Thank You Taylor

How the Eras tour really was a mirrorball showing me every version of myself tonight. 🪩

Nov 03, 2023

I walked out of the matinee screening of Taylor Swift’s Eras tour in a total daze (a lavender haze* if you will), and was abruptly reminded of the enduring daylight when the mother/daughter duo dressed in Red held the door open for me. The last three hours had taken me through so many versions of myself (17 years and 10 albums worth), that I was fumbling to snap back into my current era. If I walked home, Scott would ask me what I wanted to do for dinner and I was in no state to answer such a mundane question. After reliving moments I had left behind, stored away, or forgotten over the last two decades, I needed to cry, to write, and to savour the emotions that were uncontrollably bubbling to the surface. I wasn’t expecting the Eras tour to be such an introspective walk down memory lane. I guess there’s a reason why this is the highest grossing tour of all time. As Taylor retells her story through each album, she also retells our stories and the eras we’ve gone through together, reminding us of all the ways we used to be innocent, fearless, and resilient. Hinting to us that those parts are still there, hidden away amongst the years, available to access if we’re willing to also face the pain and heartbreak that came with them.

When I first arrived to my seat in row C, the two girls seated to my left were dressed in 1989 tee shirts and appeared to be around my age. They let me know before the show started: ‘If you want to sing along, don’t be shy, it won’t bother us! Also, if you need to use the washroom, apparently right after she sings Enchanted is the best option to sneak out for a minute.’ I thanked them and felt grateful for their friendliness. I didn’t mind being there by myself, but it felt nice to have some allies seated beside me. There was a father/husband figure to my right who ended up sleeping through most of the show. His two daughters and wife danced and sang on the other side of him—dressed in pastel hearts and sparkles, definitely in their Lover era. A party of tweens in the row ahead of us created a sea of blue with sequin dresses and glow sticks—from the most recent era, Midnight. Everyone was excited but a little shy, happy to be in attendance at our local theatre, imagining they were front row centre at a sold out international tour.

🎤

The lights dimmed and we watched as 70,000 Swifties filled the SoFi Stadium in Los Angeles to recite the poetic, catchy, honest, and brilliant lyrics of Taylor Swift with us. As someone who appreciates and enjoys words, I believe it when she sings ‘it was all by design, because I’m a mastermind’. Taylor is a good singer, but not the best I’ve ever heard. She has stage presence, but I grew up in performing arts and have seen talent far beyond her ability to shake her hips. What this superstar has in spades, what she holds in absolute abundance over everyone else, is the ability to tell stories. She is a highly intelligent and prolific writer who has written or co-written every single song in her impressive discography. She hides all sorts of messages and codes in her lyrics, perfectly placed easter eggs for her fans to decipher—always listen carefully to her bridges. She’s vulnerable and real, not only writing about heartbreak from boys, but the loss of friendships, how managers and people in business have screwed her over, the pains of growing up, and what it feels like to be alone. Things we have all experienced in our own ways, stories we have all lived. The songs are hers, but the feelings are mutual.

The screen flashes Red and all of a sudden I’m taken back to November 2012. I’m walking in the pouring rain across the Burrard street bridge in Vancouver, heading to a hot yoga class. It’s the last class of the evening and it’s already been dark for several hours. My mat is strapped to my back and my feet are soaked, but under my tightly clutched umbrella I have my headphones playing the album that was released a few weeks back. A combination of singing, crying, and laughing is happening as I recite the words about a scarf being left in a drawer at a sister’s house. I feel understood, like someone else out there is just as confused and heartbroken as I am. I don’t need to explain myself to her, we have an unspoken agreement to be here in this moment together, working through it all. The walk to the yoga class proves to be more powerful than the 60 minutes of sequenced poses I follow along to. I decide to take the long way home that night with Taylor, in our Red era, repeating the mantra together to ensure I understand that we will indeed, never be getting back together.

👄

I wonder where the 1989 girls seated to my left went during that song? What were they experiencing at the age of 24? Will the male figure on my right suddenly wake up and notice the tears that I couldn’t hold back as I relived a heartbreak so cutting I thought it would kill me? And how does Taylor perform at this level for three and a half hours every night without passing out? I’m really impressed with it all. I also notice her manicure right way, 10 colours to represent 10 albums, one era on each finger—so darn clever. The show is visually stunning and highly entertaining, the sound quality is unreal. This woman has worked her ass off to get to this point—her tour is estimated to bring in more than 2.2 billion in ticket sales alone! According to Time Magazine: “typically, every $100 spent on live performances generates an estimated $300 in ancillary local spending on things like hotels, food and transportation. But for the Eras tour, Swifties are taking this to the next level, dropping an estimated $1,300-$1,500 on things like outfits and costumes, merchandise, dining, and travel—boosting local economies by hundreds of millions of dollars in one weekend.” Justin Trudeau and several other country leaders have reached out to try and bring that sweet Swifty cash flow to their cities, asking her to add more dates to her tour. That is some sort of power you have there Taylor.

Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy. I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me.

Without warning, snakes fill the stadium and we all know it’s the Reputation era. My blood starts pumping. It might be 2023 outside, but within these four walls it’s November 2017 and I’m living on Kauai, giving all I have to a job I once believed would be my last. Taylor released the cover for her new album a few months ago after going radio silent for the first time in her career. She gave us fair warning about these songs, letting me personally know I can’t just listen to this album randomly in the kitchen and risk being interrupted by my roommates asking questions or making breakfast. The minute those fifteen songs dropped, I got in my car, turned the speakers as loud as they could handle, and drove. I drove all the way around the island, listening to it start to finish multiple times. Once again, just me and Taylor. This time she came to remind me of my power. The old Taylor can't come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, 'cause she's dead. It’s exactly what I needed to hear after feeling stagnant, isolated, and mistreated. I went home and got tickets to attend her show at the Lumen Field Stadium in Seattle that coming May. In addition to an epic concert experience, I also left the arena with the confidence I needed to quit my job, move back home to Canada, and start all over again. A rebrand, a fuck-it, a Reputation era attitude. Did you think I wouldn't hear all the things you said about me? This is why we can't have nice things.

🐍

The mood in the theatre had changed. Our Midnight era tweens had gotten out of their seats and starting dancing under the screen at the front of the room. We cheered and clapped for them, we were in this together. It turns out the girls in their 1989 era weren’t my only allies, everyone who walked into our 130 seat auditorium that afternoon united, as though we had lived through the hardships and rumours of Taylor’s past and were revelling in this celebration together. We weren’t even close to ready for the snakes to disappear but, such as life, change happens fast and we are transitioned yet again to another chapter.

An acoustic version of Our Song took us 1989 era gals back to the ages of the girls dancing at the front of the theatre. Taylor wrote Our Song for a talent show in ninth grade, her classmates loved it so she included it on her very first album. It’s innocent and youthful, it’s me in the parking lot at my high school in 2006. Stomach full of butterflies, wishing time would move faster so I could be older, more mature, and in love - find myself in a scene similar to the one she created with her lyrics. If only I knew how fast time moved, I would tell myself to enjoy it more, I would tell myself to slow down. In your life you'll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team, I didn't know it at 15. If only Taylor knew that one day she would sing this song in front of 70,000 people every night. I wonder what she wishes she could tell her younger self? I’m grateful for her library of songs, what a gift she has given our generation, I just hope she hasn’t given up too much of herself through the process. Oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up, it could stay this simple.

Back in my worn-out leather chair, I sing through the Evermore and Folklore eras of the pandemic with row C. Time starts moving faster through these eras, leading us to the final act long before we’re ready. The Midnight era, an album Taylor wrote in her thirties. The lyrics have more weight to them, more experience. She’s told us these were written in the middle of the night, a time that has become her afternoon. You can feel the pain, no longer from teenage breakups, but from real inner battles. She was probably given the same brochure that I was earlier in life—the one that made us all believe adulthood would be the time when everything would finally make sense. Little did we know, the brochures weren’t guaranteed and they were far from accurate. Even with all the fame and money she has, there are still missing pieces. And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home. A separation and isolation greater than the rest of us will ever know.

You’re on your own kid, you always have been.

🫶🏼

When the credits start to roll, nobody moves. We don’t even reach for our jackets or phones, we’re all still processing the last three hours and wishing we could have just one more song, one more minute with our pasts. Eventually the tweens leave, followed by their moms and a trail of blue glitter. The father figure to my right has signalled that he’ll meet his Lover era crew outside the theatre. The 1989 gals give me a smile and a nod, acknowledging the bond we made through singing at a screen together. I get my belongings and head for the door, that’s where the Red era mother/daughter duo hold it open for me, funnelling me out onto Yates street.

I walk aimlessly until the lavender haze eventually dissipates. It’s time to take myself home and ask Scott what he feels like doing for dinner. He makes us chicken and lets me tell him all about the show. I cry and share some memories from my younger years, tell him about versions of myself that lived before his time, ones he’s never met. Moments that got left behind, feelings that faded, eras that I thought were gone until I briefly relived them in that theatre.

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you.

I wake up the next morning, after thinking about this experience all night, and I’m reminded that all these versions of myself are still here. So much in life has changed, but I’m still the girl on the bleachers, still the one blushing all the way home. I haven’t lost these eras, I just have to work harder to access them. I’m also reminded that music is magic. It’s time travel, therapy, art, and connection. Taylor Swift has been carefully casting a beautiful spell on all her listeners over the past two decades—gifting us the ability to connect with ourselves on a deeper level. A priceless experience that I’m genuinely grateful for.

Thank you Taylor.