Feminism (Taylor's version)
To hate Taylor Swift, then, is not to hate women, or pop, or success. It is to reject a system where mediocrity is worshipped, feminism is weaponised, victimhood is monetised, and greed is dressed as empowerment
Hating Taylor Swift is a dangerous sport.
The Swifties are everywhere. They lurk online, in offices, even among friend groups. Always ready to pounce the second you dare whisper, "Maybe she's not that good."
Dislike her music? You're a misogynist.
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Question her tactics? You're bitter.
Mock her lyrics? You clearly don't "understand art."
But here's the thing: I don't hate Taylor Swift because she's successful, or blonde, or a woman.
I hate her because she is the most polished symbol of a toxic cultural machine that rewards mediocrity, weaponises feminism, and bulldozes anyone who dares to stand in her way.
Feminism, Swift-style
Feminism, in Swift's world, is not a collective struggle for justice but a personal brand. Her greatest trick has been convincing millions that criticism of her is criticism of women everywhere.
Don't like the 40th re-release of the same album? Misogyny.
Think her lyrics sound like GCSE creative writing? Sexism.
This is textbook white feminism: individual success paraded as progress while structural inequalities are ignored.
In Swiftland, feminism means worshipping Taylor. Anything else is blasphemy
She isn't dismantling patriarchy; she's selling heartbreak in glittery packaging.
And worse, she's teaching a generation of girls that empowerment means crying prettily on a billionaire's private jet while calling your rivals "the other woman."
American author bell hooks warned us about this years ago: feminism is not about slotting one privileged woman onto a pedestal, it's about dismantling the whole damn pedestal. Swift built hers on vinyl variants and victimhood.
Symbolic interactionism reminds us that meaning is made through shared stories. Swift has perfected this: every breakup, every feud, every award snub becomes raw material for an "era."
She recycles grudges like other people recycle cans - except she doesn't recycle, because those 8,000 tonnes of carbon from her private jet aren't going anywhere.
Her catalogue reads less like music and more like a diary of grievances.
Ex-boyfriends are vilified as predators ("Don't you think I was too young to be messed with?"), brunettes are framed as femme fatales stealing men, and Taylor remains the innocent blonde who just can't believe the world is so mean.
It's the oldest marketing trick: victimhood sells. Except here, it sells out stadiums and inflates a net worth of $1.6 billion.
Now, let's address her music
Yes, she writes her own songs. Yes, she knows a couple of chords on the guitar. But let's not pretend she's a groundbreaking lyricist.
Lines like "I can feel my heart, it's beating in my chest" are mediocre poetry at best.
For this, she has more Grammys than Queen. Freddie Mercury is, frankly, owed reparations.
And if you suggest she's mediocre, Swifties will clutch their pearls as if you've spat on the Bible.
But mediocrity is the point. She's the perfect product: palatable, polished, marketable. Real risk-takers - Billie Eilish, Charli XCX - get shoved aside by Swift's relentless need to dominate every chart.
She releases six UK-only album variants just as Charli's Brat is set to hit number one. She drops surprise editions the week Billie puts out a record. Coincidence? Please.
This isn't artistry. It's monopoly with a soundtrack.
It's greed with a side of glitter.
Swift's sales tactics would make Jeff Bezos blush.
Capitalism disguised as collectability.
And the environmental hypocrisy? Chef's kiss.
In 2022 alone, her private jet emitted more carbon than thousands of fans combined. But don't worry, she donates to a few food banks, so we can all clap like trained seals while the planet burns.
The feminist she isn't
Swift has claimed she doesn't "see the world as guys vs girls" because she grew up in a house where she could be whatever she wanted.
That's not anti-feminism, dear Taylor. That's the definition of feminism. Yet she rejected the label until it became convenient branding.
Meanwhile, she tears down women as much as men. Her lyrics pit blondes against brunettes, innocence against villainy, her fanbase against whoever dared date her ex-boyfriends.
This isn't feminism. It's Mean Girls with a billion-dollar budget.
The cult of Swiftian devotion
To be clear: Swift isn't the first celebrity to inspire a cult-like devotion. But she may be the first to industrialise it so ruthlessly.
Parasocialism is her currency: handwritten letters, Easter eggs, winks to the crowd that suggest she's your best friend, your sister, your soulmate.
The result? A fanbase that treats dissent as heresy.
Criticise her, and you'll be doxxed, harassed, called a misogynist - even if you're a woman, even if you're a lesbian, even if you're critiquing her through a feminist lens. In Swiftland, feminism means worshipping Taylor. Anything else is blasphemy.
With great power…
Cultural theorist Stuart Hall argued that the media doesn't just reflect reality; it shapes it. And Taylor Swift, more than any other musician alive, shapes culture.
With this influence, she could uplift marginalised voices, step aside when others deserve recognition, or at least resist the urge to flood the charts with gimmicks.
Instead, she hoards attention like dragon gold, reinforcing the very hierarchies feminism should dismantle.
To hate Taylor Swift, then, is not to hate women, or pop, or success. It is to reject a system where mediocrity is worshipped, feminism is weaponised, victimhood is monetised, and greed is dressed as empowerment.
To be honest, I liked Taylor Swift's music as a teenager - but I grew up, as people should (though some people clearly can't seem to).
For years, I didn't really care one way or another about her. But the more I got informed, the harder it became to see her as anything but irredeemable.
She's a billionaire now, and whether you get there by selling out stadiums, re-recorded albums, or exclusive merch drops, you don't become that wealthy without directly or indirectly profiting from other people's suffering. That's the cost of the system she thrives in.
It would almost be easier to digest if her art lived up to the hype. But when every song sounds like a recycled version of the last, I find myself wondering what, exactly, justifies the obsessive pedestal she's placed on.
The music is middling at best, and yet her fandom treats her as if she's beyond reproach - immune to criticism, as though she were some flawless feminist icon rather than a shrewd celebrity who plays the empowerment card when it sells.
What's worse is the way her defenders weaponise misogynistic insults to shut down anyone who doesn't worship her.
I can't count how many times I've been called a "pick me" simply for voicing my criticism.
When you resort to misogynistic slurs to protect a pop star from critique, you revoke your feminist card right there.
Feminism should be about dismantling power, not excusing it because the person in power happens to be a woman.
And before anyone says I'm singling her out: I hate other billionaires just as much, if not more.
Jeff Bezos could get engaged, stage a tacky spectacle in Italy, and I wouldn't see it shoved down my throat half as much as Taylor Swift's engagement was.
The difference? Bezos is a bald man with a rocket fetish. Swift, on the other hand, has an entire PR machine and a rabid fandom, working overtime to repackage her personal life as a feminist fairytale.
That's why I'm writing this: not because she's the only billionaire worth criticising, but because her engagement proved once again how seamlessly capitalism, celebrity, and feminism-lite can be sold back to us as culture.
She doesn't need our approval - she has billions. But the rest of us don't need to pretend that mediocrity dressed as feminism is progress.
Zarin Tasnim is an Online journalist at The Business Standard
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard
