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Illustration by Drew Shannon
Sure I had heard Taylor Swift sing. Soft and fluffy pop – harmless at best. But she became frighteningly real one day when my daughter announced there had been a miracle and she had secured a coveted ticket for Swift’s Eras Tour. Never mind that we live in Eastern Canada and the concert was in Seattle. Never mind that there was only one ticket and I didn’t like the idea of a young woman going to a concert alone. When I suggested that perhaps a ticket could be secured closer to home, the games began.
Somehow, thanks to the wonders of the internet, that single face-value ticket was traded, retraded, contorted, bartered, used as collateral and then voila! The Seattle nosebleed seat transformed into a floor ticket for a show just outside Boston, which was closer but still over 680 kilometres from our home in Ottawa. Knowing I would not let my daughter travel alone, it became obvious I was about to get up close and personal with Taylor Nation. I would be the chaperone (a.k.a., credit card) who would stay at the hotel adjacent to the stadium while my daughter met with friends and rocked out to what she described as her only chance to be part of the greatest concert tour in the history of music. Honestly.
What came next was an eye-opening glimpse into a world that a serious corporate type like me could never have imagined. My musical era is less Taylor Swift and more Woodstock. I cried when John Lennon died. I consider Gordon Lightfoot the greatest Canadian to have ever lived. And with all due respect to my managing partner, the only boss I will ever have is named Bruce.
So, in trying to be a “with-it” TS Nation mom, I made some early mistakes. As we prepared to go to Boston, I proudly referred to myself as a Swiffer only to be gently corrected. And how could I have known that a song named Style isn’t really about fashion but rather an ex?
I tried to prepare for the blessed event as best I could. I listened more carefully to the melodies, the lyrics, learned a little more about the artist. I tried to understand the madness that had taken over a large percentage of the global population who were all desperate to be part of the tour experience. But I still viewed it all as utter nonsense. Crass commercialization and opportunism at its worst. Indulgence and fluff at best.
Arriving in Boston outside the concert venue, my daughter was delirious with happiness and I realized I had traversed a space-time continuum. It must have been the cowboy boots on every foot in sight. I felt like I had walked into a spaghetti western. And the sequins! Sequined dresses, sequined cowboy hats and headbands. Even sequined cowboy boots. The haunting opening strains of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly theme started to play in my head. But instead of the weathered face of Clint Eastwood standing in the tumbleweed, I saw TS, glittering in stilettos and sequins.
Throughout the evening, it all fell into place. For starters, Il Brutto, or the Bad: the price of a ticket. Heck, just getting a ticket. Remember the days when we stood in line hoping for a paper ticket? Well, who knew that today you need to win an online lottery just for the online privilege of being eligible to purchase an online ticket. By the way, eligible does not equate with guarantee. It merely allows you to advance to the next online queue. Should you not succeed in purchasing a ticket, there is always the secondary market. Which is not for the faint of heart. Or the impecunious. Resale sites can command 10 and 20 times the original face value of a TS ticket for the truly desperate. This phenomenon is not unique to Taylor but her Eras Tour has taken the resale concept to new heights.
Il Cattivo, the Ugly: the environmental mess the concert produced. The stadium parking lot was full of SUVs. And what about the jokers like us who flew to the concert? And the garbage produced by 100,000 ravenous people. Mother Nature wrote her own lament that night and it was more powerful than any indictment Taylor could write against any ex-boyfriend. Taylor, Greta Thunberg told us the house is burning – we need you to join forces with her in the fire brigade. You have the voice and the platform. Do it!
Il Buono, the Good. Okay, I admit it. After an evening of taking it all in I saw that TS is a force to be reckoned with. She is young and beautiful, superbly talented and smart. An entrepreneur and performer whose persistence, guile and savvy make Elon Musk look like a rank amateur. Her fans love her dearly and they are happy when listening to her music. Isn’t this exactly what I want my daughters to see? In this crazy world where women’s rights are reversing instead of advancing, I want my children to see that a woman can indeed rule the world. She can kick butt, have fun, make money, be kind and sit proudly on top of the heap. She can be … The Man. I think Taylor might be, gulp, my hero?
Once the concert began, I turned and started back to my hotel. And then I stopped. I listened. The voices of a hundred thousand strong raised in happy song. Singing along with their hero. I knew my girl was having the time of her life and I sensed something special was happening: the boundless potential of empowered youth. An army of young people and a queen to lead them. A queen with so much potential to make people happy and make a difference in the world. Long live the queen.
Anna Tosto lives in Ottawa.