Growing Up Swiftly: Now Go Stand In The Corner and THINK About What You Did
Reflecting On The High School Bitch I Was and Who I Am Now
Since 2021 Taylor Swift has been re-releasing her iconic discography, one by one. This undertaking allows her to look back at her growth and maturation as an artist and a human. As she continues this journey, do we owe ourselves the same type of self-reflection? I want the music, but I would prefer not to look back at who I once was. Especially not when I was a self-important teenager. But alas, life continues to force things upon me that I don’t want, such as being laid off. And as I sit with my thoughts, I'm given the chance to think about who I once was, juxtaposed with who I am trying to be today.
This past weekend a high school BFF texted me: “OMG Emma, I was at a wedding this weekend and saw that girl you HATED in high school! Remember her?” I shuddered at the memory of my past self harboring hatred towards a girl whom I had never even spoken to. Truly, not once did I have a conversation with her. She was a year below me, played a different sport than me, and socialized with an entirely different friend group. She could not have affected my vapid social life any less. So if we never even exchanged words, how could I hate her? Because she dated my ex-boyfriend, obviously. I was in my “Better Than Revenge” era, and boy, what a tough, beautiful, achingly bitchy era that was.
It was 2010 when I found myself dating a boy, but having feelings for another. I was 16 and agonizingly uncomfortable with confrontation. So, I sat between the two boys during AP Environmental Science, pretending that the entire class, teacher included, didn’t know the ins and outs of my love life drama. I flirted with both of them and told myself it was harmless, I wasn’t playing with the hearts of people I cared about. It was all innocent tenth grade love, right?
The love triangle that had begun during the summer continued, as the Georgia humidity turned to crisp fall air. The Friday night football games became chilly and I basked in the attention of not one, but two cute boys. I felt interesting. I was someone people liked. Loved, even! Until finally, my boyfriend realized that if I wasn’t going to be the mature one, he needed to be. He took the plunge and ended our relationship. A part of me was grateful – I could finally date the boy I really liked! But, the other part of me was irked that the cute soccer player boyfriend had gotten the last word.
Still, I ignored that piece of myself and moved on. I began a relationship with the sweet, goofy boy who I’d been pining after. And although I had the homecoming date I wanted, that small, melodramatic side of me wanted my ex’s attention. So when the ex showed up with another girl as his date to the dance, I was more than a little peeved. He moved on, from me? And quickly? Hmm. What did that say about me? Had I not been the greatest girlfriend ever? (I wasn’t, I flirted with another boy in front of his face.) Had I not been the cutest girl he’d ever seen? (I wasn’t, my hair was always mildly frizzy and hormonal acne tended to populate my chin.) Seriously, how could he move on from ME? I could have done the mature thing and said to myself, “Wow, I dragged that young man’s heart around for seven months. Now look at how great he’s doing! Good for him!” But I was sixteen, so I said, “Fuck that bitch” about the new girl he started dating. Actually… it was suburban Georgia where church was our main social activity, so I said, “Frick that B!”.
I found myself finally in the relationship of my little high school heart’s dreams! Yet somehow I was driving around in my Toyota Corolla blasting, “Better Than Revenge” at the top of my lungs. I was screaming:
The mattress, really Emma? Again, it was suburban Georgia. The school’s sex education was a mandated abstinence-only program. We all literally had ATM (Abstinence ‘Til Marriage) cards in our wallets given to us in health class. I don’t think this little ninth grader stole my (you know, stole, as in, started dating the guy I didn’t want to date but was too chicken to dump) boyfriend, with her moves on the mattress. Yet I felt those words so deeply in my young heart and soul.
That was the power of Taylor Swift. Her lyrics helped navigate my mixed-up, hormonal feelings. I liked one boy and loved another, but I couldn’t have both and I didn’t want to face any sort of rejection. And when I finally did feel the sting of rejection, I didn’t turn my gaze inward for self-reflection. I could have asked myself: Why was I chasing the attention of two boys? How was my self-esteem really doing? Did I even like who I was? The answer to these questions seems obvious now, as a 28-year-old woman deep in therapy. But, I can’t imagine what asking myself those questions would have done to my teenage brain. It would have caused embarrassment and self-hatred. And it’s much easier to look away from those feelings at 16. It was much easier to look in the mirror and apply more makeup, rather than admire myself, pimples, frizzy hair, and all. It was easier to project the feelings I had about myself onto another girl when she began dating my ex. Admit that I hated myself? Surely not. Tell everyone that I hate some random freshman and they should too? Absolutely.
Swifties and Swift-haters alike have criticized Miss Swift for becoming a feminist icon when a slut-shaming anthem like “Better Than Revenge” exists in her discography. But even if it is slut-shaming, does it make the feelings behind the lyrics any less real? Miss Swift is known for capturing the elusive emotions of women, channeling them into lyrics, and connecting with millions. Her “Better Than Revenge” era happened when she was 18. I was 16 while I was in mine. Most of us didn’t have our high school actions and feelings recorded for millions to hear. The majority of us don’t even want to look back at a diary we wrote during those pubescent years. Are we going to hold up a mirror to Taylor Swift and force her to look into it? Of course people are, the internet exists and we have to dissect everything! So as Miss Swift continues upon her re-release journey, bravely looking her younger self in the eye, I’m challenging myself to look at who I was when I sang these songs in their prime. If Miss Swift can wait out a four hour lightning storm and perform in the pouring rain until 1:30 in the morning like she did recently during her Nashville Era’s show, I can admit that I wasn’t always living as the innocent main character of my own life.
