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The year is 2007. I’m in the car with my cousin Stephanie when an unfamiliar voice comes over the radio. Stephanie exclaims and turns up the volume. “Have you heard Taylor Swift’s music yet?” She asks, “You’ll love her. She reminds me so much of you.” Stephanie explains that Taylor Swift and I are the same age; we both have curly hair and a penchant for writing. But she doesn’t have to sell me. As I listen to this teenage girl singing about her broken heart, I’ve already fallen in love.
We grew up together, Taylor Swift and I. She got me through my first heartbreak, and I even forgave her for straightening her hair. I loved her music, even when I stopped relating to it. When Swift dropped “22” in 2012, I was a married mother of a one-year-old little girl and heavily pregnant with another. And yet, I sang-shouted about falling in love with strangers and eating breakfast at midnight at the top of my lungs because Taylor Swift still made me feel 22, and I loved her for it.
I saw Taylor Swift on the Eras Tour, and I had to make some difficult budgeting decisions to make it work, but now that the tour is coming to theaters, I’m glad I did.
Unimpressed with “Reputation” and a couple of tracks on the “Lover” album, my fandom didn’t cease, but it faded a bit. It came roaring back to life when Taylor Swift released “Folklore,” though. My kids begged me to stop playing the album on a loop, but I couldn’t. It was the only thing getting me through the pandemic.
Then, Swift announced the Eras Tour, and the tickets would serendipitously go on sale two days before my birthday. I informed my husband this would be my birthday present, strapped on my helmet and entered the battle remembered by history as the Taylor Swift-Ticketmaster fiasco.
I waited in a virtual line on Ticketmaster for seven hours. When it was finally my turn, I learned that tickets were already scarce, very expensive, and I had less than ten minutes to make up my mind.
I bought two tickets. As the mother of two tween girls, I felt a pang of guilt. But my daughters, despite my best attempts at brainwashing and my 10-year-old’s more-than-passing resemblance to Taylor Swift herself, weren’t really fans. Not to mention, my husband wanted to come, and what about my 7-year-old son, who had no interest but would hate getting left out? We simply didn’t have that kind of money.
However, as the Eras Tour went from being an exciting moment for Swifties everywhere to the hottest tickets of the decade, my daughters began changing their tune. It probably helped that I finally stopped looping “Folklore” and branched out to Swift’s other hits. But it was too late. I’d already purchased the tickets, and even if we had the fortune necessary to buy more on resale, they wouldn’t have been next to one another, which is kind of a deal breaker when you have three kids.
So, I patiently listened to my daughters’ daily lists of friends whose parents hadn’t selfishly bought tickets only for themselves, I lined up a sitter, and then I attended the best concert of my life. It was the experience of a lifetime, but because my daughters had missed it, I felt cheap.
My daughters forgave me, but they wistfully asked that if Taylor Swift ever went on tour again, I’d get them tickets. Of course, I promised them I would, but I felt terrible.
And then Swift announced her “Eras Tour” concert movie. I was purchasing tickets within seconds of hearing the news. Here it was — redemption.
Is a movie the same as a concert? No. But thankfully, the ticket prices reflect that. I no longer feel bad for not spending $500 on tickets for my 10- and 12-year-olds. Already a free-range-style parent, I see nothing wrong with letting kids tough it out now and then and getting them used to being told “no” or asked, “Are you paying for it?”
Movie tickets were the perfect way to include my daughters in this magic I’ve taught them to love without breaking the bank. Because let’s face it — they don’t have a lifelong, parasocial relationship with Taylor Swift to honor. They won’t cry during “Lover” because they remember how it feels to be young and in love and playing house with their best friend.
But they’ll dance to “Shake It Off,” sing every word to “Anti-Hero,” exchange friendship bracelets, and someday, they’ll get to attend the concert of their own favorite musicians, whoever they turn out to be. Maybe they’ll invite their mom; more likely, they won’t. And that’ll be okay, because I’ll probably be more interested in rewatching the “Eras Tour” movie for the 300th time anyway.
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