the term ‘stranger danger’ and part time Skrillex apologist Diplo claims in a British GQ article (1) that “One of the biggest mistakes of my career was definitely fucking with her (Taylor).” after supposedly receiving death threats after tweeting something so extremely thoughtlessly unfunny about Ms. Swift's tuches that posting a screenshot of it here would make you all go blind. 

A now deleted post on a now deleted account on the (hopefully soon to be deleted) r/johnmayer subreddit (2) touts that ‘Taylor swift fans are the most annoying and hateful motherfuckers on earth!’ For context John Mayer dated Taylor Swift in 2009 when she was 19 and he was 32 which could’ve been the public awakening to him being a loser creep had he not beat us all to the punch by releasing “Your Body Is A Wonderland” 8 years prior. 

As I write and research this essay I find myself falling a bit for Taylor. She has this awkward relatability that helps her come across as an average person, as if she tripped and landed into being one of the most famous people on the planet. She has a sort of tacky style, she's gangly and odd and presents herself to us as a hip substitute teacher would. I keep having to remind myself that, despite her image, she is not a normal person. She is the second richest woman in music behind Rihanna (who touts two retail brands alongside her music) and the Eras Tour might skyrocket her to millionaire status. She’s still a person with feelings and safety to consider, but she is not like us. Just a reminder, let's continue. 

My journey into the world of T-Swizzle starts out like many journeys I find myself on, in the passenger seat of my mothers 2020 Hyundai Kona- this is the ideal car to borrow from my parents because of a special luxury feature of having a working AC. 

But before my sister Sam picked me up from my apartment dressed like if a cowboy went into the ‘The Fly’ Telepod holding a colossal state fair cotton candy (she looked adorable)- I had to pick an outfit. I wanted to assimilate. It was important for me to be immersed in the theater of it all so I had to dress the part. Sam asked me what ‘Era’ I was dressing from. When I asked what that meant she provided me with little to no context, presumably because it required too much explanation on the lore that would take longer than the 2 hours I had to get ready. 

I landed on what I now come to understand is a ‘Folklore’ outfit- although it's something I would wear on a normal day, perhaps she is closer to home than I suspected. (is Taylor Swift in the room with us now?)

Sam picks me up at my apartment strapped with snacks and drinks (in the event we get trapped in the car on our way out of East Rutherford) and upwards of 80 handmade bracelets to trade with other concert goers, Sam agrees that this is potentially overkill. 

I start to feel the hum of nervous anticipation. This will be my first time inside the MetLife Stadium- I’ve only seen from the outside since the parking lot summer home of the infamous New Jersey State Fair of which I attended annually growing up. 

The route is familiar apart from the hundreds of teenagers in brightly colored western wear attempting to navigate the offshoots of the NJ turnpike on foot (is this a good time to mention that Taylor Swift is from Pennsylvania?) We listen to the setlist while stuck in traffic, reading off the Taylor themed retail ads that cycle through the American Dream Mall’s digital display billboard.

When we arrive there’s a weird tensity in the air. Clearly people have been waiting in the parking lot since that afternoon, if not earlier. Pink cowboy boots left abandoned near porta-potties and plastic boa feathers blow tumbleweed through the stadium lot- like ‘Euphoria’ does spaghetti western. To put it plainly- the vibe was off. It was not the upbeat community event I was anticipating.

People were unhappy (understatement) with the way ‘New Jersey was handling the crowds’ because people weren't allowed to party in the parking lot if they didn't have a ticket to the show. I know this was upsetting to fans, as they took to TikTok and the like to add to the ever-piling hate for the garden state. Let's be realistic. New Jersey is the most densely populated state, our roads and traffic around the stadium and leading into the city are crowded and filled with people who did not sign up for the biggest pop star in the world to interfere with them getting home. You are not owed a concert just because you’re a fan. This is all I’ll say on this (because I’m a hypocrite outsider who was given a ticket and please don’t dox me)- moving on.

After parking we chug our contraband bevvies and move towards the entrance, an ambiguous crowd has formed towards the VerizonTM sponsored entrance- a sea of clear vinyl (stadium policy approved) bags and AmazonTM pink cowboy hats. Sound check can be heard over the stadium walls and murmurs pulse through the crowd. I feel as though I’m about to be led into the arena but instead of fighting lions I'll be elbowing my way through swarms of teens who are somehow both egregiously straight and violently gay. They open the gates, we (me) cheer. The mother in front of us tries to get her teen to chug a contra-can of CeliusTM right at the metal detector, holding up the ever expanding line. I try to shake the desire for her to be dead. 

Upon entering the stadium we start our ascend to our nosebleeders and I am hard pressed to reach the top. I had a deep desire to eat a stadium hotdog while drinking a 17 dollar Modelo tall boy. I've never been to a stadium and I wanted to do it right (is what I would say if I didn't just have a deep love for overpriced beer and processed meats.) But Sam insisted she ‘pee before we find our seats’- annoying. We trade and barter bracelets in the potty line and I feel myself start to assimilate. 

Photo time-

I became embarrassingly excited when Phoebe and her band got on stage. I screamed along to the songs and took unwatchable videos and cheered when she made references to her other work. I felt sympathy with the Swifties at that moment. This is how they must feel about Taylor. Being able to relate and look up to an artist is a special feeling, especially if you've been following their career for awhile like I have with Phoebe Bridgers. ‘Punisher’ came out when I was in college and dealing with all the heavy, interpersonal issues that are common when you're in that ‘almost adult’ stage of your life. I listened to that album almost every day on my commute to school. I would sneak out in my bright yellow Nissan XTerra with the sole purpose of listening to it all the way through while driving through the Winston-Salem sunset. It was a very big deal to me. My coming of age album. I felt like a hypocrite. 

Then Taylor came out on stage. 

I suddenly found myself unable to relate.

The energy was indescribable, the girls in front of me were shaking and crying. At one point one of them wavered and fell back into her seat, I'm almost certain she passed out briefly. This sudden ailment was triggered by Taylor bringing on her friend, co-songster and Jersey-Jew representative Jack Antinoff. They share a song. I am less than impressed. 

I know this is an essay about me going to the Taylor Swift concert but there really isn't much to say about the concert itself. She performs for 3 hours straight, she knows what people want to hear and see and experience and she delivers. If you wanna know more I can send you the blurry videos I took at the concert, but I am screaming in all of them. 

Earlier in the night Sam and I looked over the set list and picked out a chunk of the concert where I didn't know any of the music (to spare feelings I will not disclose which “Era” this is) so I could perform my non-Swifty due diligence and get everyone merch. I walked through the passageways with an air about me that could only be described as totally douchey- sauntering down the escalators, I even stopped and chatted with a security guard. I knew I good chunk of time and I really wanted to take in the chaos around me. I fell into step with a girl on the escalator who was also going to the merch table. I told her I was headed to the first floor stand because it was the only one that was selling Phoebe Bridgers shirts and she burned a hole between my eyes with her mind. When we reached the first floor she broke into a sprint. Note: cowboy boots have terrible traction.

I waited patiently in line with Moms and Dads while furiously memorizing my merch order- Two large pullovers, a large T-shirt and whatever bullshit I wanted, for my trouble. In a blur of contradicting animal prints a group of girls come barreling past my queue. One of them screams (presumably just for herself, since her friends likely also have eyes) “THE MERCH LINE IS MOVING!” In that same moment, as if carrying out a fucked up performance art piece for the audience of The Line, she slips and spills (re: traction, cowboy boots) her entire tray of food including two chicken tender meals with fries and a full beer. She does not stop running. 

“She just dropped $200” says every dad within a 20 foot radius.

Merchandise acquired. I even had time to pee, thank goodness for a slow year in music. 

I return to my seat only to have the woman behind me drunkenly wobble and spill her canned gin drink onto my sister and I. She then proceeds to lay (yes, lay) flat against her folded seat as if she was experiencing early onset rigor mortis. She also took her shoes off, which meant her trotters were barking in my face whenever I sat down thanks to oddly banked stadium seating. My wallet screeches in pain at the concept of getting totally blotto at Met life. 

This is the beginning of the more negative portion of the evening.

Feeling not so full from my aforementioned hotdog I asked my sister’s friends if they could spare me a protein bar. It was one of those RX bars with the simple ingredients written on the packaging; 10 walnuts, 2 egg whites, 1 fig, a rectangle, vanilla extract and the color orange. After suffering through 5 bites and about to endure a 6th; I experienced my only overwhelming feeling of the night and knew immediately that I had cracked a decade old filling. 

Expect a bill in the mail, Tay.

I told my sister this. She either does not believe me or does not care. Either is fine with me. I practice the phone call to the dentist in my head to distract from the pain.

I’m doing my final edits on this essay almost a month out from the concert and I’m excited to share that I got my permanent tooth this morning. It’s been quite the month.

On our way out of the stadium people are running down the stairs as if Taylor herself is wielding a shotgun. You would've thought Aritzia was giving away leather slacks at the exit. I’m being pushed around by people half my size and I'm losing badly. Once I’m reunited with my group I’m defeated, my feet hurt (re: cowboy boots) and I never want to hear the name Jake Gyllenhal ever again. 

I would like to leave you with some poetic food for thought regarding celebrity and fan culture. Perhaps some insightful commentary on parasocial relationships on a world wide level. But I don't have it. I don’t have the vocabulary to truly capture the phenomenon that is Swifties and not for lack of trying. I’ve completely butchered my Google news algorithm with the research for this essay and now it's constantly recommending Taylor Swift related news, most of which reads like simlish to me. I’ve collected screengrabs of the ones that made me question the sanctity of journalism and some that just flat out made me giggle (plus one that I made up)

Please enjoy <3

Peace, Love and Taylor Swift

1. https://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/article/interview-shoot-with-dj-diplo

2. https://www.reddit.com/r/JohnMayer/comments/12kxlgb/taylor_swift_fans_are_the_most_annoying_and/

One more for those who made it to the end-

Xoxo