In a 1976 essay, Eve Babitz tells a delicious story about a magazine reporter who catches a scoop while watching Elizabeth Taylor eat room-service caviar—with onions—right in front of the used car salesman she’s supposedly dating. The reporter is incredulous: would the Elizabeth Taylor really risk onion breath in front of a lover? Of course not—turns out Liz is secretly negotiating to remarry Richard Burton. It’s a moment of world-class gossip. I usually don’t think too hard about Taylor Swift’s love life—until she dropped the news of her new album on Travis Kelce’s podcast, complete with a track that’s basically a song-length dick joke. Everyone seems to be in on the fun—though I have no idea what happened to the poor car salesman.
With that spirit, I headed to a screening of The Official Release Party of a Showgirl, a music video premiere and behind-the-scenes doc that played in all 540 AMC theaters across the country this past weekend. “I didn’t realize we came here for one music video,” grumbled a woman behind me on the escalator—clearly unimpressed with the 85 extra minutes of making-of footage, artist commentary, and lyric visualizers (clean versions only). Swifties, on the other hand, are feasting: Target exclusives, TikTok filters, a “content capture activation” in Century City, and “Showgirl Era” cupcakes in “orange vanilla” and “teal vanilla”—which, spoiler, taste exactly the same.
Swift’s new track “Elizabeth Taylor” offers a meta-commentary on fame, exposure, and the precarious nature of celebrity marriages. “You’re only as hot as your last hit, baby,” she sings—but that rule barely applies to her. While The Tortured Poets Department gave us the big Post Malone duet “Fortnight,” her 2019 track “Cruel Summer” still hit No. 1 thanks to the Eras Tour and some genius marketing. Taylor Swift doesn’t follow the pop machine; she rewires it. Even before its release, The Life of a Showgirl was poised to be the year’s biggest pop album.
And yes, I’m a fan. I love the Swift who wrote “Leaving like a father/Running like water,” who dreamed her daughter-in-law would kill her for money, who got smarter and harder “in the nick of time,” who dissed John Mayer and never ever got back together. I’m especially loyal to her peak-pop era—1989—crafted with Swedish superproducers Max Martin and Shellback. When I’m tired of Taylor, “Wildest Dreams” always pulls me back in.
But recently, I’ve noticed my favorite pop-loving Pilates instructor sticking to remixes of “Look What You Made Me Do,” “Cruel Summer,” and yes, “Wildest Dreams.” Nothing newer than Lover (2019). While the Eras Tour exploded, the studio work has felt more restrained. In The Official Release Party, Swift says The Life of a Showgirl is inspired by the tour’s glitz, grit, and crowd frenzy. The album’s bold visuals—swapping black-and-white solemnity for glitter and rhinestones—promised a return to upbeat, sparkling pop. At just 12 tracks (compared to Tortured Poets’ 31), it seemed like a focused comeback. And with no Jack Antonoff in sight, and Shellback and Max Martin possibly back? I was hopeful.
But we’ve got problems.
Showgirl doesn’t signal a bold new direction like Reputation or Folklore did. It’s a familiar mix: diaristic lyrics with poetic flair, a classic diss track, high school nostalgia, a bit of drama, and of course, romance. Rolling Stone called it “new and exciting,” but that’s overstated. Sure, “Wood” sounds like the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back” filtered through bachelorette-party kitsch, and “Actually Romantic” borrows from both the Pixies and Weezer—clear echoes of iconic songs now reimagined as Taylor Swift tracks. The production, though, often feels uninspired. “Father Figure” is lyrically sharp, but its sound pales next to George Michael’s sultry 1987 original. “CANCELLED!” aims for snark but lands with little punch, even with lines like “Did you girlboss too close to the sun?”
Still, a few songs stand out. “Opalite” is a shimmering anthem of resilience, sounding somewhere between Post Malone’s “Circles” and Maroon 5’s “Sugar.” “Honey” blends a hip-hop beat with bass, clarinet, and banjo, showcasing the album’s underused live instrumentation. And the closing title track—a country-pop duet with Sabrina Carpenter—is a charming wrap-up, with lines like “They ripped me off like false lashes” and pedal steel by Swedish musician Anders Pettersson. He also shines on “The Fate of Ophelia,” easily the album’s strongest track, and on the cheeky “Wi$h Li$t,” where everyone apparently looks like Travis Kelce.
While a little schmaltzy, The Life of a Showgirl hints at a stronger concept album lurking beneath the surface—one about ambition, spectacle, and community. At its best, it gestures toward a glorious pop pageant. The rest of the time, it sounds like the last decade of pop music slightly reshuffled—relying on Swift’s name to make you listen more closely. “In my industry, attention is affection,” she says in the video introducing “Actually Romantic.” That’s the showgirl’s job: to keep the spotlight on her.
It’s working. And if this ends up being the only pop album you hear this year, maybe that’s good enough.
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