Oh, hi. I’m a queer Taylor Swift fan.
Surprised? I can understand that.
You wouldn’t necessarily think that this longtime Curve writer would consider herself a Swiftie. And yet, here we are.
Why am I Swiftie? The poetic lyrics, melancholic storytelling, relatable experiences, and catchy melodies of Taylor Swift are well documented.
Dig deeper, and you realize that, most importantly, Swift allows for and encourages the centrality of women’s experience in her music. The vulnerability of our emotions, our tenderest hopes, and dreams, take center stage in her songs. She sees us, in all our longing, joy, despair, and pain. Her music is not hyper-sexualized nor designed for the male gaze. She stands behind us as women, urges us forward, and then congratulates us when we succeed. Somehow, without ever having met, we know she gets us.
Another reason to appreciate Swift is her squeaky-clean professional ethics. In a world plagued by reports of male musicians who rape underage girls, or of managers who swindle women performers out of royalties, Swift is conscientious and honorable. She is known to treat her staff and dancers well, providing a work environment described as extremely supportive and enjoyable. She rewarded her Eras Tour crew with huge bonuses for their hard work and loyalty. She made sizeable donations to non-profits in every city along her tour route. And since Swift is a savvy businesswoman, she chose to re-record her first six albums to regain control of their distribution and licensing. Fans have been flocking to these reissues, known as “Taylor’s Version” albums, to ensure they are supporting her directly.
Taylor has been accused of speaking from a young, white, heterosexual perspective. And guess what? She is those things. But not surprisingly, we don’t make the same kinds of demands of male singers, whatever their age, race, or sexual orientation. They can sing about making money, disrespecting, and even acting violently towards women, and most listeners won’t bat an eye, including queer people I know. Why do men still get a pass while we demonize young women for writing about their lives?
I’ve been shocked that many women feel no qualms about dissing Swift, despite her liberal politics, commitment to inclusivity, and her lyrical focus on the experience of girls and women. Shouldn’t it be our goal to honor her and her accomplishments, especially given the current political times?
On a more personal note, when I came down with tinnitus three years ago, the only music I felt safe playing was Swift’s. Mercifully, I found that the timbre of both her voice and instrumentals did not exasperate my condition. Her sweet music, flowing through my Bose headphones, could mask the ringing, hissing, and buzzing noise of my affliction. Eschewing most other artists, I relied on Swift’s enormous catalog to provide a reliable source of comfort during my condition’s most acute days.
And while my tinnitus has improved, Swift’s music still brings me solace. So when other difficult life moments flare up, like when our planned adoption of a 6-year-old girl from foster care fell through, songs like “The Prophecy” and “Shake it Off” have grounded and reassured me. I can keep believing in my own ability to heal, to step forward again, even when life tries to knock me down.
A SWIFT FOR EVERY SEASON
Not a believer, despite all this proof? If you’re open to a full Swiftie album experience, pick one whose flavor aligns with your mood. Folklore or Evermore will do on those contemplative grey days. Is self-righteous female anger needing an outlet? Reputation’s your go-to. Feeling melancholy or nursing a broken heart? Red’s your record. Want to dance joyfully and sing out loud? Lover and 1989 will be your besties. There are 11 studio albums, several Taylor’s Version re-releases, and at least four official live albums to choose from. And Swift is still only 35.
If you need song specifics, here are some, out of hundreds, to get you going on your own path towards Swiftiehood. “The Archer” and “Mirrorball” encourage self-reflection. “Seven” honors the girls we were, and “Nothing New” cautions us it’s hard to grow up female. “Clean” prompts us to shed what no longer serves us, while “New Year’s Day” gives us permission to hold on to what matters.
“Willow” calls forth all our witchy spirits, and “You Need to Calm Down” is a boisterous gay anthem. “Daylight,” and “Long Live” are all about personal renewal after struggle. “You’re on Your Own, Kid” and “This is Me Trying” remind us to be strong, despite our vulnerabilities. Want to wax nostalgic for romances past? “August” and “Cornelia Street” are there for you.
Feeling rageful? “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me” and “Look What You Made Me Do” burst forth. “Marjorie,” Swift’s ode to her deceased grandmother, will make you sniffle. And if you’re looking for love songs, tell me there are better ones than “So High School,” “Delicate,” “The 1”, or “King of My Heart.”
There aren’t any better.
THE FULL SWIFT EXPERIENCE
And then there’s the Eras Tour itself.
Know this: Neither the full Eras concert experience nor the songs within it were ever designed to be consumed by or directed towards the male gaze. The Eras Tour was pointedly created for, and inclusive of, women. This stands in direct contrast to most stadium shows today.
The women’s music scene of the ’80s, as sweet as it was (and yes, I was there), was a fairly closed loop, exclusive to those who identified as female with a certain aesthetic bent. Those of us who were a little extra, a little more queer before queer was a thing, or were trans women never really fit in, despite how many times we sang along to Cris Williamson’s lovely “Waterfall.”
The scale of the Taylor Swift universe makes it more likely that, as a queer woman, you will find your place since there’s a lot more room at the inn. And is there anywhere else you’ve experienced 80,000 (mostly) women yelling “Fuck the patriarchy” altogether so loudly that the stadium floor shook? This happened each show, right on cue, during Swift’s song “All Too Well” on the Eras tour. Back in the years of women’s coffee house shows, I don’t think we could have ever imagined this. Gave me shivers every time.
Sure, the Eras Tour may sadly be over now, but for almost two years, it commanded my full attention and gave my post-Covid era its own distinctive shape. Although 10 million tickets were sold for her 149 concerts, spanning 21 countries and 51 cities, it was still unbelievably hard to obtain tickets. I was fortunate to attend an early show in Los Angeles in August 2023, then traveled to Madrid to catch her midway through the European leg in May of 2024, and recently attended the very last shows in Vancouver, Canada, this past December. I absolutely had to be there for the end of the Eras Tour, given its span of years and the huge impact Swift and her music have had on my life. If I’d had limitless resources, I would have attended a few more shows along the way.
How to describe a Taylor Swift concert for the uninitiated?
Fans have called her shows a safe space, and they felt that way to me. To arrive with glittery faces, fresh outfits, new boots, and ecstatic enthusiasm for what will be one of the best nights of your life. To trade those friendship bracelets and celebrate Swift’s lucky number, 13, by writing it all over one’s body. A place where women (along with a handful of exuberant, wildly dancing young gay men, and middle-aged “Swiftie Dads” sitting quietly beside their screaming teen daughters) could gather from all over the world in community, to share a monumental collective experience.
In every city, Swiftie fever ran high for days before a show, with special sing-along karaoke bus tours, Swiftie-inspired street signage, and special Swiftie-themed restaurant meals. Thousands of high-spirited Swifties roamed the streets of every tour stop. Everywhere, there were groups of women sporting Swift concert shirts, including countless mother-daughter pairs. And many folks dressed up as their favorite “era,” with Reputation and Folklore well represented among attendees.
From the moments of arrival outside the stadiums, the excitement was palpable. Even the very long merch lines were a chance to chat excitedly with other attendees, to inquire where they were from, how many shows they’d seen, and where else they had traveled to see her. There were many folks like us, traveling the world on an extended Swiftie concert tour caravan.
Once inside each city’s stadium, the noise of the crowd reached a staggering crescendo through the opening acts until an onstage digital clock counted down to the main show’s start. Protective earplugs firmly in place, I was on my feet, singing and dancing, stomping and cheering, from the first riveting moments of “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince” till the last notes of the show’s concluding song, “Karma.” In some cities, people without tickets found ways to “Taylor-gate” outside the concert venues. In Germany, 50,000 people gathered on a nearby hillside to listen across from the stadium. Not everyone could score, or afford, tickets to the Eras Tour, but folks still found ways to share in the monumental, collective joy.
More than a mere compendium of songs, each show was a fully immersive experience spanning all of Swift’s album “eras.” Forty-four songs in all, performed for more than three hours, by Swift and her team of dancers and musicians. Rain or shine, they gave it their all. Some of her backup dancers, like Kameron Saunders, have even developed their own well-deserved fan base.
With so much estrogen in the air, emotions ran high, and the atmosphere was charged. Tears flowed. In the large crowds, almost everyone was on their feet the entire span of the show, singing, stomping, cheering, and screaming. In Seattle and Los Angeles, seismic activity, a phenomenon dubbed “Swift Quakes” was reported as a result. Taylor’s fans literally caused the earth to move.
THE FAMILY SWIFT
My partner in this incredible odyssey through Swiftiedom has been my daughter Frances, now age 26. We have been listening to Taylor Swift together ever since she was 10, when the song “Love Story” grabbed me right through the car radio and never let go. Swift’s music has been a unifying factor in our relationship ever since, through many ages and stages. Yet before we committed to the Eras Tour, we had never seen Swift live.
Now that Frances and I live on different coasts, I don’t get to see her that often anymore. Reconvening at the Eras Tour stops and sharing Swift’s music became a blissful mother-daughter tradition. A special time honoring the close mother-daughter bond we’ve always shared, memories made just for us. An experience that was also infused with some bittersweet melancholy as I realized that this was but an extended yet suspended moment in time. One which would end for us as soon as the tour ended. And now, it has.
Astute, long-term readers of Curve may recognize my name as a founding writer of this publication, way back in the early 1990s. Beginning with the first-ever issue, I penned features about music, literature, and queer life.
In hundreds of articles spanning many years, I chronicled the rise of various musical movements like Riot Grrrl as well as tracking the careers of the more familiar names of lesbian folksingers. In my column, Hot Licks from Cool Chicks, I took pride in introducing readers to bands and musicians who were not being covered in the mainstream media, or even in many other LGBT publications.
However, out of all my work published in Curve, the one that generated the most reader response was published in March 1998.
Entitled “Trying Conceptions,” it chronicled my year-long odyssey to become pregnant and become a mother. The topic of queer family building was not such a hot topic back then in the LGBT media. There were few published resources for people who wanted to have children, and Curve was groundbreaking for publishing this article.
CURVE MAGAZINE, MARCH 1998, JANUARY 1998; SWIFT CONCERT PHOTOS BY RACHEL PEPPER
Shortly after the issue went to press, I learned I had indeed conceived on lucky try number 7, and my daughter was born the following year. Suffice it to say, life changed dramatically for me after that.
Fast forward a few decades, and now Frances is pushing 30. Sometimes I wonder, how did this ever happen? The young girl I sang “Love Story” with is now an adult, and life will likely continue to pull her away from me.
Soon, she will start her own family, develop new priorities, and have little time to visit me. Even traveling to see Taylor Swift shows with me may not seem as enticing a year or so on. I’ll have to hold on to these lovely moments we shared, while continuing to appreciate the healing powers of music in my life. And I know I’ll always be thankful to Taylor for pulling me towards the light, all the times I most needed it.
And yet. And yet. Life keeps changing, evolving, moving us forward from one era to another. This can often feel beyond our control. But sometimes, if we actively grab hold of something, take a chance, and make the choice to leap forward, we might land on our feet. Taylor would tell us to go for it, and trust in our power to do so.
So, a year ago, in a late-night fit of restlessness, I inquired online about a young girl available for adoption. And after years of deep disappointment in the child welfare system, I had a lucky strike. In the midst of grieving our political decline, of mourning the end of the Eras Tour, and my birth daughter’s ascent into adulthood, I became a new parent once again.
By the time you read this, my new daughter will have been with us for a year. She’s a sensitive soul, creative and artistic, smart and sassy, and a great athlete. She slid easily into the empty space in my heart, embracing me as her mom, even as she mourns the ongoing loss of her own birth mother. Such gifts, out of loss.
This girl has her own hopes and dreams, and ten years of life before she came to us, but Taylor Swift has helped us bridge our differences. Even in the midst of so much complexity, we could find a few things to unite us. One of them is Taylor Swift.
My girl has been a good sport about the continual bombardment of Swift’s music in her new home, and I’m pretty sure that she now knows the words to most of the songs. We analyze the feminist meanings of songs like “The Man” and revel in our shared joy of appropriately placed female vengeance whilst belting out “Karma.”
For Christmas, she got a record player, and the first record to grace it was a deluxe red vinyl collector’s edition of Evermore. She has an Eras Tour T-shirt she likes to sport. When she took a Taylor Swift sewing class, she made a Reputation-themed tote bag covered in glittery snakes. And when some kids at her middle school dared to tell her they don’t like Taylor Swift, my girl is able to hold her own and defend her admittedly good taste.
When we are riding in the car, singing along to some of my new daughter’s favorites—which, she’d like you to know, include “Anti-Hero” and “London Boy”—I feel how we are fitting together like pieces in a newly opened puzzle. It’s okay that we may not know exactly how the finished picture looks, because we will get there, together.
My birth daughter, having grown within me, will never be far from my heart. No matter where she roams, I feel her presence. The years we have spent together, bodies and psyches intertwined, are imprinted in my very DNA. When I play “Invisible String,” I’m reminded of how much ongoing love I have for her, of the ties that still bind us. Our two years traversing the Eras Tour will always remain one of the favorite memories of our more than quarter century of mother-daughter life. And Taylor Swift has helped me let go a little bit, even though it’s hard. For as Frances spins her own life story, I increasingly become a distant star, one that had a hand in her creation, but now trails away into the darkness.
Yet, the heart of this mother still beats, strong and mighty, with a newfound purpose to nurture and protect. There’s not much time these days to lament one era’s pensive passing, since each new day in this new parenting adventure brings its own playlist of challenges, revelations, and joy. As our new family forges forward into the unknown, I know Taylor Swift’s music will continue to guide me.
Long live.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Pepper is a founding writer at Curve Magazine and the author of several books, including Transitions of the Heart and The Transgender Child: A Handbook for Parents and Professionals. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her family and a flock of chickens.