.jpg)
Just over a year after ‘The Tortured Poets Department’ release, Taylor Swift drops ‘The Life of a Showgirl’, describing it as “infectious pop melodies without losing the quality storytelling of ‘folklore’”. But fans might be disappointed to realise that Showgirls’ 12 tracks of crisp, mystical, airy and synth sounds that evoke records like ‘1989’ and ‘Lover’ often lack Swift’s trademark lyrical talent.
Conceptually, ‘Showgirl’ positions Swift as a woman aware of her own spectacle. The problem is that the concept rarely deepens beyond costume. Where ‘Reputation’ weaponised her image and ‘Folklore’ dismantled it, ‘Showgirl’ leaves it polished. Rather than a “photo album full of imagery” and all the stories to go along, what we got emulates a glossy, thrown-together scrapbook. The result is more reflective of the mirrorball mentioned in ‘Folklore’ than anything personal.
While the misty and soft rock production creates undeniable hooks and perfectly crafted melodies that act as earworms (namely lead single ‘The Fate of Ophelia’ and Elizabeth Taylor), the juvenile lyrics stop you dead in your tracks and rip you out of any salvageable storytelling, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. This inconsistency defines the album: songs built on incredible production but weighed down by shallow self-awareness.
Songs like ‘Cancelled!’ stand out with their sleek ‘Reputation’-style electropop and excellent chord sequences, but they read as incredibly tone deaf. Lyrics like “Everyone's got bodies in the attic” romanticise moral ambiguity and make the song suffer from an affliction to the real-world concerns of which Swift’s less politically aligned friends, such as Brittany Mahomes, are centred. You’d reasonably expect more lyrical substance from an artist whose activism is so publicly emphasised, even if selectively.
Much of ‘Showgirl’ suffers from this surface-level writing. The faux, manufactured lyrics are not born of depth, just reference points engineered to ride the current wave of internet talking points and TikTok phrases. Songs like ‘Eldest Daughter’, for example, capitalise off notorious topics of discussion online – eldest daughters presume a role of heavy responsibility that moulds them into a Type A stereotype – without offering any new insight. It feels like Swift is trying hard to spark a hollow “she’s just like me” feeling from the listener, but it rings as false from the billionaire who used to draw on authentic or raw sentiments similar to the stream of consciousness that made albums like ‘Red’.
Still, amid the album's performative veneer, there are glimpses of sincerity – from her history with ex-label boss Scott Borchetta to the loss of an old high-school friend. “Father Figure” and “Ruin the Friendship” stand out as the album’s potential lyrical saviours. The former paints Swift in a commanding role with agency and control within the music industry, teasing tension with male figures in power, hinting at abuse in mentorship, manipulation and hidden costs of fame, and offering a rare and grounded introspective moment. The latter teeters into a widely relatable space of the relationship between fear and longing, the ‘what ifs’ and regrets – one of the few highlights where Swift does not tap into any cliché and offers the listener a vivid snapshot into the nostalgic palette of the song. Finally, there’s a tonal shift from the general bravado theme of the album to an interior confession that injects the intimacy and humility fans have surely missed.
All in all, ‘The Life of a Showgirl’ feels like an artist rushed and in between eras – ambitious but unfocused. I’ve loved Swift’s music since I was six years old — Her songs have taken root in every defining moment of my life. It’s frustrating to see an artist lost in the spectacle that keeps her untouchable, while the intimacy she’s capable of falls short. It’s a great performance, but when it ends, you’re left wishing she dug deeper.