When I was young enough to ask questions but not old enough to answer them, I used the word ‘why’ a lot. I am forever indebted to my mother for putting up with me, but it reached a point - when I was four - where she banned the nightly news. Before the ban was implemented, I would sit in front of the television and ask ‘why’ every time Sandra Sully finished a segment. It would either drive Mum mad or drive me to tears when I couldn’t comprehend the unrelenting devastation of the world. I am telling you this story because this morning I have returned to that good place, resulting in a self-imposed ban from the headlines for the next 24 hours, because this week has delivered too much for the heart to handle. Victoria is reporting its worst figures in the history of the pandemic, Trump’s 38-minute interview with Axois’ Jonathan Swan was astonishingly concerning for the United States, and then there is Beirut. So this morning I am taking a break and I am going to talk about Taylor Swift instead.
I was planning to write about Taylor Swift last week but traversed between appreciating her album and thinking it was a rip off of Phoebe Bridgers. Yet, over the last seven days, it has served as some blissful portal to escapism, so I feel I owe it to her. It is great. What I love about this album is not just the music, but the story behind it. In her critique of ‘folklore’ for The New Yorker, Amanda Petrusich pointed out that this album distended from some kind of failure in Swift’s commercial success. “One got the sense that Swift had been hobbled by her own success, which, for a while, was so complete and unwavering that it allowed very little room for humanity.” In the documentary “Miss Americana”, which aired in January, the singer appeared frustrated by her tendency to be good and fulfil obligations and follow rules. Her repetitious Grammy-winning maintained her foothold in the mainstream, but with that came chains, limitations, expectations - kept in place, one might suspect, by the fear of letting people down. Then “Reputation” came in 2017, and “Lover” in 2019, and neither won Grammys. These small dips in her success soon freed her to explore. The chains were unshackled. The road ahead opened up. She could play and look around. “Even the tiniest bit of perceived failure turned out to be wildly, gorgeously liberating,” wrote Petrusich. “Disburdened at thirty, she was free, again, to make whatever sort of art she wanted.”
The outcome is ‘folklore’ which seems, to me, like a wistful state of heartbreak, acceptance, and hope. Not existing in isolation from one another, but together, as one, swirling around within the playful nature of Swift’s current state. It appears more like an eclectic collection of thoughts than an album taking any sort of strident direction. The purpose is not to move forward, but to stand still. What I love most about the album is something Petrusich articulated in her analysis: it accurately illustrates the push and pull we feel between wanting to let go but also take control of our lives. “Swift wants to believe in fate,” Petrusich wrote, “but she also can’t stop herself from trying to grab the wheel. It’s a heavy tension, wanting to let go while wanting to stay in control.” There is a reason four-year-old me used the word ‘why’ a lot; I was just trying to grab the wheel each night. The human experience is a confusing mess that we are all trying to find some order in. And as we fold the washing of our days we sometimes wonder whether there is any point in folding at all.
This year, as we’ve all been forced to let go of our trajectories, to halt the incessant pushing forward, it seems our days have taken a similar shape to Swift’s most recent state. While we may not be existing in some blissful, playful reflection, we are being forced to stop, we are experiencing failure, and we are grappling with letting go while trying to grab the wheel again. The year of 2020 has forced every single one of us to sit and find some sort of peace within this tension. To swim with the current instead of using our ambition to butterfly against it. To come to terms with the fact our lives do not exist in isolation, but within the world, which is an ironic realisation to come to during a forced period of isolation. As for escapism, I have no doubt I will return to the news again before the weekend ends. Yet there is merit in the pause, if only to escape for a while and return with more strength to wrestle the days. Or, maybe, to return with a new perspective and let go a little. To take the sh** and spin it into some sort of freedom to play in; to take the setbacks and dance with the possibilities.
Some related (and unrelated) recommendations:
MY BOOK IS OUT. You can order a copy here or find it anywhere you buy books, so go support your local bookstore if you can. Warning: what follows is a summary of book press which I will only force you to read this week. Thank you for putting up with my shameless self-promotion.
I was interviewed by ELLE Australia about the mistakes women can make in romance. The journalist has taken my academic speak, and spun it into some sort of hilarious wisdom which I am forever grateful for.
Grazia has published an extract of my book which explores my unwavering love of Lizzo, the rise of singledom, and women's new emergence into adulthood.
Future Women has published my thoughts on women's complex relationship with beauty, and how it informs our behaviour in romance.
The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age have published an extract of my book examining heartbreak and non-committal men. It also featured in Sunday Life magazine last weekend.
I was interviewed by 9Honey, who have published this extremely generous review of the book.
If you haven't watched the Axois interview with Donald Trump, take 40 minutes out of your day to do so.
Here is that wonderful New Yorker review on 'folklore'.
And Taylor Swift’s new album, obviously.
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