As a self-evidently gay man, I’ve generally been spared the awkwardness of coming out. That was, until I became a Swiftie. In recent years I have become adept at gauging the temperature of a room before revealing my predilection. Is this a safe space? Will I be sidelined or treated as a pervert because of who I choose to love? Should I lie, or just be evasive? I want to live authentically, but at what cost?
Taylor Swift is at once the closest thing we have to a monoculture and the most divisive pop star of modern times. As a self-identified Swiftie, I believe her gift lies in the ability to take hyper-specific experiences and render them universal. I’ve never performed a 149-date world tour while reeling from the heartbreak of having been ghosted by Matty Healy of the 1975, but listening to I Can Do It With a Broken Heart, her song about that indignity, has helped me put on a brave face when faced by life’s more quotidian challenges. By writing a 10-minute epic about her three-month fling with Jake Gyllenhaal, Taylor gives fans space to mourn our own failed situationships or private disappointments – however fleeting or insignificant they may appear to others.
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