(The following contains mild — it is a documentary after all — spoilers for Miss Americana.)
For a few minutes after the credits started rolling on Taylor Swift’s new documentary, I considered making an appointment to get “Stream Miss Americana on Netflix” tattooed on my forehead. I ultimately decided against it because tattoos are expensive, and the three hours it would take to get the tattoo would be three hours I could not spend watching Miss Americana twice more.
As any journalist should, I will admit my own biases. Taylor Swift was one of the first CDs I had ever bought, and I would spend hours dancing around my room to its dreamy melodies. I have remained a fan ever since, succumbing to the media’s misogyny during the Red era, but promptly returning for the somewhat petty — but ultimately empowering — reputation. If you, like me, enjoyed Swift’s music as a teenager but felt like a bad feminist for supporting someone the media called a slut, I implore you to watch Miss Americana. Intermixed with footage from concerts and interviews are Swift’s views on feminism and double standards in the music industry. “There is no such thing as a slut,” she says. “There is no such thing as a bitch. There is no such thing as someone who’s bossy, there’s just a boss.” Such claims could easily feel trite, pandering to Twitter feminists, but Miss Americana brilliantly supplements them with pivotal moments in Swift’s life beyond music, including her 2017 countersuit four years after she was groped by a DJ. Swift explains how the case changed her life, pushing her to become more politically active. She also acknowledges her privilege as a woman who had witnesses and a photograph as “proof” of her assault: “I just wanted to say that […] I’m sorry to anyone who ever wasn’t believed, because I don’t know what turn my life would’ve taken if […] nobody believed me.” To critics who think Swift has her head in the clouds, moments like these show that she gets it.
Casual fans of Swift’s may be surprised by the prevailing themes of the documentary: sexism, politics, and self-esteem/body image. However, Miss Americana works to reconcile these topics with Swift’s traditionally “good girl” image: “I want to wear pink and tell you how I feel about politics. And I don’t think that those things have to cancel each other out.” Swift adopts a new outspokenness — she no longer feels pressured by the media to avoid speaking about her political beliefs, her battle with an eating disorder, and the struggles of being a woman in music. In fact, Miss Americana is at its most poignant when Swift fights her team — and even her own father — for the right to publicly condemn Tennessee Republican Marsha Blackburn using Instagram. Calling the Senator “Trump in a wig,” Swift believes it is unacceptable to keep quiet before the 2018 midterm elections. When Swift’s publicist warns her about potential backlash from President Trump, Swift utters the most iconic line of the documentary: “Fuck that, I don’t care.” (I may have replayed that four times before I could move on.)
Miss Americana also has a significant psychological component, with Swift explaining her mindset for most of her career, in which “a need to be thought of as good” prevailed. Feeling insecure about her talent, she thrived off of praise and positive attention from those around her, a system which started to crumble when she was 19, and Kanye West interrupted her VMA acceptance speech to promote Beyoncé. Swift had assumed that the booing audience members agreed with West that she should not have won, though in reality, they were likely protesting the interruption. Swift felt unable to enjoy her own win, believing that she upset not only the VMA audience members, but also music fans around the world. She struggled further between the releases of Red and reputation, when the media and fans alike began turning on her, trending #TaylorSwiftisOverParty internationally on Twitter. The once-adored pop star was now forced to pick up the pieces of her self-esteem — and of course, her reputation — without the love she had previously relied on.
I have always admired Taylor Swift, but never before have I felt so connected to her. Of course I, a college student without a single musical bone in my body, cannot relate to the specifics of Swift’s journey. However, almost everyone who grew up a “gifted kid” can understand a reliance on outside praise to develop their confidence. To end up at a school like Columbia, we all have endured heavy praise throughout our lives. Perhaps we earned medals at Mathletes competitions, had starring roles in school musicals, or won the state championships in soccer. Swift’s struggles to find confidence and contentment within herself, as opposed to outside sources, mirror my experiences as a student entering a college where, suddenly, I am completely average. Every time I raise my hand in class, several others do as well. I have been denied leadership roles in clubs I would have been running in high school. The praise I was used to has almost entirely disappeared and I was — and still am — forced to live in its wake. The journey to self-confidence is the heart of Miss Americana, and is precisely what makes it so genuine and relatable.
TLDR; Celebrities are people, too! Miss Americana shows Taylor Swift struggling through the traditional hurdles of adolescence and young adulthood — body image, family illness, dating — but with America (and the world) watching. Heartfelt, real, and inspiring, Miss Americana reminds you why you danced around singing “You Belong With Me” into your hairbrush — and why you never stopped.