The very first time I listened to Taylor Swift’s folklore, I was alone and seated on the hardwood bench in my backyard. It was already dark. Time passed much slower when in lockdown — waiting for my phone’s home screen to change from 8:59 to 9:00, when folklore would release, felt longer than the album itself.
Swift’s albums are notorious for their Track 5’s — the fifth song in the list that tends to be the most emotionally charged and the most gut-wrenching (the most famous one: All Too Well from Red). But for folklore, it was not “my tears ricochet” that brought forth the catharsis that Swift so often imparts on her fans. It was the track after: “mirrorball.”
The title of the song is a reference to a disco ball, a sphere covered with shards of mirror that reflect and refract any light that touches it. Riding the unique line between childhood and adulthood, I often feel like I am reflecting on what other people expect of me rather than what I want to be myself. So when Taylor Swift sang, “I have never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try,” all I could think about was myself, or rather, the self I try to exhibit to others. With how much emphasis there seems to be on doing everything in my life effortlessly, hearing this for the first time was breathtaking, pushing me to think critically about who I am when I am not a projection of someone else’s wants.
The answer? I was not quite sure.
It is strange how freely I am able to type this out knowing that it will be published online (maybe it’s because I know that I will not have to look someone in the eye when they tell me I am being melodramatic). But I am firmly aware that what I feel when I listen to this song is not unique; that brings me comfort. This is a conversation that is unfortunately one that I am afraid to have — too often have I heard the heart Swift bears in “mirrorball” reduced to the stereotypical song that young women take far too seriously. The ridicule of female emotions, namely by men, is certainly nothing new. Perhaps the fear of being ridiculed for wanting to lean into my sensitivity stopped me from growing into my true self, and forced me, for the longest time, to reflect on the traits that people have assigned to me.
It was uncomfortable, coming to terms with the fact that I had spent nearly my entire life attempting to embody that glittering mirrorball, but now I at least know who I am behind that. Of course, I still strive to be the best I can be for those I surround myself with. I’ll admit that it is exhausting, but it is also something that I am able to choose for myself.
For everyone out there with “mirrorball” as their number one song of the year, know that you are not alone. Your sensitivity, your compassion, your effort — it is not unseen. It is okay to wear your heart on your sleeve. You might break and shatter into a million pieces, but you will also be the one to pick them up yourself.