"As a 20-something-year-old male, what's your deal with Taylor Swift?"

I get this question a lot: “how did you become such a big fan of Taylor Swift?”

It’s an interesting question. And I think the answer has a lot of parts. Is it because her music is really catchy? Is it because she’s a master of her own brand presence? Is it because she does a lot of philanthropic stuff? Is it because she puts on an amazing show? Is it because she knows how to write in an extremely relatable manner in which I aspire to achieve someday?

Certainly, yes, to all of the above.

But if I think really hard about it and had to choose one single compelling reason why and how I became such an ardent fan of Taylor Swift—the person, musician, and brand—it’s simply this: someone once told me it wasn’t that cool to be a fan of Taylor Swift.

A picture that my cousin took from her seat at #RepTourSantaClara. If you tell me this isn’t cool, you’re delusional.

If there’s anything you’ll quickly learn about me, it’s that I’m absolutely shameless about who I am as a person. I think that stems from a rebellion against years of awkwardness and insecurity about whether or not I was “cool” and “likable,” as anyone who was once a teenager will tell you was the case. I spent a lot of time trying to fit into a bunch of different social niches, never really finding that I had much longevity in any of them. I tried to unilaterally identify as a bunch of different things at a bunch of different times, and it just made me feel like I never really belonged. So then I tried to identify as “different and unique,” which, as you know, every teenager thinks they are.

It took me some time, but eventually, I stopped trying to identify myself. Ironically, when that happened, I started actually having a personality, and people started identifying me as certain things. When I started to just like things because I liked them (and not because I was socially expected to like certain things), I started to find out that I belonged to a bunch of different social groups in a bunch of different ways—and the ways that I didn’t identify with them did make me unique. Finding out how to be me for me has probably been the most grown-up shit I’ve ever done, to date.

To put it plainly: I don’t give a fuck what you think I should like or why I should like it.

Learning how to not be embarrassed about the things I enjoy was hard. Which is why when the person who introduced me to Taylor Swift fandom shied away from associating with the fandom, I may have taken it as a challenge to everything I stood for at the time—what do you mean it’s not cool to like what you like? Fuck that.

Big reputation, big reputation / ooh, you and me, we got big reputations

I like to think that behind the social rebellion also lies a more noble cause. It got me thinking about how I’m the oldest cousin in a long line of cousins and siblings—many of whom are 20 years younger than I am. It got me thinking about how young kids are bullied out of liking things they like every day. It got me thinking about how conformity to social norms is how young kids develop self-esteem issues, and as the pioneer of my familial generation, I was in a position of responsibility to show them that you didn’t have to be ashamed of liking what you like—Taylor Swift just happened to be the most socially jarring thing I could put at the epicenter of my personality to prove that point. Little did I know how much of a feedback loop I’d gotten myself into.

As the years went on, I found myself not just liking Taylor as an anti-establishment statement (after all, what’s more Punk Rock than liking shit no matter what people say about you?)—I started to realize that I really liked what she did as a person. In short time, I began to consume more and more media about Taylor, and the more I consumed, the more existential I would get about my relationship with the Taylor Swift brand. Like me, she went through rapid changes in identity, always choosing to exist in a place that felt “right” to her. She’s far from perfect, and she knows it, but she’s not ashamed of her flaws and mistakes—choosing instead to grow from them as an artist and person, and wearing that person on her sleeve at all times. Perhaps most admirably, for me: she has been at the center of public scrutiny and attention since she was a teenager—a time where most people would buckle under the social pressure, dissolving into a congealed puddle of shame and self-destruction. Taylor has always (at least outwardly) tried to be true to herself, which aligns perfectly with who I want to be, to this day.

It’s who I want my cousins—and eventually, children—to see me as. Because I never want them to be ashamed of who they are or what they love.

Haters gonna hate, so shake it off.

Conclusion:
I like Taylor Swift because I’m allowed to like Taylor Swift. Despite what tabloids or otherwise would have you believe (get the fuck out of people’s personal lives, you creeps), I genuinely think that Taylor is a terrific person, and that she—like everyone—is growing and learning bit by bit as she goes along; it just happens that she’s doing it on a global stage, a la The Truman Show.

Taylor has done incredible things for people, and whether or not you’re a cold, jaded, unfeeling monster who thinks that it’s all a constant publicity stunt, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s done good and inspired goodness because of it. And like Diane said in Season 1, Episode 12 of Bojack Horseman, “I don't think I believe in deep down. I kind of think all you are is just the things that you do.”

Well, I want to be a fan of Taylor Swift.

This show is written so painfully well.

Why I think "All Too Well" resonates with Swifties

I walked through the door with you, the air was cold,
But something 'bout it felt like home somehow and I
Left my scarf there at your sister's house,
And you still got it in your drawer even now.

It’s been years since Taylor Swift penned All Too Well into the minds and hearts of Swifties everywhere, yet two eras later (at the time of this writing), it’s still the song that gets her fans sobbing uncontrollably while shouting the lyrics at the tops of their lungs. Being in a sea of ugly criers as Taylor deftly navigates the entire dynamic spectrum of vocal prowess—from what feels like an intimate whisper, to a rueful exclamation—is perhaps one of the more awe-striking things I’ve ever experienced at a concert, vicariously or otherwise. It’s always fascinated me as to why and how All Too Well became the singer-songwriter’s unofficial fandom anthem, but I think hidden in the answer to the song’s success lies the greater allegory of why Taylor Swift, herself, has endured as such a treasure to her fandom—snake emojis be damned.

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze.
We're singing in the car, getting lost upstate.
The Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place,
And I can picture it after all these days.

When you look at the lyrics of All Too Well, one thing is obvious: this is a very specific vignette about Taylor’s life. There’s no pretention, here. Taylor is putting her own agony on display—something over which I imagine most record labels would find apprehension. “It’s not relatable! How will fans sing along to something so specifically not about them?” Yet to this day, All Too Well is one of the most participated-in songs at her concerts. It’s not a single. It’s not even an up-beat song. So what’s the deal? Why is it the loudest song at every show if it’s so “unrelatable”? I think it’s because it’s not trying to be.

And I know it's long gone,
And that magic's not here no more,
And I might be okay,
But I'm not fine at all.

'Cause there we are again on that little town street.
You almost ran the red 'cause you were looking over me.
Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well.

No matter what you think about Taylor Swift, she is adept at making her fan base feel like they’re more than just her fans—she makes them feel like they’re her friends. And if you think about your friends, I absolutely guarantee that you’ve been there to commiserate with them about a traumatic event in their lives. Taylor even said in an NPR interview that “people have essentially gotten to read [her] diary for the last 10 years. [She] still [writes] personal songs, and sometimes people like to put a very irritating, negative, spin on that—as if [she’s] oversharing; as if it's too much information—when this has been the way [she’s] lived [her] life and run [her] career the entire time. So [she does] think it's really important that [she continues] to give people an insight into what [her] life is actually like, even though it comes at a higher cost now.” And that’s what friends do—they share their lives with you. All Too Well is a snapshot of Taylor’s life. As her “friends,” we sympathize with her, and we want her to feel loved and validated, so we do that in the only way we really know how: we sing along. Loudly.

Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red.
You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-size bed
And your mother's telling stories about you on a tee ball team
You tell me 'bout your past, thinking your future was me.

And I know it's long gone
And there was nothing else I could do
And I forget about you long enough
To forget why I needed to

That being said, I believe that All Too Well (and, frankly, Taylor’s entire catalog) is far more relatable than people give it credit. Think about a really good movie you saw recently. Now, think about the plot of that movie and ask yourself, “is this relatable to me?” Chances are that maybe you relate to the protagonist of a story, but I bet you don’t relate to the specific story—very few of us are billionaire superheroes, but we wrestle with complex ethics and morals daily, so Batman and Iron Man feel relatable to us. Taylor Swift has done to her music what filmmakers have been doing to their movies throughout all of time: craft a sympathetic protagonist.

Is Taylor Swift a perfect paragon of relatability and innocence? No, probably not. But what interesting character (or human being, for that matter) is? Batman is mired in the complexities of living a dual life; Iron Man is often the victim of his own hubris (ahem snake emoji ahem). Music that is perfectly agnostic and interchangeable between the artist performing it and the listeners consuming it is fine and dandy. But the satisfaction behind that can be superficial and ephemeral. We crave elaborate narratives because the drama is intriguing, and that intrigue has longevity.

'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night.
We dance around the kitchen in the refrigerator light
Down the stairs, I was there, I remember it all too well, yeah.

Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much,
And maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up.
Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well.

Okay, so we understand that from a relatability standpoint, Taylor’s music is relatable in an evolved way past being cut-and-paste stories into which we can substitute ourselves. But what about musically? Sonically, Taylor Swift’s music falls squarely in the category of four-chord pop. On the surface, All Too Well is about as simple as it gets. For the musically inclined, it doesn’t stray from the I–V–vi–IV progression once. But there’s something else incredibly interesting about it that satiates the hunger for variety, and that’s its lyrics.

Hey, you call me up again just to break me like a promise.
So casually cruel in the name of being honest.
I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here
'Cause I remember it all, all, all too well.

If you listen to the song, you’ll notice that it’s missing something fairly integral to most pop music on the airwaves today, and that’s a chorus. As Bo Burnham eloquently put it, “America says we love a chorus / But don't get complicated and bore us / Though meaning might be missin' / We need to know the words after just one listen / So repeat stuff.”

All Too Well’s only repeated lyric is “I remember it all too well,” which is preceded by what could be interpreted as a chorus, but lyrically and melodically, each of those sections is distinct from another—so it’s not a chorus. All Too Well is five minutes and twenty-eight seconds of pure storytelling—no filler, and we. are. FED!

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it
I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it
After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own
Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone

But you keep my old scarf from that very first week
'Cause it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me
You can't get rid of it, 'cause you remember it all too well, yeah

'Cause there we are again, when I loved you so
Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known
It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all
Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all
It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well.

Conclusion:
Taylor Swift’s All Too Well is pop music’s shining beacon of what a melancholy ballad should aspire to be. It follows the sonic conventions of successful pop music while providing the narrative satisfaction of great cinema and evoking a multi-dimensional sense of social connection (to Taylor and other Swifties). Whether or not you like Taylor Swift’s music, it is undeniable that she is a master of her craft, and that as long as she keeps writing songs that are authentic to her experience, her fans will unwaveringly stand right beside her.

And I think she knows that all, all, all too well.