I Think I’m Finally Clean: Taylor Swift, Sexual Assault, and Coming Forward
Tags: Harassment, Rape Culture, Taylor Swift, Feminism, Sexual Assault

I Think I’m Finally Clean: Taylor Swift, Sexual Assault, and Coming Forward

I think when I first came to understand sexual assault and harassment, I was 11 or 12. My family and I were walking in Chicago together. We had just gotten up to enjoy time around the city, and were currently heading to Breakfast to enjoy a good morning together. We had just crossed the street, cars honking and people chattering on, the cold air biting at us, when we heard a man. He was no older than my mom’s age, his hair shaggy, and unkempt. He was screaming bloody murder at my mom, shouting about things I couldn’t even fathom at that age. I was shaken. I couldn’t understand why people would say such ruthless and inappropriate things, especially to people they don’t even know. My mom took it in stride, ignored him, and kept us walking. I had no idea how to react to this situation so I kept walking, pondering on how this wasn’t affecting her. It wasn’t until I grew older that I realized she had probably dealt with this longer than I had been alive. All women have to, whether we want to or not.

Around the same age, I discovered Taylor Swift’s music. My dad had previously played it in the car, letting me learn the entirety of Love Story and jamming out with me to You Belong With Me. We all enjoyed her music and kept listening to her new albums. We watched as she made the transition from country to pop, and the consequential criticism she received from the general public. People called her basic, overplayed, annoying, a serial-dater. They called her all the things every single girl has ever heard in their life. She was never taken seriously as an artist, just a pop sensation with a teenage girl fanbase.

She grew bigger and bigger, and my own interest crept up. I remember getting tickets to 1989 for Christmas. I cried to my mom after I received them, and remember being excited to see her live. It was one of the best gifts I had ever received. I remember planning my outfit for months, thinking about seeing her in person and squealing at the idea of hearing my favorite songs played (which were Blank Space and Shake It Off by the way, I understand these are basic but oh well) in a huge stadium.

When the day finally came to see her in person, I remember excitedly doing my hair, and wearing the best outfit an 11 year old could wear. I was so excited. I remember getting to my seats and watching, awestruck at the number of people in the stadium. There were thousands of people, all excitedly chattering, waiting for Taylor to come out and perform. I remember looking at my mom and thanking her quietly for taking me.

When Taylor first came out with the visionary Welcome To New York as her first performance, I remember I gasped. She ruled the stage. Everyone was following her, watching her every move, as she glided around it, singing her heart out. I was so starstruck by her. I remember copying her every move at the concert, standing up and cheering when she put her fun songs on.

The one song I remember hearing but not really clicking with was the song Clean. Clean was the last song on 1989, a slow song, singing of healing after a bad time in life. I was not nearly as excited for this song, I prayed that it would end sooner, so that we could get back to the fun music. I wanted to listen to New Romantics and 22 and The Story of us. I didn’t want to listen to this slow, and repetitive song.

When I first learned of the Taylor Swift sexual assault case, I was 15. The COVID-19 pandemic had already come and took away the end of my freshman year, leaving me stuck. I felt as if my life was spinning out of control. I couldn’t figure out how to ground myself to the reality that I was facing, which was growing grimmer and grimmer. Nothing seemed to be helping me, and I fell harder into a cycle of overthinking and obsessive behavior.

The one thing I could say that remained consistent was my adoration of Taylor Swift. With the end of the 1989 era, and her disappearance years, Reputation and Lover did not have a profound effect on me. Though I still listened to both albums, I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, her heart wasn’t in the right place. Learning of Scooter Braun’s plans to restrict Swift from getting her masters outraged me and brought with it an urge to protect her.

When her documentary, Miss Americana, came out I didn’t originally plan on watching it. Though I wanted to, the stresses of the year were building and I felt like I was constantly worried about something. The limited time I had to do practically anything surely was an explanation as to why I didn’t watch it. However, I think there may be another reason as to why I didn’t enjoy it.

I was 12 when I was first looked at inappropriately. I was in the gym working out. I had been in workout clothes, a pair of leggings and a tank-top. I remember doing squats and turning around to see an old man watching me. I was uncomfortable. I didn’t know this man. I had never met him in my life, but he somehow believed that he had the right to look at my body like this. I was an underdeveloped 12 year old. There was nothing to my body that was appealing. Even if my body was developed, it gave him no right to stare at me like I was only a piece of meat. Men did this constantly to me, and as I began to notice, to others as well.

When I finally came around to watching Miss Americana we were well into quarantine. A few months had gone by, I had sat by my bed thinking about everything, wondering when I was going to be able to get out and see my friends. The next time I saw my friend was early summer. She came over and we sat, socially distanced, just talking about life. I suggested we watched the documentary because we were both huge Taylor fans.

Watching the documentary, I wasn’t expecting to feel so much. Her talking of her eating disorder made me ache for her, and talking about how she felt isolated really did hurt me. I could relate so much to her, and my own empathy felt as if it was tearing me apart.

When she talked about her sexual assault case, I was horrified. I had not known about the case, and was disgusted that she had to go through that, and the man who had committed that act. David Mueller was a former DJ who had been shunned after accusations of sexual harassment towards Swift had occurred. He sued her for defamation that caused him to lose his job, and in return, she countersued for $1. She ended up winning the case.

The one year anniversary of the trial was shown on screen, and I realized that she was finally going to talk about it. Having kept fairly quiet about it except for when going to court, seeing her acknowledge it was heartbreaking as it was empowering. Swift said, “A year ago I was not playing in a sold out stadium in Tampa, I was in a courtroom in Denver, Colorado. This is the day the jury sided in my favor and said that they believed me.”

The following version of Clean that she played struck me. Clean has never been one of my favorite songs. I thought it was beautiful, but I always wanted to move onto the more exciting songs. The ones that made me jump and laugh and be excited and finally get to enjoy myself after a hard year.

When I was 16, I went to a party at the beach with my friends. It was loud and obnoxious, kids were drinking and vaping, having the time of their lives. Partying had never quite been my style. I didn’t particularly hate it or enjoy it. I was mostly neutral about it. After coming off of one of the longest days of my life at the beach, I wanted to just relax and enjoy myself with friends.

While I was talking with my friends, a boy came up to me and put his arm around me and my other friend. We were talking about school, where we were from, and how old we all were. I answered his questions politely. The arm around me made me uncomfortable but not enough for me to say anything. As we kept talking, he continued to get more and more touchy, moving his hand and arm until it was pressed up against my boob. I tried to move away from his touch more and more. He also tried to open up my shorts, pressing his hand down, but my friends, luckily, noticed. One of them yanked me away, and another took my hand and walked away with me. She asked me if I was okay, and I said I was fine. After calming down for a few seconds I walked back over to my friends, and noticed he was gone. One of them told me that he he said “the hot one had left,”

I don’t know what my reaction was supposed to be. Had that really just happened? I didn’t think it was something that could happen to me. Of course I knew that it was likely something would occur, but I think when it’s actually happening, and when it ends, you’re frozen. I didn’t know how to react. How to say no. How to say I wasn’t comfortable with this. How to say that I wasn’t interested.

A lot of people don’t have the support I have from my friends. My friends have never questioned me, have never made me feel crazy about this, have never done anything to victim blame me. A lot of people don’t have this. People, especially those apart of the online crowd, can be incredibly toxic, shouting about how it was our fault for doing something to provoke the perpetrator. It shouldn’t matter what I wore. It shouldn’t matter that I went to a party. It shouldn’t matter that there was drinking. Consent is important. No one should have been touching me like that without my permission, especially since I had never met this boy ever in my life.

Now that I’ve rewatched Miss Americana and have become even more attached to Taylor Swift after her releases of Folklore and Evermore. I understand a lot of what she felt that day. I think most women can.

I do understand that my situation could have been a lot worse. I could’ve been drunk. I could’ve been alone. But it wasn’t. I’m grateful to everyone who was there that night, and infinitely grateful that no one could have found me intoxicated and alone because I shudder to think what could have happened.

Women shouldn’t have to worry about this. Women shouldn’t have to be worried that someone will take advantage of them, or prey upon their body when they are unaware or unwilling to commit the sexual act. Women shouldn’t have to carry pepper spray and a rape whistle around. Women shouldn’t have to do these things to keep themselves protected.

Instead of acting like the woman needs to learn to protect herself, start asking yourself why men are not taught better. Teach your boys not to touch people without their consent. Teach your boys to ask for permission. Teach your boys to take no for an answer. Teach your boys that it is not a shameful thing to be rejected. Teach your boys to be better.

Looking back on everything that happened, I’ve come to realize that a lot of my own contemplation over the situation came from the fact that I was victim-blaming myself. I kept wondering if this instance even counted. Was it even bad enough? Did I suffer enough? Did it really matter when there are bigger instances occurring with women actually being raped? I’ve come to realize that I shouldn’t be asking myself those questions. One person’s suffering should not rule out another’s. Yes, some people do have it worse. But, no instance of harassment and attempted assault should be glossed over. In fact, I think it’s important that I do address that this happened to me.

Listening to Clean for the first time after that experience was incredibly hard. . “Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean,” Hearing those words coming from Taylor felt like she was writing what I couldn’t down. My body is my own. It is not anybody else’s to take and shape however they want. It is my own. I am the one who can make the decision as to whether I want to rid myself of that or not. I am the one who made the decision to become clean.

“We don’t fight for our own happy endings. We fight to say you can’t. We fight for accountability. We fight to establish precedent. We fight because we pray we’ll be the last ones to feel this kind of pain.” — Chanel Miller, Know My Name.