Warning: this article discusses eating disorders.
I’ve been a fan of Taylor Swift for long enough now that I don’t think I could ever entirely separate my love of her music even if I wanted to. Her songs are so tied up in me, have done so much to help build me into the person I am today, that I don’t know who I would be without her. I first heard Love Story when I was eleven years old. That’s half my life marked by the presence of Taylor Swift.
In recent years, I’ve tried to pull back from this somewhat. The older I get, the more I realise how flawed stan culture is, and the more I know that I need to have an identity outside of the media I consume. Loving Taylor Swift’s music can be a part of who I am, but it can’t be my entire personality.
I like to think that I do a good job of this. But there are moments in my life defined by her songs, both good and bad: singing Our Song in the car with my friends, falling in love to Delicate, getting my heart broken to Dear John, getting Blank Space banned from the school radio show because we played it too much, having to be the heartbreaker to Breathe. Try as I might to move on, Taylor Swift has impacted so much of my life, and continues to do so. Every time I think I’m free, she pulls me back in.
The most recent example of this is the documentary film, Miss Americana. Directed by Lana Wilson, the film follows Taylor over the course of several years, from her absence following the events of 2016, to the Reputation Stadium Tour, to the making of her newest album, Lover. Given that the reputation era was defined by the phrase “there will be no explanation, there will just be reputation,” and featured no interviews or song explanations, it was the most honest look we’ve had of Taylor in years. Perhaps the most honest look we’ve ever had of her.
I could break down every part of the film if I wanted to, discuss the various bits that made me cry over my IT: Chapter Two inspired milkshake. Although I don’t think that we can ever truly know celebrities, that the image of themselves that they put out is always manufactured in some way, I found Miss Americana to be genuine, heartwarming, and touching.
There’s a moment where Taylor talks about how her biggest goal in life used to be being seen as good. Being loved by everyone, being exactly who they wanted her to be. That she built her entire sense of self worth on how much the general public liked her, how many awards she received, the amount of people who applauded her when she performed.
She then goes on to talk about how she realised how unhealthy this is. That there’s nothing to be gained from forcing yourself to be who others want you to be, because that is constantly changing. Taylor, who admits that she was stuck at 16 for so long and is still catching up even now, has realised that working on yourself is much better than working on yourself for others.
Because here’s the thing that so many of us (including Taylor for a long time) have trouble admitting: being a good person does take work. We all like to think that we’re inherently good and kind and smart and polite, but it’s an effort. It’s a choice we have to make. It does require self reflection, and it requires putting the work in. You can do surface level actions that make you seem like a good person to those around you, but being actually Good isn’t as easy as that. Being a Good Person is something you have to choose to do, and often, others don’t notice and reward you for it.
But it’s always, always, worth it.
There’s a section in Miss Americana where Taylor talks about her struggles with an eating disorder. That she’d see photos of herself and feel as if her stomach was too big, or people would think she was pregnant, and she’d feel the need to starve herself. That she thought it was normal to feel like she was going to pass out in the middle of concerts. That she’d defend her actions to anyone who asked, insisting that she was fine, lying about the fact she wasn’t eating.
Like Taylor, I also have an eating disorder. This was a very surprising thing for me to be told by a doctor, despite the fact that I’d been alternating between bingeing and fasting for years. Was it not normal, I thought, to overeat one day and then starve yourself for the next three? Don’t we all do that? Isn’t that just a healthy way of spacing out your calories? Like Taylor, I’d think my stomach was too big and feel a need to starve myself. I thought it was normal to feel like I was going to pass out when I got home from work. I’d insist I was fine if anyone commented on sudden drops in weight or notice me picking at my lunch.
“I don’t think you know you’re doing that when you’re doing it gradually…You don’t ever say to yourself, “Look, I’ve got an eating disorder,” but you know you’re like, making a list of everything you put in your mouth that day, and you know that’s probably not right, but then again, there’s so many diet blogs that tell you that that that’s what you should do.”
- Taylor Swift, Miss Americana
My eating disorder started when I began an intermittent fasting diet that quickly progressed to me going through a constant cycle of bingeing and then fasting. All too aware of the calories I consumed on my binge days, I’d restrict myself for the next few. I counted black coffee and sticks of gums as strikes against myself, was aware of every bite of an apple I took, would drink nothing but a bottle of Diet Pepsi a day in an attempt to convince my body it was full. I was sick constantly, was plagued with headaches, unable to focus, would feel weak walking down the stairs, and spent afternoons napping. But I told myself that this was all okay, because everyone kept telling me how good I looked, asking if I lost weight, complimenting the skirts that I fit into because I barely ate the week before.
Like, Taylor, I thought this was all normal, and it was all worth it. And it wasn’t until I was sitting in a hard plastic chair in a too white room, being told by a healthcare professional that none of that was good, that I realised that it wasn’t normal.
After watching Miss Americana, I went out and got some fries. I could still taste the strawberry syrup from my alcoholic milkshake on my lips. Later that night, I had a cookie. And I got home, and I thought to myself that I was disgusting, that I didn’t deserve to eat, the little calculator in my head working overtime. Yet, even as this was going on, another part of my brain was trying to tell me that I didn’t have an eating disorder at all.
Taylor Swift isn’t the first person to publicly address her experiences with an eating disorder. But watching someone I have looked up to for years talk about going through something similar to me, watching as she talked about coming to the realisation that that wasn’t okay, that it’s better to feel fat than it is to be sick, tugged at my heart. Made me feel understood, and seen, and loved — all things my eating disorder regularly tries to convince me that I am not.
Taylor Swift is not a perfect human being (although, really, are any of us?), and I don’t think we’ll ever know who she is behind the glamour and celebrity that surrounds her life. She has an image to sell, but she also wants her privacy, and I can accept that she’s a flawed human being that I’ll only ever see parts of.
But I can’t help but continue to love a lot of the parts of her that I do see, even the ones that aren’t as pretty.
I’m aware that I shouldn’t base my happiness on someone I do not know, just as Taylor is aware she shouldn’t base her happiness on the approval of people like me. And yet, Miss Americana shows me that although there are parts to Taylor’s life I will never understand or experience, she always manages to show enough of herself to make me feel a connection.
And I think, that as a storyteller, that’s all she ever really wants.
