[COLUMN] A Grand Unified Theory of Taylor Swift | by Darren Mooney (Patreon)

These columns tend to cover film and television, but occasionally it’s worth branching out to take a look at larger pop culture. Two weeks ago, Taylor Swift released her latest album, The Tortured Poets Department, and the response to it has been interesting, to say the least. In particular, it has opened up debates about the nature and the purpose of criticism.

When Paste Magazine published a negative review of the album, it did so by crediting the piece to “Paste Staff.” On social media, the magazine explained that this was because the reviewer of Swift’s previous album, Lover, received “threats of violence.” Anything but unqualified praise for Swift was heresy. While conceding critics were “within their rights” to criticize the album, The New Yorker argued that Swift’s work should exist beyond criticism.

This phenomenon is not unique to Swift as an artist. Celebrities have become increasingly hostile to any sort of criticism. Fans of Nicki Minaj have a long history of “doxxing” critics, with Minaj herself attacking YouTube’s head of music Lyor Cohen over the reaction to “Big Foot.” Hannah Ewens, feature editor at the British edition of Rolling Stone, acknowledges that some critics pass on reviewing major releases “because they don’t have the mental and emotional capacity to bother with the backlash.”

This trend isn’t even confined to the music industry, although it is certainly more pronounced there. In 2012, Samuel L. Jackson responded to A.O. Scott’s negative review of The Avengers by directing his social media followers to help Scott find “a new job.” It is an undeniably weird dynamic, with celebrities actively and passively leveraging their massive followings to attack professional critics for daring to subject their work to a thorough consideration.

There are likely a number of reasons for this trend. In purely logistical terms, social media has collapsed the distance between artists, fans, and critics. Not only is the barrier of entry much lower than it once was, but there is no longer any insulation between the three sides of that particular triangle. It’s easier for artists to see criticism these days, making it easier for them to react to it. It’s also easier for fans to engage with critics, making it easier to subject them to sustained harassment.

There is also the long legacy of the movement known as “poptimism”, which initially seemed to argue that popular art was just as valid and worthy of consideration as more conventionally serious material. It is a very good idea in theory. Indeed, these columns are arguably proponents of “poptimism” in its truest sense, earnestly arguing that maybe even junk like Night Swim has something to say about contemporary America that deserves proper in-depth examination.

However, in recent years, that argument has morphed into the idea that these objects don’t deserve serious consideration as works of art, but unquestioning celebration and uncritical endorsement. It isn’t enough that Marvel Studios is subject to rigorous critical analysis and contextualization in the larger context of contemporary popular culture. It must be validated. The critic’s job is to recognize these objects as the masterpieces that fans already know them to be. Anything else is heresy.

This gets back to the paradox of Taylor Swift. Swift is undeniably a major artist. Her Eras tour was the first in history to gross over a billion dollars. She will soon make her feature directorial debut at Fox Searchlight, and deserves – and has already received – serious consideration as an auteur. While celebrities like Courtney Love might casually argue that Taylor Swift is “not important”, the truth is that Swift is important and has been treated as important throughout her career.

Swift’s lyrics and music have been subject to intense scholarly scrutiny. Her body of work has been embraced as a sort of “canon.” New Hollywood legend and former film critic Paul Schrader unironically bows before Swift as “the godhead who makes existence possible and without whom we would wander forever in bleak unimaginable darkness.” There are very few celebrities in any medium who can claim to be taken more seriously than Swift is. “Poptimism” won.

As such, given that Swift deserves to be taken seriously, it’s worth asking: What kind of artist is Taylor Swift? What drives Swift? What are her central narrative and thematic preoccupations? It’s possible, and ultimately facile, to reduce Swift’s career to a series of break-ups, with many of her songs and albums corresponding to the dissolutions of her relationships with famous men: Harry Styles, Joe Jonas, Calvin Harris, Jake Gyllenhaal, and now Joe Alwyn and Matty Healy.

Of course, it’s reductive (and frankly somewhat sexist) to reduce a female artist’s work to the subject of the men in her life. It’s a very narrow way of looking at Taylor Swift’s discography, even if it is undeniably a part of her major concerns. Swift’s central driving ideas are somewhat broader. These works all fit within it, but it is more than just a cavalcade of failed relationships. It’s probably worth going back to Swift’s personal history, as narrated through her songwriting.

“The Best Day”, a track recorded for Fearless, her second studio album, seems instructive. The song is based on a true story from Swift’s own childhood, and the video includes home movie footage from Swift’s younger years. It recounts an occasion on which Swift invited her friends to go to the mall with her. When they all made excuses about how they were busy, her mother took her instead. It was there that Swift discovered that her friends had actually chosen to go to the mall without her.

This is a very formative memory for Swift, one that she frequently cites in interviews. “I just remember my mom looking at me and saying, ‘We’re going to King of Prussia Mall’,” Swift told GQ. “Which is the big, big mall in Pennsylvania, 45 minutes away. So we left and went to the better mall.” This story allowed Swift to cultivate what Hazel Cills described as “an underdog, misunderstood” narrative around herself, somebody picked on and bullied – but who inevitably overcomes.

This narrative is undeniably appealing. Whether consciously or not, it seems to be a large part of Swift’s popular appeal. “She has documented all of her life events, which is why the album is relatable whether you are a billionaire songwriter or not,” neuroscientist Dr. Julia Jones told Newsweek. “It shows that emotional turbulence is a part of life and that is why so many people can resonate with her.” This feeling of grievance and betrayal – and righteous vindication – is universal.

This is at the core of so many Taylor Swift narratives. Swift’s career, particularly her early career, has been defined by a series of conflicts and feuds with other celebrities, with Swift inevitably using her music to frame herself as a victim. The actual narratives of these feuds are often complicated and ambiguous, but Swift positions herself as somebody who is often betrayed or undervalued, and who dares to speak out against figures like Kanye West, Kim Kardashian, and Katy Perry.

This, more than anything else, is the framework in which those famous break-up songs sit. Swift’s love songs are often stories about how she is swept in passion and excitement, only to inevitably end up abandoned and betrayed by these selfish and flawed men. The albums and songs themselves, which are often decoded by fans and used to subject these men to incredible scrutiny over consensual relationships, can be seen as Swift’s righteous revenge against those who wronged her.

The essential part of this narrative is that Swift is confronted with a challenge or a betrayal or a setback, and she overcomes it. Not only does Swift avoid defeat, she emerges stronger. Swift’s friends might go to the mall without her, but Swift counters that by going to a better mall. These men might fail to live up to the trust that she has placed in them, but she’ll use the experience as a way to power her fame and fortune. It’s a narrative that relies on Swift positioning herself as an underdog, and then effectively flipping the tables on her betrayers.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with this. To her credit, Swift has used this to advance feminist causes and artists’ rights. When radio host David Mueller groped her after an interview, she took him to court over the issue to demonstrate that such behavior could not be tolerated. When producer Scooter Braun sold her old masters without her consent, Swift responded by committing to re-recording all of her old albums, turning the betrayal into a celebration of her ownership of her music.

However, the problem with being an underdog is that it requires an adversary who occupies a more advantageous position. Swift’s righteous anger needs to be directed at somebody. For that classic narrative structure to work, she – and her fans – need a challenge that they can overcome in order to sell the triumphant climax. It’s very hard to be the underdog when you own two private jets. It’s difficult to feel betrayed by your friends going to the mall without you when you can shut down the mall.

To be clear, there are undoubtedly constructive ways that Swift could harness this righteous anger and sense of frustration. In recent years, Swift has become increasingly politically conscious, and it seems to have had little impact on her fame and popularity. In recent years, women have seen their rights attacked and eroded in contemporary American culture. Swift’s audience undoubtedly connects with the anxieties about attempts to control their bodily autonomy.

Instead, there is something petty about Swift’s anger on The Tortured Poets Department, in which she appears to bristle at public criticism of her relationship with Matty Healy, given his provocative public statements. There’s a certain “woe is me” tone to the album, with Swift lamenting at one point, “I’m miserable, and no one even knows!” She goads listeners, “Try and come for my job.” There’s a sense in which Swift knows she is triumphant, but retains the same stance of victimhood.

It's hard not to listen to these songs and think about that backlash from Swift’s fans against her critics. It seems like it has internalized the same basic logic that underpins so much of Swift’s work. Swift is perhaps the most famous and successful celebrity on the planet, but that fame is built around the same core narrative. In this case, criticism of Swift’s music represents a betrayal of her mythology, and it demands righteous retribution. Swift has been wronged, and that must be righted.

It’s a very interesting dynamic, and it folds the narrative of Swift’s work into the broader fandom of her public persona. Swift is a storyteller, and every story needs a villain to be vanquished. In this case, it’s critics.