Miss Americana: How Taylor Swift Destroyed the Prisons that Held Her, Then Moved On to Tear Down Other Structures by Alexandra Ang
Snake (n.). an elongated, legless, carnivorous reptile
There are glaring problems with labeling someone a snake.
For one, she is clearly (standing with two legs) in one sold-out stadium after another, trying to change the world for the better with her unparalleled influence, despite years of being kicked around by powerful people around her.
Cut to a scene of her sitting on a couch, legs crossed, looking down anxiously. She waits for the voice on the other end of the line to report back Grammy nominations. “This is fine,” she declares into her phone after not being nominated, sounding anything but fine. “I need to make a better record.”
Taylor Swift was, and still is, the voice of our generation. Now everything has changed, from her songs about Shakespearean-esque high school infatuation, to the dramatic clapbacks and odes of Reputation, and later to Lover’s triumphant pastel shades of melancholic America. We’ve changed too, from old-new Taylor to new-old Taylor. Unlike many who willingly choose to forget their pasts, Miss Americana shows her revisiting her roots. Aside from reading her old journals, she uses high-school references to create political allegories in the title, “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince”. Every stage of her life is meaningful (not to mention chart-topping and record-breaking). It is then a challenge, even to veteran fans, when Miss Americana poses the unsaid question: Yes, you know who Taylor is, but do you know her?
“After 13 years of feeling like I was misunderstood, I had a lot of growing up to do to catch up to 29,” Taylor adds.
Miss Americana surprised millions (myself included) with its raw honesty. Those behind the film made clear that this wasn’t just fan service; this could also be an introduction for strangers to see her in a new light. It is a coming of age tale about the affirmation that can only come standing her ground after years of being tormented by society’s most powerful demons.
Unlike other documentaries about celebrities that seem eerily detached from their subjects, there is no dissonance in this version of Taylor’s story. Director Lana Wilson shares that Taylor wanted a director’s perspective on her life. With the conscious decision not to interview anyone else but Taylor, it feels private, almost intrusively so. She has a fraught, teary-eyed conversation with her father about wanting to finally speak out about politics. Some artfully cut gems are scenes of her in the studio, mega-hits coming to life before our very eyes. She opened up more than she was obligated to. In fact, an alternative title considered was “Is It Cool that I Said All That” (a line from the song Delicate) simply because she spoke. A lot. About all that.
She is more than a blonde pop icon. She is articulate and intelligent. She uses her songwriting powers to bring a much-needed voice to the table. If I could quote her for the whole article, I would.
The documentary does not just reveal what is below the surface — it completely shatters the iceberg. What the public sees as dramatic headlines, these are events that have simultaneously destroyed and inspired her. After that incident at the 2009 VMAs, she (a young artist who lived for applause) was absolutely devastated. She felt she had to reinvent herself, the same doll but packaged with different clothes, different smiles. In 2015–2017, the internet decided that bashing Taylor was the new bandwagon. Speaking to Rolling Stone about the torrent of never-ending hate, she herself stresses “If I did something good, it was for the wrong reasons. If I did something brave, I didn’t do it correctly. If I stood up for myself, I was throwing a tantrum. I found myself in this endless mockery echo chamber.” When she openly spoke out about politics in her home state of Tennessee, she faced difficult questions. What if Trump and his supporters went after her? What if her candidate lost? What if?
Taylor was born to pursue music, her first love. The documentary shares snippets of home videos, including one of her receiving a guitar for Christmas. That kind of pure joy shines beyond the screen. Her vulnerability has always been both her biggest strength and her greatest weakness. Hate magnified through millions of screens at once creates a feeling of powerlessness and total inadequacy. The newest trend became drawing crude targets all over her. What most forget is that behind the glitz and glam stands a living, breathing human who can read all the comments.
Years passed and stakes rose. Even as she was brought closer to the edge between success and irrelevance, her convictions were shaped by her role as an artist. Most notably, Swift furiously called out Scott Borchetta, founder of Big Machine Labels, for selling her recordings to Scooter Braun. It was the best form of revenge on the label executives left over from her country music days — her shallowest supporters. They said that if she valued her career, she shouldn’t have forced her opinions on people. Perhaps they should have thought about theirs first. Since she could not rely on others’ opinions, which did not define her any longer, she figured she had to reset everything for her own sanity.
The documentary is surrounded by a sense of urgency. As Swift candidly puts it with the look of someone who’s been told this many times before, “The entertainment industry is where women and men are discarded in an elephant graveyard by the time they’re 35.” If it is hard to live as a woman, it is harder for a woman who sings for a living. “How cute that she’s writing songs. But the second it becomes formidable? As soon as I started to look like a woman — that wasn’t as cool anymore.”
“I’m so sick of running as fast as I can, wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man” sings a poignant line from The Man, a sentiment shared by billions of women across the world. It remains relatively (and unfortunately) unknown that women face a daily battle of constructing constant strategies to avoid being shamed for anything and everything. Once the biggest bullies (perhaps society itself) find out, women are accused of being calculated, for the completely unreasonable act of strategizing. As Miss Americana best puts it, “You have to twist yourself into a pretzel on an hourly basis.” No one except Taylor Swift will know how much the comments about her appearance led to pointing out all of her own flaws, and eventually to eating disorders. Whenever she did something, it was wrong in the public’s eyes. Utterly defeated (or so they thought) she decided to not do anything at all. At least, for some time. Then the next scene cuts to her in the studio, composing “The Man”. Brilliant.
Note how the documentary does not obsessively focus on Taylor’s past relationships, albeit with some allusions to her current relationship with actor Joe Alwyn. Even these are used to build on her journey towards understanding herself.
When she discusses her public sexual-assault case against a radio DJ in 2017, I immediately know that this is going to be one of the most powerful scenes. The narration, combined with courtroom sketch-type animations, clearly illustrate that she didn’t feel a sense of ANY victory because the process was so dehumanizing. “Why didn’t you scream? React quicker? Stand farther away?” As if the woman is always to blame. “I was angry people were paid to antagonize victims.” Asked why photos of the front of her skirt didn’t show this, she said, “Because my ass is located at the back of my body.” As always, there is an anthem for every event, and I never expected it to be “Clean”. The lyrics have a different meaning to me now.
It took time for her to learn that it was okay to be herself, no matter how much that differed from what everyone said she had to be. “I want to love glitter and stand up for the double standards that exist. I want to wear pink and tell you how I think about politics.”
Taylor is finally back. “I really care about my home state.” she says (almost to herself) while looking out at the scenery whizzing by. Later, without looking up from her phone, she tells everyone “The young should run from fascism.” I’m loving this new side to her, but perhaps it existed all along. In the video for “Mean”, there is a boy wearing a lavender sweater, surrounded by football players. She also stopped posting photos from her 4th of July parties after Trump. After publicly disclosing that she stands on the Blue line, after a decision to take the masking tape off her mouth, forever, it feels great not to be muzzled anymore. “It’s not that I want to step into this, it’s that I can’t not. It really means so much to me. I think it is so spineless of me to say “Happy Pride Month” but not do this.”
Criticism against the documentary has centered on it being “another PR stunt”, that it only shows what Taylor wants us to see. But isn’t that the point? It’s rare that she gets to tell her own story without the tabloids, the incessant mocking, the constant stare-down.
A master storyteller, she is able to create the feeling that her story is also mine, and yours, just worded more succinctly. It is that of every woman who has felt dehumanized by processes that have been enshrined into our laws, our families, our societies, and our minds. A powerful woman who knows what she wants will always be polarizing.
“I think [in] a documentary, if you are open enough, you can connect with people” shares Swift. She ended up using her experiences, and that’s what brought the audience closest to her. We will never put together all the puzzle pieces of her story. But these are arguably the ones people need to hear about the most, and each is a masterpiece on its own. If being a snake means holding the capacity to shed an old skin that simply cannot fit any longer, then so be it.
