There's a specific shade of lipstick – a matte, almost-black red – that I swear becomes ubiquitous every time Taylor Swift releases an album. It happened with "Red," again with "1989," and now, with the re-recordings, it feels like the entire city is bathed in that same vampiric hue. It's fascinating, really, this cultural pull she has. This ability to not just dictate what we listen to, but how we see the world, how we dress, how we process our own heartbreaks.
And with the re-recordings, it's not just about the music anymore, is it? It's about ownership, about control, about rewriting a narrative that felt, at least to her and her legion of fans, deeply unfair. "This is my art," she seems to be saying, "and I'll be damned if anyone, least of all a man in a suit, profits from it without my consent."
The thing is, we love a redemption arc. We love an underdog, especially when that underdog happens to be a beautiful, talented woman who writes songs that cut to the bone. We see ourselves in her struggles, in her triumphs. We buy the lipstick, we blast "All Too Well" (the 10-minute version, obviously), and we raise our fists in solidarity.
But there's a danger in conflating art with autobiography, in assuming we know the full story because we've memorized the liner notes. We build these narratives around celebrities, these elaborate tapestries woven from paparazzi shots and carefully curated Instagram posts. And then, when the narrative shifts, when a new album drops and the protagonist changes her tune, we feel betrayed. Or worse, vindicated. As if her pain, her growth, her very existence is somehow a referendum on our own lives.
I remember once, years ago, seeing a young starlet at a fashion show. She was tiny, birdlike, swallowed whole by a sea of flashbulbs and oversized sunglasses. The air crackled with a strange energy, a mix of adoration and something else, something darker, something that felt almost predatory. It was unsettling, to say the least.
Taylor Swift, for all her calculated public persona, for all the carefully stage-managed pronouncements of love and heartbreak, has somehow managed to tap into that primal need for connection. She's the girl next door, the heartbroken best friend, the vengeful ex-lover. She's all of us, and none of us, all at once.
And maybe that's the point. Maybe the obsession with Taylor's truths isn't really about her at all. Maybe it's about us. Maybe it's about our need to believe in something, someone, who makes sense of the chaos. Someone who reminds us that even in the darkest depths of heartbreak, there's always the possibility of a killer red lipstick and a chart-topping comeback.
So, go ahead. Sing along to "Red (Taylor's Version)." Buy the cardigan. Write your own version of the infamous scarf. But remember, these are just threads in a much larger story. A story that, ultimately, only Taylor can tell.
Shop the must-have Taylor Swift outfits- https://www.cusuti.com/category/taylor-swift
Kommentare