Motherless

SoFi Stadium, August 9th, 2023

I wouldn’t consider myself a Swiftie. Not just because I dislike that word, it scratches at the ears, but because for a long time I’ve lacked an understanding of the absolute adoration that surrounded the Taylor Swift. Her specific brand of white feminism and pop songs played non-stop on the radio birthed a persistent annoyance. 

And then, folklore entered the world when it seemed like it was ending. The storytelling album was so different from previous Taylor fodder, and it felt like music that was made specifically to win me over. Evermore followed soon after and I couldn’t deny it anymore. With “champagne problems,” “my tears ricochet,” “epiphany,” Taylor was worming her way into my heart. 

Midnights came out when I too was staying up till the quiet hours of the night, sitting on my balcony contemplating heartbreak and Taylor had given me the perfect soundtrack. 

Suddenly, I was a fan. 

I got the Eras tickets by accident. I couldn’t manage to fully participate in the original Ticketmaster disaster — college classes took priority, so I dropped my name into a pre-selected lottery. And then I was driving home from the grocery store when a notification on my phone said four hundred dollars had been taken from my account. 

After the general panic over a possible hacking or identity theft scare, I realized that I indeed had two tickets to the Eras Tour. 

I was excited, sure, but not because I understood the true meaning of this massive production Taylor had created. I was excited to have something to look forward to post-graduation, when my life would be a wobbling buoy in the sea with nowhere to go.

By the time August rolled around and my little sister and I settled into our stadium seats, the arena filling slowly with a flood of pink, purple, blue, glitter, I had developed a certain appreciation for her music, her ability to reach into a woman’s deepest, darkest feelings and splay them on a page, turning them into something beautifully valid. 

I was beginning to understand. 

If you know nothing of the Eras Tour to summarize it simply, it is a concert that has been elevated to cinematic levels. Coming in at three and a half hours, filled with costume changes, sets, backup dancers, visual transitions, stunts, it is a complete catalog of Taylor’s finest moments in musical history. It is an ode to her expansive career. 

Because this was the last show of The Eras Tour American leg, the energy in the air was snapping. The joy of “Girlhood Summer” was sitting in the stadium admiring its hard work. Look at what it’s done, how it’s paid off. 

After playing “champagne problems” amidst a moss covered piano and wooded background, a raucous applause vibrated through the stadium. Planes bound for LAX passing over were drowned out and the cheering proceeded for minutes and minutes, reaching an octave that had me wondering if my hearing was bound to break. 

Taylor looked around at the audience, us, in awe. She mouthed “what are you doing?” and drew a heart in the air. For a young woman like myself it is almost painfully beautiful to watch another woman look out on her success, to have grown up with her and realize that indeed, quietly, she has watched you become who you are. 

She was there, cheering us on. She was there, wishing us the best. She was there, the realest constant. 

Applause vibrated through the floor, seats, my chest. Wrist lights brought stars down from the sky. We were all there, we all saw it, the magic she created. The joy. 

I may not be a Swiftie, but I can give Taylor credit where it is due. She has managed to reach people all over the world and bring them together — they trade friendship bracelets and dress alike. She has withstood the test of time, long enough to watch little girls grow into women. And she has loved us all the same.