I was a 16-year-old high school student in Jakarta, Indonesia. Taylor Swift had just released 1989. I was sitting on a bus on a school trip. I pressed the play button on my iPod touch and the first track, Welcome to New York, started blaring through my wired earphones. The track was full of energy, which was further amplified by the first few lines:
Everybody here wanted somethin’ more. Searchin’ for a sound we hadn’t heard before.
My perceptions of the world were often dictated by America, even when I was as young as 7. Every time Mattel released a new Barbie movie, I would patiently wait for my local toy store to stock the dolls, so I could play with my favourite characters. However, I grew older and grew out of my Barbie dreamhouse. And then I discovered the internet.
I was devoted to the Western culture, and with all the power vested in my teenage self, I showed my love for America by begging my dad to buy me the latest editions of Bop and Tiger Beat magazines – a monthly entertainment magazine for teenagers aged 13 and above published by Laufer Media – every time we went to a bookstore that imported from American and British publishers. Growing up, I often felt suffocated by the expectations set by the Chinese Indonesian community. The adults would always tell me to be a good student so I could go to a good university, get a decent job, marry a good Chinese husband, build a family, and bring honour to my family – preferably before I turn 30. However, for 4.99 USD, I was able to imagine life as a pretty girl living in Los Angeles. All I wanted to do was sip Slurpees mixed with alcohol, dressed in the latest Forever 21 catalogue, and fall in love with a Californian boy at a 7-11 parking lot. My dad had always found my obsession ridiculous. ‘Stick to your fellow yellow-skinned people,’ he said. I thought he was ridiculous. And then I discovered Taylor Swift.
I barely had any romantic interaction with boys throughout my adolescent years, but I listened to Taylor’s songs religiously because she allowed me to fantasise about the life I could’ve had if I was a pretty girl. Style may be a radio song for a lot of people. But for me? Style always brings me back to my living room in Jakarta in December 2014. My sister and I were watching the Victoria’s Secret fashion show on TV. My dad was dying from cancer at the hospital and my mum was busy nursing him. Taylor was performing Style next to household supermodels like Alessandra Ambrosio, Behati Prinsloo, and Lily Aldrige. Watching the fashion show gave me a little hope. I thought, Maybe someday I can be a model, and everything will feel okay again.
After high school, I continued my studies in Singapore. I stopped listening to Taylor. At some point, I realised that I was never a damsel in distress and I would never be a damsel in distress. I wasn’t a very good student, but I went to a well-known college in the country, so maybe I could get a decent job after graduation. I started dating a Chinese Singaporean boy who wanted to build a family someday. For once, I had hope of bringing honour to my family. But that 13-year-old girl was still searching for a new sound, realising some bigger dreams of hers, yearning for a life in a big old city.
After living in Singapore for 4 years, I moved to Melbourne to continue my studies. Melbourne is not America, but I like to think it’s a watered-down version of New York – a melting pot of people from different parts of the world searching for a better life. I once met a girl from Adelaide who drove 72 km to Melbourne after her marriage blew up. ‘Everyone in Melbourne is a little bit broken,’ she said. Two years later, I broke up with my Singaporean boyfriend. If it weren’t for the pandemic, the cracks in our relationship would’ve split open a lot sooner. I said my goodbye over a phone call and dived headfirst into the dating pool in Melbourne. I quickly learned that being a damsel in distress is a choice.
However, the lavender haze of the first dates quickly evaporated. I didn’t realise how lonely I had been, and somehow, I expected these men to hang out with me and help me discover new things in Melbourne. I remember talking to a musician on Bumble, and he invited me to a music gig in Collingwood on a Saturday night. I dressed up and showed up at his place for pre-drink. We drank wine and chatted, and then he moved it to the bedroom. After we finished, he said, ‘I’ll drive you back to your place.’ I didn’t argue. During the ride, I found out he just separated from his partner of 8 years. ‘Did you think you were gonna marry her?’ I teased him. 'I was married,’ he said after a pause. Half an hour later, I was on my bedroom floor, crying my heart out all night long.
Cracks started emerging in my bubble in Melbourne, and it split open when a Caucasian man threw a glass bottle at my Indonesian friend and me as we waited for tram 96 at the stop across Carlton Gardens. We convinced ourselves that he was under the influence. No, no, no, he was just cooked, it’s not the way we look. Perhaps my dad was right. Perhaps people back home were right. The American dream was never built for girls who look like me. I was only 25, and what did I know about the world? Nothing. Because instead of reflecting on my life, I ran away to Spain.
When Taylor dropped Midnights on Spotify, it was nearly midnight in Melbourne. I was sitting at the boarding gate at Tullamarine Airport, nervously glancing out the window as the November sky flashed with thunder, waiting for all the tracks to download so I could listen to them during my flight to Spain. Anti-hero may be a radio song for a lot of people. But for me? It brings me back to the alleyways of Barcelona, surrounded by houses with pretty windows and balconies. Street musicians with their guitars in different corners, all of whom calling for a lover named Maria. Meanwhile, I was calling for a lover named Miguel. I always imagined bumping into him in an old bookshop, with an old grey cat perched on top of an old shelf and an old lady who spoke zero English behind the counter. He would offer to help translate after hearing my terrible attempt at Spanish. He would be fascinated with my penchant for vintage photographs. He would be mesmerised when he learned that I loved the classic flamenco song, Catalina. When he took off his gold-rimmed glasses, I would look deeply into his hazel eyes. We would dance in the rain, down the streets paved with bricks, our feet treading lightly on the Catalan flowers carved into the pavement beneath.
I guess I’ve never grown out of my Barbie dreamhouse. But I can be delusional for a little longer because bad things don’t happen to pretty girls, right? We’re not supposed to be the hero. Or, if bad things do happen, perhaps I can write a poem about it.
Taylor’s music offers me comfort. It’s like slipping into a pair of pyjama pants that I’ve owned for 10 years. However, when I have someone over, the very same pants go into the deepest corner of my drawer because it is far too intimate to share with others. I feel ashamed to like Taylor Swift because I’m ashamed to admit that I just want to be a pretty girl and fall in love. A lot of people have always considered me an alternative person, somebody who spends too much time in Brunswick. During a work Christmas party, a co-worker pointed it out, believing that my quirky outfits were a reflection of my music choices. I was tempted to show her my Spotify Wrapped. I do wonder if people like to stay underground to feel more powerful; because it means they’re not dictated by the mainstream. Resisting the norms feels more dangerous. But also, there’s power in being a girl in love. Love, love is the most primal aspect of human beings, and have we not started wars or resistances in the name of love?
The Eras Tour is estimated to surpass the $1 Billion mark in revenue in 2024, a milestone in music history. Not only does Taylor impact the economy, but according to reviews, for 3 hours and a half, she showcases excellent showmanship through immersive visuals, theatrical performances, and engaging audience interaction. However, I didn’t buy her concert ticket in Melbourne. I didn’t even flinch when I saw the announcement, or when I watched my girlfriends fight for the tickets to no avail. I was quite broke when the tickets were released, but it wasn’t the main reason why I didn’t want to watch Taylor in person. Seeing her in a big stadium would shatter the relationship that I’d built with her music. Much like my old pyjama pants, somehow, I would rather keep it intimate.
I did fantasise about bumping into Taylor though. Perhaps I would spot her at a small coffee shop in North Melbourne. Perhaps I would shout her coffee so she would sit with me. Perhaps I would be bold enough to say, ‘Hey, you do look like an American singer.’