On the evening of Oct. 2, I sat down to call two of my friends back home in New Jersey. The main goal was to listen to Taylor Swift’s newest album, “The Life of a Showgirl.” But an hour later, the reactions were sour. Halfway through the album, I found myself unable to enjoy the listening experience, and my friend admitted she wasn’t sure she could still call herself a “Swiftie.” 

A lot has changed since Swift and I first crossed paths on New Year’s Eve in 2014, when I watched her perform songs from “1989,” the album that I believe changed my life. It was catchy, relatable and modern: exactly what I was looking for after years of listening to my parents’ music — the same songs they loved at my age by artists like The Beatles and The Police. 

As the years went on, my support never wavered, despite her 2016 controversy and her waning popularity. Her music carried me through some of my most difficult moments: being bullied in middle school, coming out in high school and, eventually, moving to Vanderbilt. Through everything, her songs introduced me to the importance of self-growth, which is something I now grapple with in the present moment. 

So, how did I get here? After Swift released two of my all-time favorite albums, “folklore” and “evermore,” she shifted toward re-recording older albums, followed by a consistent stream of newer releases that leaned consistently on the same synth-pop sound. As someone who fell in love with folk, alternative and country music through her 2020 albums, these newer projects started to feel repetitive and disappointing. “The Life of a Showgirl” led me to face the feelings I’ve been avoiding for a while now: I’m no longer as connected to her music as I once was. 

I’ll admit, even as a somewhat disillusioned fan, I was genuinely excited to hear the prospect of Swift collaborating with producers Max Martin and Shellback for the first time in almost a decade. The songs, however, fall far short of the brilliance of classic hits like “Shake It Off” and “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.” 

From lyrics about preferring her friends being cancelled to being “ah-matized” by Travis Kelce’s “wood,” the album often fell beneath the wise lyricism and emotional vulnerability that once defined her work. It was lyrically cringeworthy, musically repetitive and, most disappointingly, there was nothing for me to connect with in this new collection of songs. Granted, it was not the worst album I’ve ever heard, and there are a few moments worth revisiting, but it was enough to make me properly look in the mirror and consider if my friend expressed what I was feeling too: maybe I’m not a Taylor Swift fan anymore.  

These feelings felt strange at first, but I finally found peace in reading the online reactions. In summary, listeners were saying that Swift garnered significant excitement for an album as stale as week-old bread sitting atop a kitchen counter. The criticism felt harsh, but I somehow understood. I couldn’t believe I was aligning more with skepticism than with longtime fans. As the initial excitement faded, I began to think the album wasn’t as terrible as people initially claimed, but it also wasn’t good. 

That realization led to a difficult week for me. As Swift sold 4 million copies of “The Life of a Showgirl,” I wrote a review for the album alongside other Hustler staffers, spoke with friends and family about my disappointment and still couldn’t bring myself to press play again. How was it possible for me to have such a negative reaction to Taylor Swift? It felt like I betrayed someone who once meant so much to me: the person whose music got me through such difficult periods of my formative years. 

Growing up, people in my life would joke that my love for Swift’s music was just a phase, which was a terrifying thought to me. Her music once meant everything to me. Losing that felt like losing a limb or a lifelong friend. Swift was all I listened to and the only thing that helped me as I cried to my parents day after day that I had no friends in middle school. She was all I listened to when I first realized I liked someone of the same gender in high school. And she was a defining part of my personality for upward of a decade. Memories have a way of embedding themselves deep into who we become, so why wouldn’t her songs? 

And yet, here I am. I don’t write this as a secret hater or a bitter fan — I write it as someone who has grown. Swift’s music will always hold special significance, even if I no longer see myself in her lyrics. But I can also recognize that maybe my time in Swift’s fandom has come to a close. I’m sad to admit it, but I also recognize what they say is true: All good things must come to an end. 

Funny enough, I had a therapy session on release day and ended up talking about these strange new feelings. My therapist pinpointed the issue in a single word: growth. We all have things we love when we are young, but oftentimes these attachments fade as we evolve. Maybe that is simply what happened with my love for Swift’s music.  

At the end of the day, this isn’t really about Taylor Swift — it is about growth, getting older and learning to embrace change. It falls in line with big changes like moving 800 miles from home to attend Vanderbilt, entering your 20s and watching your loved ones grow older and form their own lives. Change can be unsettling, but you always manage to move forward no matter what. 

Taylor Swift will probably always be a part of who I am. Just not in the same way she once was. Or, as Swift herself once sang, “And you know in your soul / when it’s time to go.”