You don’t have to have attended Taylor Swift’s Eras tour yourself to be aware of it. After 18 months, it has become an inescapable international juggernaut, with documented effects on economies, infrastructure and policy. Perhaps the closest historical parallel is the Great Exhibition of 1851 – except, while that promised “the works of industry of all nations”, this spectacle showcases only those of Taylor Alison Swift.
That this phenomenon boils down to just one woman is staggering, a reflection of both Swift’s once-in-a-generation talent and the direct relationship she has forged with her fans. I started listening to her in 2011, sucked in by the girlish fantasy of Love Story, and never looked back. Many of my closest friendships were built on a shared appreciation: proof of the virtuous cycle started by Swift’s honest expression and vulnerability.
At the same time, I’ve never felt so alienated by my favourite artist. This year I have felt not so much a Swiftie as a conscript, roped into some broader project of streaming, spending and posting so as to cement and grow her cultural dominance – though it’s hard to imagine who, now, could possibly dislodge her.
Barclays estimated that the average Eras tour attender spent nearly £850 on tickets, travel, accommodation and expenses, including £79 on official merchandise. More than one city playing host to the tour has been renamed in her honour. The Beatles joked about being bigger than Jesus, but Swift really is bigger than music. She is spoken about in terms more commonly used for land masses, like GDP or earthquake magnitude.
The cultural tide behind Swift is so sweeping and powerful that I’ve struggled to hang on to my fandom, and the personal relationship to her music that’s always underpinned it. This may sound like I’m holding Swift’s success against her, that I liked her better before she got big (though, it bears repeating, no pop star has ever been this big). But I’ve been perturbed by signs that Swift is not just being overexposed, but actively tightening her grip on the spotlight.
Eras is already the highest grossing tour in history, generating $1bn last year and a further $261m from the concert film in cinemas. Yet Swift hasn’t stopped hustling, even after more than 100 sold-out shows.
Earlier this year, her email subscribers were offered the chance to “win the opportunity to buy” tickets (at £160 a pop) in exchange for buying her new album, The Tortured Poets Department. That arrived with a surprise second disc (of largely forgettable songs), and was followed by multiple variants, each sold separately: hard to parse as anything other than a bid to secure streaming dominance. When Swift announced a UK-specific release of yet more album offcuts, it was widely perceived as an attempt to stop Charli XCX knocking her down the albums chart.
Swift is the biggest celebrity in the world and a billionaire, on track to make $2bn by Eras’ end. The suggestion that she is somehow dissatisfied or threatened is offputting, and raises very human questions about her motivation. Even five-star reviews of the tour have wondered about Swift’s endgame, where she possibly goes from here.
I saw the show in Edinburgh, with a big group of friends: a night I’ll never forget. But more than with Swift’s previous tours, it seemed devised to impress upon you her indomitability, inviting you to marvel at the extent of her back catalogue and her superhuman stamina. In one song, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart, she openly goads the audience, telling them that she could be “so miserable” right now and they wouldn’t be able to tell.
From the crowd, I found it a strange moment: a star openly admitting to sometimes finding performing intolerable, yet still putting herself through it for consecutive nights for two entire years. It is telling that even other A-list performers seem to be looking askance at Swift: Billie Eilish described three-hour shows as “literally psychotic”, while Lana Del Rey, asked to account for Swift’s success, responded that she “wants it more than anyone”.
But without any more insight into what is driving her, you’re left to assume it’s just money, or maybe revenge. Neither makes me feel more connected to her as an artist. Her songwriting may be personal, but seeing Swift perform I felt as though I was being engaged in a brand activation by a global behemoth like Nike or Apple, delivering focus-group-tested excellence. Even the friendship bracelets being hawked seemed less like a groundswell of fan camaraderie than brisk, industrial trade.
My uneasy feelings were later articulated by the culture writer Jonah Weiner, describing the insidious “co-opting of ‘community’ into a sales strategy”. Weiner was talking about luxury fashion brands, and the exploitation we are willing to overlook to feel part of a club. But his point about how our human desire for connection and belonging is hijacked and reduced by corporate interests seemed to me an apt description of the Eras tour, the economy that’s sprung up around it and our enthusiasm to participate in it.
The show’s supposed community is built on a basis of economic productivity; like a queue for a new Apple product or a sneaker, it “contains the possibility for meaningful interpersonal connection only in spite of itself,” Weiner writes. Not only that, it is actively at odds with building relationships and communities that might nourish us for the long term. Note how political signage isn’t permitted at Eras shows, and how criticism of Swift’s private jet usage has taken a backseat to the collective excitement.
I don’t mean to diminish the pleasure that millions of people have taken from the show, or the friendships they have forged through Swift fandom. But I wonder if, in the overwhelming attention on the Eras tour, other sources of community, connection and belonging – ones that don’t further line a billionaire’s pockets – have been overlooked. What will remain of them when the Taylor show moves on?
Elle Hunt is a freelance journalist
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