Last Saturday night, I walked into John Paul Jones Arena at the tender age of 19, dressed to kill in a sundress and boots, living it up with my girls all around me - oops, that's a Miley song. You get the point, though.
Three hours and countless screaming tweens later, I walked out of the Taylor Swift concert feeling old, like the creepy guy at the frat party or the girl who goes back to her high school prom after she graduates and is asked if she's a chaperone.
Maybe it's because I wound up in the nosebleed section, but my roommates and I felt self-conscious from the first time we stood up to sing along with the one, the only Taylor Swift. Even though both of my roommates stand at 5 feet or less, we still managed to block the hordes of tweens and their moms behind us every time we jumped up in a cry against the injustices of men. Though I'm as keen as the next to join with my fellow sisters and hate on the male species, this time I "Should've Said No."
Taylor and I have always had a tenuous relationship. She has made appearances on my Top 25 Most Played before, but I wouldn't put her in my Top 8 on Myspace. When I was a senior in high school, "Teardrops on My Guitar" lifted her from the niche world of country to the boundless world of mainstream. By the time it became a Top-40 staple, I was experiencing a romantic situation similar to the one Swift describes in her song. This wasn't exactly our song (not to be confused with "Our Song"), but it had a special place on our metaphorical mix tape. I remember driving home one day, listening to the last, sweeping refrain and thinking that Taylor could put words and a beat to the emotions I couldn't even articulate. In hindsight, I primarily applaud her for finding a really catchy way to strum the heart-strings of the tween-aged lass, but at the time, I was a bundle of emotions.
Hearing it last weekend breached the space-time continuum in a way that I would not like to repeat. First, I recalled the emotions I felt when I heard the song all those years ago. Nostalgia: check. Desire that it was still cool to wear skirts and sneakers: check. Being swiftly lulled back into the present only to find that I was the tallest girl in my section - at a modest 5 feet, 6 inches - and seeing younger versions of myself everywhere: downright Taylor-fying. To reference the world of Harry Potter, another pop culture icon of my era, it was a sobering dip into the Pensieve.
Though laced with storybook references, most of Ms. Swift's songs were about getting ignored/dumped/mistreated. As I looked at the girls singing around me, I recognized myself. I realized when I was that age, I would've railed just as vehemently against an adulterous lover, even though I had never had one. I would have swooned just as much at the line, "Marry me, Juliet," even though I had yet to go on my first date. I would've hoped for someone to declare his love for me at the prom, even if I still shopped for dresses with my mom. But Taylor's songs require a bit of imagination. Maybe he didn't cheat on you, but he made fun of you on the bus. He might not have asked you on a date, but he sat next to you at lunch. Perhaps he's not soliciting an apology for adultery, but for walking another girl to her locker. These are much less extreme examples of the same basic emotions, but young girls have to do the best they can to relate. As masochistic as it sounds, they can't wait for their fresh hearts to be stomped on for the first time.
But perhaps I didn't quite feel 19-plus until I heard "Fifteen." Tay Tay played this one from a smaller stage in the back of the arena. If you haven't heard it, it's about remembering how you used to think you were going to marry the first boy you met, and then figuring out that this probably wasn't going to happen. Swift is best known as the Virgin Queen of Pop Music - the climax of "Love Story" is a marriage proposal - and in "Fifteen," she makes an endorsement that Planned Parenthood should be thanking her for. Despite her belief in the myths of "Forever & Always," this song is about recognizing that sometimes it's about "when it's convenient" and "until I get bored." (Unfortunately, this title didn't fit on the back of the CD case.) For the first time that night, I felt as if I were listening to someone my age. As someone who has endured that trying time, a declaration of love at age 15 is most likely 1. posted on your Facebook wall; 2. misspelled, or 3. word vomit after watching "The Notebook." For the first time that night, Taylor came down from her fantastical ivory tower and said something 15-year-old girls probably don't want to hear. Although her terms were gentle - "we both cried" - it was in this moment, that I felt most old. Having already been let in on the secret and watching all the wide-eyed girls around me drink up this shocking idea, I felt like the wise one in the audience, someone who had already gone through the experiences these young girls were just getting to know.
Last weekend's concert felt like a pep rally. She was the cheer captain, while we sat on the bleachers. Sorry, Taylor, but I left that small town behind "there in my rearview mirror disappearing now." Don't take it personally. When I was 17, the boys of Metro Station worked wonders on me with "Seventeen Again," just like "Fifteen" probably would've swept me away at that age. It's not you; it's me.
Emily's column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at e.kuhback@cavalierdaily.com
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