When Taylor Swift appeared on her fiancé Travis Kelce’s podcast to announce her 12th studio album, The Life of the Showgirl, the 35-year-old said that the record came from “the most infectiously joyful, wild, dramatic place in my life”.
It was easy to believe her. Recorded in snatched moments while Swift was on the European leg of her record-breaking Eras Tour, it was made at a time when her star had never burned brighter: not only was Eras the highest grossing tour of all time, but her sprawling 31-track double album, The Tortured Poets Department, was shifting units by the truckload. She was also in love, having recently gone public with Kelce following a breakup from long-term partner, Joe Alwyn, and a highly public fling with the 1975’s Matty Healy. Swift, obviously, had a lot to be happy about.
Fans were also optimistic. Upon release, The Tortured Poets Department became one of Swift’s most polarising albums, and there were suggestions that her long-running partnership with producer Jack Antonoff and The National’s Aaron Dessner, both of whom she worked with on the record, had reached a creative stalemate. So when Swift shared that for The Life of a Showgirl, she had reunited with Swedish pop savants Max Martin and Shellback, the duo who helped steer Red, 1989 and Reputation – three of her best albums – it was welcome news. After half-a-decade of folksy, introspective and sometimes meandering music, it seemed that Swift might be back making bangers.
In certain ways, The Life of the Showgirl does live up to this expectation. But in most others – and I say this as a card-carrying Swiftie who went to the Eras Tour three times – it suggests an artist not only losing grip of her songwriting, but also her self-awareness.
Initially, it seems promising. Album opener “The Fate of Ophelia”, with its pogoing bassline, retro handclaps and glimmering synths, is song with heaps of pizzazz, and is the poppiest Swift has sounded since 2019’s “Cruel Summer”. Stacked with undeniably infectious hooks, it’s a maturation of the sugary fizziness found on 1989, Swift’s voice warm and relaxed as she delivers some typically Swiftian lyrics extolling a lover for preventing her from ending up like Shakespeare’s heroine.
There are also echoes of Reputation’s snarl on “Elizabeth Taylor”, which sees Swift drawing parallels between her own highly scrutinised personal life and that of the Hollywood icon. Those who enjoyed the peppier elements of Lover, or “Bejewelled” from Midnights, will find a lot to like in the toothy grin of “Opalite”, with its chipper amalgamation of disco beats and 60s girl group melodics. And “Father Figure”, which includes an interpolation of the eponymous song by George Michael, opens up in the bridge with a swell of strings so cinematic and gorgeous that you wonder why it’s taken so long for Swift and her collaborators to pull that trick out of their hat.
The high point, though, is “Ruin the Friendship”. Swift has proven herself to be an astute storyteller, and her eye for narrative detail (“glistening grass from September rain”; “watching the game from your brother’s Jeep”) is just as sharp here, as she delivers a subtly devastating meditation on grief and missed opportunities. It lacks the punch of Martin and Shellback’s usual production – sonically it’s closer to the fairy light twinkle of Folklore than the greasy churn of Reputation – but feels like a natural evolution of the sandpit Swift was already playing in.
What follows, however, is the worst run of songs in Swift’s career. Much has already been made of “Actually Romantic”, a thinly veiled diss track seemingly aimed at Charli xcx, who wrote about her own insecurities when compared to another popstar widely thought to be Swift on Brat’s “Sympathy Is a Knife”. “I heard you call me ‘Boring Barbie’ when the coke’s got you brave,” Swift sings with a smirk over guitars lifted right from the Pixies’ “Where Is My Mind?”. “High-fived my ex and then you said youvre glad he ghosted me.” It’s just one puerile jab in a song loaded with them, and exhibits Swift’s most unpleasant and vengeful tendencies. Worse still is the deliberately obtuse reading of “Sympathy Is a Knife”, Swift moulding xcx’s exploration of self-doubt and embarrassment into a cudgel with which to beat her down with.
Given her position at the summit of pop, one might presume Swift could see that she was punching down. But as The Life of a Showgirl highlights, she has some serious blind spots. Take “CANCELLED!”, a villainous semi-sequel to “I Did Something Bad” and “Vigilante Shit” that sees Swift swiping at cancel culture and public take downs.
“Good thing I like my friends cancelled,” she sings over an uninspired bed of chugging guitars and plodding percussion. “I like ’em cloaked in Gucci and in scandal.” It’s a stretch to suggest the world’s biggest popstar and her coterie of celebrity pals are pariahs. But it’s a sentiment that’s practically offensive when you consider how Swift is now regularly spotted with people supportive of Donald Trump, whose administration has censored dissenting voices while simultaneously claiming they’re the victims being silenced by “wokeness”.
It’s not unfair to expect Swift to demonstrate some political awareness. After spending the majority of her career remaining quiet on political issues, she made a point in 2018 of endorsing the Democratic candidates for Tennessee during that year’s midterm elections, highlighting the decision in her documentary, Miss Americana. She spoke out against Trump during his initial presidency, criticised the overruling of Roe v Wade, supported social progressive issues, and endorsed Kalama Harris in 2024 election.
It’s possible that Swift’s life is now so gilded that she can’t see past the shimmer of all that gold
While often imperfect, her politics were clear. But since the dawn of Trump 2.0, she has kept schtum as ICE disappears American citizens and silences protestors. Arriving in such a context, the message of “CANCELLED!” feels wholly out of touch with the scary truth of today’s socio-political climate.
This lands on The Life of a Showgirl’s greatest weakness: it has no bearing on the realities of life in 2025. Yes, there are the love songs – although the less said about the cheesy Motown-indebted “Wood”, an ode to Kelce’s penis, the better – but thematically the record feels hollow. I’m not advocating that Swift begin writing protest songs (although that would certainly be an interesting experiment), but beyond the petty, self-absorbed drama and dedications to Kelce (“Wi$h Li$t” is a destined to become a trad-wife anthem), Swift seems like she has very little to say.
As a result, the writing suffers: along with the diabolical lyrics of “Wood”, “Actually Romantic” and “Cancelled!”, “Honey”, another love song, lacks any of the incisive observations about love and relationships that won Swift her legion of fans. The title track, which features Sabrina Carpenter, also houses none of the thoughtful reflections about fame that Swift previously has explored on songs like “Clara Bow” from The Tortured Poets Department.
It’s possible that Swift’s life is now so gilded that she can’t see past the shimmer of all that gold. She also feels too big to fail: The Life of a Showgirl will undoubtedly be a ginormous success. But when the music you’re making feels more like brand maintenance than anything else, perhaps it’s time to pause and reflect, talk to some normal people, and step outside the castle you’ve erected for yourself. Otherwise, there’s a risk that Swift won’t be living the life of a showgirl for as long as she might hope.
The Life of a Showgirl is out now.
