My life is measured in Taylor Swift eras. Some of my earliest childhood memories are coordinating sleepover dance routines to “Love Story” and wondering who that mean brunette girl was in the “You Belong With Me” music video. Every day of 7th grade, I floated on a somewhat overpowering cloud of Wonderstruck perfume (although it definitely did not cost that much back then, so let me go find my bottle and make a small fortune). On my Bat Mitzvah, my first action as a woman in the eyes of Judaism was noshing on pigs in a blanket at — you guessed it — a Taylor Swift-themed table. And in a way, my entire high school career was just a really long Taylor Swift playlist: I queued “Fifteen” on the first day of freshman year and blasted “22” post-graduation.
But among her kaleidoscope of musical genres and signature haircuts, there is one Taylor Swift era that irrevocably altered the course of my adolescence: 1989. While I had always liked casually singing along to Taylor’s songs, 1989 was a cultural reset. That album didn’t just revamp the world of pop music as we knew it, but it literally reinvented 11-year-old me. Like, I’m pretty sure Taylor stabbing that cake in the “Blank Space” music video was the moment I gained consciousness.
In short, I was a born again believer: I became a Swiftie. I breathed “Style,” bled “Bad Blood” and dreamed “Wildest Dreams.” 1989 was the first time I felt myself developing a music taste of my own. I began to feel like I was mature enough to speak up about what I liked and didn’t, even if it was something as small as switching the radio station to “Out of the Woods.”
But it wasn’t just about the music: I dreamed about one day living a life as glamorous as Taylor Swift. From her Fourth of July bashes to her supermodel squad, Taylor led a seemingly perfect existence that I couldn’t even fathom. After all, I was just an awkward tweenager: what could I possibly have known about girls’ nights out and whirlwind romances beneath the sparkling New York City skyline? Listening to 1989 was my escape into Taylor’s magical twenty-something world, like trying on my mom’s high heels and pretending Ross Lynch was taking me to imaginary prom.
Nearly a decade later, and I’m still not able to shake off that album. 1989 (Taylor’s Version) is out now and it’s safe to say that I am in love all over again. Like the other (Taylor’s Version) re-recordings, I have loved getting to listen to all of my old favorite songs as if they were brand new again. But because this particular album holds a special place in my heart, I have found myself listening to 1989 from a new perspective.
For one, I am finally able to resonate with the topics Taylor sings about in the album. As a recent twenty-something girl, my favorite 1989 tracks have taken on entirely new meanings. The lyrics are no longer just catchy refrains: they are reminders of things I have experienced in my own life. I remember wishing for the day I could relate to “New Romantics.” Then suddenly, I was in college and living with my best friends, screaming along to the words together while getting ready for Halloweekend.
And don’t even get me started on the vault tracks — I definitely needed those nine years to truly understand that “Is It Over Now?” 1989 (Taylor’s Version) really is the gift that keeps on giving: it’s a time capsule for all of the fans who have grown up with Taylor. It’s just as nostalgic as it is currently relevant.
Even more, I am so glad that Taylor gets to relive this era happier and healthier. While I originally thought Taylor had it all figured out in 2014, I was surprised to discover that the 1989 era was actually a difficult period in Taylor’s life. As she revealed in her documentary Miss Americana, Taylor struggled with an eating disorder and often performed to the point of physical and mental exhaustion during the 1989 World Tour.
The 1989 World Tour was my very first concert. I remember being absolutely awestruck by all the glitzy outfits and amazing vocal performances. That concert still shines as one of my happiest memories; however, I can’t help but feel sad to know now that Taylor’s onstage cheerfulness was twinged by the hidden pain she experienced backstage.
Now that Taylor has made peace with her self-image since the original 1989 era, I cannot help but feel grateful for her vulnerability. As one of the most publicly scrutinized celebrities of my generation (see National Snake Day if you weren’t fighting during the Rep era like me), Taylor’s decision to go public with her eating disorder likely wasn’t an easy one. For all the girls who had idolized Taylor during that time, would they feel betrayed to know that the image they looked up to was not one that was physically sustainable?
But just as she was able to reclaim ownership of her music, Taylor triumphantly regains autonomy over herself through the power of self-love: it genuinely warms my heart to know that all the current 11-year-olds finding Taylor for the first time with 1989 (Taylor’s Version) will be welcomed by not just masterful pop production and endlessly-quotable lyrics, but by a message to love yourself just the way you are.