The keys keep getting higher and the screams keep getting louder.
Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t Own Me,” the defiant feminist anthem, is blaring. The clock on the Rogers Centre video board is ticking down — only 30 seconds now. My heart is beating, the anticipation growing. More and more phones start recording. Then, at zero, everything goes dark. The screams are piercing.
The Eras Tour has begun.
It is 7:51 p.m. on Friday and I’m nine rows back of the stage. In every direction, there are thousands of Swifties; the father and daughter standing in front of me, the teenage couple to my left, the women behind me, the people dancing in the aisle to my right. I am the odd man out, the non-Swiftie in a sea of sequins and sparkle. I am happy to be here. I also feel dramatically out of place.
I’ve been the Star’s Taylor Swift reporter this month as the biggest tour the world has ever seen comes to Toronto. I’ve learned a lot — how parents will spend anything to fulfil a child’s dream, how companies will capitalize on a trend in any way possible, how a city will move heaven and earth when it has enough incentive.
I have come to appreciate the fanaticism around Swift. I also do not understand it. So on Friday, as Swift’s three-and-a-half-hour, 40-plus-song marathon unfolded in front of me, I tried.
My attempt at wrapping my brain around this cultural phenomenon began last month. To prepare for my temporary gig, I binged Swift’s music. It became the soundtrack of my morning jogs.
Then, on Nov. 1, I began my reporting. I saw hotel rooms going for $2,000 a night. I found dads who had spent thousands of dollars on tickets for their daughters. I spoke to moms who had entered hundreds of ticket contests.
I learned people would happily contort their habits and bank accounts to extreme extents to see the Eras Tour. I still didn’t understand why Swift commanded such fanaticism. I hoped finally seeing the show would change that.
I had the help of 27-year-old Katherine Finlayson, who won the Star’s competition for Toronto’s biggest Swiftie. She’s been a fan since age 11 and maintains an encyclopedic knowledge of everything Taylor, down to the most obscure lyrics from the deepest of cuts. If I was going to understand this phenomenon, Katherine was a good buddy to have.
What first struck me Friday was the magnitude of it all. At one point, I walked past Gary Bettman, commissioner of the most popular league in Canada and one of hockey’s most recognizable faces, the guy who announces draft picks and defends billionaires. Yet here, he was simply another face in the crowd.
Such is the power of Swift. Important people become sideshows. Even Olivia Chow couldn’t get a ticket.
Nearly 49,000 people saw Friday’s show, adding to the nearly 10 million people who have seen the Eras Tour since it began in March 2023. But millions more have been left ticketless, failing to qualify for the verified fan sale and priced out by resellers.
Hundreds of those ticketless fans gathered outside the Rogers Centre on Friday. I had walked amongst them the day before, crowding the doors where sounds of the show wafted out and huddling under overhangs while refreshing StubHub. I felt a distinct shift when the concert began, from excitement to anxiety, from the haves to the have-nots.
Now on the inside, I was one of the haves, peering out the windows at those in the cold. I felt guilty.
The show was a spectacle. It dazzled with production value and set pieces — billowing fabrics, illuminated bicycles, moss-covered pianos, candlelit log cabins and scaffolded office buildings. After only two songs, the woman behind me was crying.
Each song was entertaining. I bounced along, genuinely enthralled and enjoying myself. But as the show wrapped, one thing disappointed me.
With her stratospheric success and impermeable influence, Swift seemed superhuman to me, larger than life, a caricature of the poppiest of pop stars. I assumed seeing her 30 feet away and hearing her perform live would make her seem more like a real person.
It didn’t. The meticulous choreography of the Eras Tour — which, to be fair, has given it much of its success — left me feeling like I hadn’t seen the authentic Swift. Admittedly, maybe that’s too much to ask for from the most famous person on the planet, performing in front of tens of thousands of fans for the 142nd time in the last 21 months.
The best part of the show was when Swift did feel authentic. During the acoustic section, when she performed two surprise mash-ups, Swift sat alone with only her guitar and piano. No backup vocals, no dancers, no fancy lights or sets, just Swift and her music. For the first time all night, she was vulnerable. It was mesmerizing.
So, too, was simply watching and hearing the crowd as Swift performed. Lyrics were shouted, friendship bracelets traded, outfits complemented. Katherine said she couldn’t believe she was close enough to see Swift’s face.
Even after the show, I can’t say I fully understand the fanaticism around Swift. I was not evangelized by seeing her in person. I experienced no epiphany.
But her songs have been stuck in my head ever since. No matter how hard I try, “22” and “Lover” always worm their way back in. Maybe that’s all the proof I need of the enduring power of Swift.
