Folklore, And How I Overcame Cynicism In The Midst Of A Pandemic

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly the summer, it's clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

Being a longtime fan of any artist or medium comes in waves of appreciation. When we are lucky, we get hit by a masterpiece with the force of a tsunami at the most pivotal moment in our life—a work of art so profound it opens a new perspective on the world, and in turn, earns our lifelong admiration.

I have loved Taylor Swift since the sixth grade. I can’t remember what exactly it was that drew me to her music in the very beginning, because most of it wasn’t relatable to me at the time. I didn’t date until high school, and those relationships weren’t anywhere near as passionate as the verses in “Sparks Fly” or “Picture to Burn.” I was too sardonic for Romeo and Juliet but thought “Love Story” was the greatest thing ever written.

It wasn’t until she dropped her eighth studio album in the summer of 2020 that I saw myself reckon with my own vulnerabilities through a record that felt entirely made for me.

A hard time adjusting

It’s hard to pinpoint when I became a cynic. Sometime during high school, I began exercising the mentality that if I always expected the worst, I’d never be disappointed. You probably wouldn't expect such callousness and self-deprecation from a Taylor Swift fan whose adolescence was shaped by her bubblegum-sounding hits. But alas, the same mind that gave us the likes of “Shake It Off” and “22” also yielded “I Knew You Were Trouble” and “This Is Why Can't Have Nice Things.”

Of course, the teenage angst I experienced in the 10th grade was nothing compared to the journey that awaited  my-melodramatic-self after my graduation in 2016. Like everyone else, I saw myself severely affected by the COVID-19 pandemic personally and professionally. A big chunk of that had to do with finally reaching a sense of stability after what had up until then been the four most difficult years of my life—and then having it all stripped away. 

This wasn’t the first natural disaster to butcher an entire academic year for me. My transfer to FIU only happened because of a hurricane that tore apart the island I live in, killed over 3,000 people and left most of us without electricity or running water for months on end. 

I spent my first semester abroad crushing numbers, anxious over the economic instability that would potentially hinder a full transfer. Despite gaining financial aid and finding a two-bedroom, four-person dorm for my Junior year, the place proved to be a hygienic and emotional horrorshow. The sight of moldy dishes overflowing from the sink was just one of many factors that made me dread returning home after class. 

By early 2020 however, I was living with three decent roommates under the same two-bedroom arrangement. The place was spotless; I could finally concentrate on my coursework instead of finances or petty dorm drama. Things were starting to look up for me. I had a job I was passionate about, multiple circles of friends, and, starting in February, a potential love interest.  

All of this was stripped away from me on March 13 when my university sent an email saying the campus would shut down for at least two weeks, and that classes would be remote. Two weeks passed and everyone realized this was going to last much, much longer. Still, I cancelled my summer classes with the hope that by fall we’d be back in school and I’d have an excuse to return to Miami. 

That didn’t happen.

The next few months put me in a very dark place, which resulted in an intense recovery process. I finished my final college semester from home during that time, and graduated from my living room couch in December. Whatever idealism I had was further eroded by my increasingly monotonous existence.

Passed down like folk songs

Taylor Swift surprise-dropped her eighth studio record (and third Album of the Year winner) on July 24, at 12:00 AM. The next day, I reviewed it for FIU’s student newspaper.

“Written, recorded, engineered and mixed during the pandemic,” I wrote, “folklore is a labor of love, and the best from an artist who’s been around for so long but proves yet again that she’s nowhere near done.”

At a time when we were forced to stay indoors, the earthy imagery and natural aesthetic of folklore left a profound impression on myself and countless others. The album's ability to both empathize with our struggles and provide escapist fairy tales makes it painful in its sincerity, yet rewarding with its emotional appeal.

Swift took her isolation as an opportunity to flex a creative muscle rarely used. Rather than write songs about her personal life, she took the time to create and invest in fictional characters and story arcs. Swift would continue to use this method for her successive album, evermore.

Nevertheless, folklore remains my favorite for its amalgamation of genres, and raw, penetrating lyricism. Three of the most lauded tracks—“cardigan,” “betty,” and “august”—center on a high school love triangle told from three different perspectives. The latter remains my favorite song of hers to date, but admittedly, it was also the most difficult one for me to listen to at first.

Femke Herrebaut/Flickr

To live for the hope of it all

Of course, one cannot discuss Taylor Swift without mentioning her recurring theme of forbidden relationships. I suppose now would be a good time to talk about that “potential love interest,” seeing that there’s no way around it. 

I met that person through mutual friends, just before lockdown. For the duration of the pandemic, I spoke with them as often as I could, giving myself something to look forward to during the crushing boredom of quarantine. Even though we had cultivated a long-distance “thing,” I was often plagued with doubts. Despite my happiness with them, I had these pathological expectations of worst-case scenarios I could never escape. 

But I never told them this, and we kept going at it. It felt futile. All summer long, those same three lines from “august”’s bridge repeated over and over in my head: 

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

It took ages for me to realize that those feelings of hope and longing were shared. “It’s sad that we were never given a chance,” they once said over the phone. Still, we continue to talk. Despite all these odds stacked against us, it hasn’t ended, and we still plan to meet again. Maybe wanting is enough, and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

I’ve since accepted “august” as my personal favorite song, and believe it to be Swift’s best. Aside from the tender imagery and nostalgic lyrics, its atypical structure works to its advantage. The outro blurs the classic rules of composition. Its length is enough to almost constitute as a second bridge—a ballsy choice made by her and co-writer Jack Antonoff—that pays off when the lyrics and violins harmonize and cut like glass. 

Persist and resist

There’s some irony in the way that this album affected me during the most difficult period of my life. Up until then, I had never been an overly sentimental person. The idea of writing something so intensely personal for others to read would have been unfathomable to me a year ago, but a lot has changed since then. Folklore remains the only album I’ve cried to, and I still think Swift deserves to go to hell for ordering that tracklist the way that she did.

Fresh off of “august” was the depressing “this is me trying”—a song so demoralizing, it tempted me to hit the skip button at my lowest point. And yet, it was so validating that I could never stop myself from listening. The poetry for that song is simple and effective, and the shoegaze nature makes it one of the most atmospheric songs on record. I could tell by the first verse alone that it wouldn’t hold back, as I’m sure millions of other listeners can attest:

I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that

What had I done to deserve losing important writing gigs and internship opportunities because of my physical circumstances, and despite constant pats on the back from my professors and peers? 

I’ve been well aware since the beginning that my struggles were—and are—nothing compared to those of many others. Over the past 12 months, this pandemic has claimed more than 3 million lives. Some of those deaths meant a lot to friends and acquaintances of mine who lost more than I could ever imagine. According to a survey by the U.S. Census Bureau, more than 42% of adults reported symptoms of anxiety or depression in December of last year. This number was up 11% from the year before. 

While I belong to that statistic, the times we are living have been a constant reminder to recontextualize my struggles and reflect on what I have to be thankful for. Therein lies the empathy of folklore and songs like “epiphany,” which serve as a sobering reality check so as not to fall too deep into the rabbit hole of escapism:

Something med school did not cover

Someone's daughter, someone's mother

Holds your hand through plastic now

"Doc, I think she's crashing out"

And some things you just can't speak about

As just one of millions of fans who’ll thank the likes of “august,” “this is me trying” and “epiphany” for getting me through this mess, I know that my experiences are not unique. I also know to not devalue what it is I’ve been through, and that self help is a work in progress.

Sometimes, the knowledge that you’re not alone can be as comforting as a warm cardigan in fall weather. ■