I'm officially resigning as a Swiftie

• Taylor Swift's latest release shows she's more preoccupied with her own mythology than with making good music.
• I loved Swift's music because it was so relatable, but it's not anymore. Is it because she's a billionaire? Maybe.
• Swift is used to giving fans more and more. Right now, I just want her to take a break.

For much of my life, I've been a Swiftie. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I grew up with Taylor Swift: The Target Deluxe version of "Speak Now" was the first CD I ever owned. As a teenager, I listened to "Reputation" and "Lover" on repeat as I learned to drive around the neighborhood. In college, my roommates and I hosted a Swift-themed party that got so big it was crashed by visiting Naval Academy midshipmen.

As a fan, the last four years were an embarrassment of riches, as Swift bounced from making an indie comeback to launching her Taylor's Version project and quest for her masters to embarking on a record-setting world tour, all while continuing to release new music.

But somewhere along the way — whether it was when she crossed into billionaire status, smashed so many chart records they all began to blur together, or began dating a star football player — she lost the secret sauce that kept me interested in, inspired by, and sympathetic to her.

There was once a time I'd stay up past midnight to be among the first to listen to her new albums, but the release of "The Life of a Showgirl" on October 3 nearly passed me by.

Taylor Swift is bigger than ever, but I'm officially over it.

Her songwriting is suffering

Swift's best songs are the ones that are relatable, where the listener can put herself in Swift's shoes and imagine that they are the protagonist. At her best, Swift is as much a storyteller as a songwriter, one who can write evocative, specific lyrics about universal experiences: Millions of girls got just as swept up in the fantasy of love as the narrator in "Love Story," or scream-sung all 10 minutes of the breakup anthem "All Too Well (10 Minute Version)" to cleanse themselves with a good cry.

In the earlier days of Swift's career, those songwriting chops were coupled with album releases that had a clarity of perspective: "Red" is about a breakup, but it's also about coming of age and existing in rooms where older people look down on you. "Reputation" is about being disliked, but it's also about the people who stand by you in the face of criticism. Even "Midnights," which featured some of Swift's more embarrassing lyrics ("Vigilante Shit" and "Karma"), had a self-aware and self-reflective tone, as Swift processed her past from an older, wiser vantage point.

It was with 2024's "The Tortured Poets Department" that Swift started to lose this narrative clarity. As a double album with 31 songs, it was just too long. While there were certainly threads to follow — having love, losing love, and the ever-increasing pressure from fans and foes to deliver her best work — it was unfocused. Not to mention that it was the first Swift album where nearly every track featured at least one lyrical clunker (see: "I scratch your head, you fall asleep / Like a tattooed golden retriever" on the title track).

"The Life of a Showgirl" is even worse. Despite the feathered, beaded, jewel-toned visuals, the album is far less razzle-dazzle; on the contrary, it struggles to be much of anything at all other than "The Life of Taylor Swift." Few of the songs engage with more complex feelings than being infatuated with a new partner, and because of the magnitude of her celebrity, it's impossible to forget that she's singing all of this about Travis Kelce. Especially when she's singing about his "redwood tree."

But the real problem isn't the fact that she tried to reheat Sabrina Carpenter's nachos with cheeky phallic puns. Swift's worst songs are the ones where she's too caught up in the mythology of Taylor Swift to be relatable. In "CANCELLED!", the Swift lore of beefing with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West back in 2016, or of being friends with Blake Lively during a very public legal battle, overshadows any universality that might come out of the song.

It's not about the human experience, but about the Taylor Swift experience. For someone who built her brand on being relatable, that's a major problem.

The billionaire problem

If Swift's girl-next-door image started to show serious cracks on "Tortured Poets," it blew wide open on "The Life of a Showgirl."

Swift singlehandedly changes the economics of almost anything she touches, from major organizations like the NFL to entire regions she tours. Her engagement to Kelce became a de facto holiday for marketers, who scrambled to cash in on the good vibes.

She's ultra-rich and ultra-famous, but she's still songwriting like she's an average girl from Pennsylvania: In "Wi$h Li$t," for instance, she claims that unlike other people, she doesn't dream of money but of a simple house in the suburbs and a whole bunch of kids. Not exactly the kind of stuff you want to hear from someone with enough money to buy the whole block.

You could argue that there's a kernel of universality in a song like "Wi$h Li$t." Yes, there are plenty of women out there who want a great love more than they could ever want a mansion or a private jet. (Both things Swift already has, by the way.)

But over the past two years, with Swift's every move grabbing headlines, it's impossible to ignore Taylor Swift, The Billionaire. Swift's continued insistence that she is the girl next door doesn't match reality, and it makes her music feel inauthentic.

Please, Taylor, take a break!

I've defended Swift from various criticisms about her business strategy. The Taylor's Versions project never felt like a cash grab to me, but a genuine attempt to revisit, improve, and reclaim her past work. But since then, the countless vinyl- and CD-exclusive variants of Swift's recent albums, her theatrical releases, coffee-table books, and other merch have. In this economy, I'm not spending $20 on a movie ticket to see an 89-minute commercial for "The Life of a Showgirl."

This week, Swift announced a forthcoming six-part Disney+ docuseries about the end of the Eras Tour, another chance to cash in on Swiftie mania. But when all her products are designed to promote music that's far from her best work, I feel like I'm spending my money on nothing but hype. As a fan, it feels like she's trying to milk every last penny out of me. It doesn't help that she's already a billionaire.

Right now, the only thing I want is for Swift to do what plenty of burnt out working professionals do: Take a break. Take a couple of years to do things regular people do — get married, go on vacation, hang out with your friends and family.

Then maybe in a few years, I'll be ready to rekindle. I'd happily jump back into the fold for a "Fearless" 20th anniversary tour, or an experimental album with a fresh sound — the jazzy tone of "False God" could be a good place to start.

Right now, as a longtime Swiftie, I'm just too tired to keep up. The most relatable thing Swift could do is actually show us she's exhausted, too.

Correction: October 16, 2025 — An earlier version of this story misstated the streaming platform that will air Swift's six-part docuseries. It is Disney+.