The release of Taylor Swift’s anxiously awaited 12th Studio Album, The Life of a Showgirl (TLOAS) has, like all things Taylor Swift, induced a flurry of online and real-world debate regarding Swift both musically and non-musically. Her almost mythologised state in society allows her to draw criticism and praise from all corners of the internet. Just 15 minutes on TikTok can take one into a deep analysis of why her alleged Charli XCX diss-track “Actually Romantic” is either a) A justified response to pop’s new-mean girl b) A copyright infringement of both Teenage Dirtbag and Where is My Mind or c) A lyrically lacklustre punch-down towards an emerging artist imbued with homophobia to both Charli and the queer-dominated rave scene integral to her artistry. This is in reference to one song on the album…

There are equally those who are now openly declaring the wildly misogynistic belief that Swift’s former partner Joe Alwyn was the primary writer of Folklore and Evermore, two of her most critically acclaimed albums in terms of writing. The perceived poor quality of the songwriting has led to comparisons between Alwyn and Swift’s now-fiancé Travis Kelce, accompanying a belief that Swift’s intelligence has in turn declined to meet that of her new partner (WTF!). Regardless of the ridiculousness of such vitriol, it reveals the depth of an global obsession with pretty much anything Taylor Swift does.

Personally, I was far too pre-occupied with Swift’s use of “dick-matised” in “Wood”, a poor man’s Sabrina Carpenter-eqsue ode to the penile proficiency of Kelce, to concern myself with the release discourse. The sheer amount of online noise around TLOAS meant it took me a while to situate my own feelings about the album as a long-time but increasingly sceptical Swiftie.

It does appear as though Swift has entered some sort of lobotomised fugue state. TLOAS is some of the consistently worst writing of an artist known for her sharpness with the pen. While there have certainly been previous tracks that have not exactly been lauded for their lyrical depth (e.g. Shake it Off, Karma, Me!), TLOAS seems to be consistently shallow and tone deaf for someone capable of much more meaningful work.

As someone who fell in love with Taylor Swift for the depth of her writing and the worlds she creates with her albums, I was more upset than I would care to admit about TLOAS. The weekend following its release, I spent significant amounts of time listening to old Taylor Swift music and questioning how such a drastic shift occurred. Upon listening to Out of the Woods, texting my sister “Will she write anything like that bridge ever again?”, and then shedding a tear, I realised things had perhaps gone too far. Why did I care so much about a 35-year-old billionaire and her somewhat inevitable descent into mediocrity?

Of course, the answer lies in the online discourse that pervades the entirety of Swift’s existence. Key to her unparalleled success is a carefully curated and deeply personal image. Fans watch her every move because she leaves clues in them: dress colours, codes in Instagram posts, thinly veiled lyrics about past relationships and friendships. When I wrote that Swift has entered a “lobotomised fugue state” it is only because I, the consumer, have bought into one meticulously crafted image of “Taylor Swift” that aligns with my values and worldview, only to have it chopped and changed album-to-album until it no longer reflects what I wish to see. My inability to reconcile two seemingly different “people” is because there was never a person there in the first place.

However, this is so particularly jarring when so much of Swift’s success is contingent on her personhood. Why is she openly inviting us to feed off her personal life when it is so elaborately constructed? If it is to create a controlled product that guarantees a powerful personal investment from fans it has certainly succeeded in a monetary sense.

Enter French literary theorist and philosopher Roland Barthes. Barthes is most well-known for his 1967 essay The Death of the Author. In the work, Barthes critiques the long held literary tradition that is “tyrannically centred on the author”. In his words, “explanation of the work is still sought in the person of its producer, as if, through the more or less transparent allegory of fiction”. Barthes offers an alternative method for how we interpret written communication, instead framing it as a “multi-dimensional space in which [there] are married and contested several writings, none of which is original”. The idea that one can “decipher” a text is entirely ridiculous because it inherently closes off writing and constrains its meaning to the experience of the author. He boldly advocates that the “death of the Author” is necessary in bringing about the “birth of the reader”.

While there is and will continue to be an enormous amount of literature on the merits of such an idea, and the broader role of the author, Barthes’ essay provides an interesting lens to examine Swift’s positioning of herself as an author who is very much “alive”. Her explicit blurring of identity, art, and product both in her song-writing and her public image is one of her greatest assets.

I have historically deeply enjoyed Swift’s work, and part of that reason has been because it felt personal. I felt I could both relate to her songs on a personal level but also appreciated what I saw at the time as witty comebacks towards critiques and a self-awareness of her place in society. However, as she enters her current “era”, I am horrified by a woman who espouses a MAGA-indifferent, male-centred worldview whereby her shameless pursuit of excess wealth at the expense of other (often female) artists is somehow morally justified by the fact she was cancelled eight years ago.

And yet, there are so many other artists who I personally dislike and I am still capable of enjoying their music in a casual way. But in this situation, any kind of artist separation is impossible where I have been classically conditioned to consider everything she has produced from the perspective of what Swift intended to convey. At least in some way, Swift’s intention to assert the absolute supremacy of the author has supremely backfired when a coherent artistic identity is not compatible with a trends-based path to commercial success.

Taylor Swift has directly fed and encouraged the parasocial relationships that do not always bend to her will. For me to enjoy her again, I would theoretically have to end this relationship by “killing her off”. However, this would equally destroy much of what I enjoyed about her music in the first place. As such, a broader point emerges about how we engage in art in a time where we demand that meaning is manufactured and then fed to us.

Ultimately, no one is asking me to listen to the album. So why do I feel betrayed by the change in image and public persona of a woman who has openly courted music as a money-making endeavour for her entire career? She does not owe me authenticity, nor quality and yet I have felt so acutely entitled to it. While my disappointment is real, and the album is… a change from the work that I found so much joy in, this does not inherently equate to anything substantive about Swift’s ability as an artist. It reflects far more about a societal willingness to subscribe to parasocial obsession with celebrity figures.

This is not to say that we must kill off the author/artist altogether. That is another (much longer) debate altogether. Equally, Swift’s rather convenient decision to become politically indifferent as the US descends into authoritarianism is not one that should go uncritiqued in the name of “separating the art from the artist”. The issue at hand here is not whether to “kill” Swift but to emphasise the foolishness of assuming authorial reliability, consistency or authenticity when chart-music is a capitalistic endeavour. And more importantly, to warn against the tiresome practice of denying oneself the opportunity to create our own meaning out of music.

It is a well-declared public fact that Swift has two primary goals: make money and provide entertainment. It was my own error in being gullible enough to forget this. If I like Folklore so much… I should probably just go back and listen to it.

Note to self: Touch grass.