Taylor Swift's “The Life of a Showgirl” Proves Masculinity Is So Back

The bright colours and happy anthems lie in stark contrast to her previous, dark and moody “The Tortured Poets Department” aesthetic; but behind the new jubilant celebration of femininity lies an equal and opposite platforming and praise for something too-often maligned in 21st century culture: strong masculinity.

Throughout the cannon of her recent work, Swift has grappled with two competing female personas: being a “Boss Babe” billionaire, sell-out success, and living one of the most awarded career legacies of all time, and a distinct feeling that fame and success were poor substitutes for being cared for and protected by a loving, committed husband. 

During her relationship with Joe Alwynn (2016-2023), Swift’s music embodied the modern script women were handed: that independence was strength, commitment was optional, and cohabitation without vows was enough. In Midnights (“Lavender Haze”), she scoffed at marriage as “1950s sh*t.” But after six years with no proposal and a man who would simply “tolerate” her efforts to build a home and a life together, and a subsequent fling that promised the world and left quickly thereafter, in The Tortured Poets Department, the mask cracked: bitterness at “imaginary rings” that never materialised, fury at having “given all that youth for free,” disappointment at two men who enjoyed the comforts of companionship without ever stepping up. 

Exit Joe Alwyn and Matty Healy. Enter Travis Kelce. 

From the moment Travis Kelce publicly committed on his podcast to getting his phone number into Swift’s possession, he embodied what Alwyn never did: bold pursuit. His exuberant, public devotion stands in sharp contrast to the quiet evasiveness of the “forever boyfriend.” He won over Taylor's heart—the girl who in her teenage years had been honest about her dreams of Prince Charming coming to sweep her off her feet (Cc. “Love Story”). And within two years of dating, he gave Swift the security that she’s always dreamed of: a rock on her ring finger. 

Now, with Swift’s lyrics to match, a cultural archetype has shifted. 

In The Life of a Showgirl, Swift finally flips the script from feminist independence back to complementary partnership, celebrating masculinity and femininity in relationship to one another, rather than tearing down gender roles. The very imagery of the “showgirl” is telling: a woman at the height of feminine spectacle, but not standing alone. Instead, she exists and flourishes in her femininity in relationship to the masculine leads, partnering with her, leading the dance, exhibiting their own stage presence. 

The Life of a Showgirl offers a counter-narrative: that being cherished, chosen, and committed to is not weakness, but strength. 

In “The Fate of Ophelia,” (Track 1), Swift reclaims the once-mocked fairytale of being rescued—not as oppression, but as joy: “No longer drowning and deceived, all because you came for me.”  In “Eldest Daughter,” (Track 5) she throws away the exhausted mask of feminist girlbossery: “I’m not a bad bitch, and this isn’t savage... When I said I don't believe in marriage, that was a lie”.  And in “Wi$h List,” (Track 8), she makes her true desires unmistakably plain: not awards, not accolades, but marriage, children, and a home anchored by a man’s steady strength:“Have a couple kids, got the whole block lookin’ like you... 
Got me dreamin’ ’bout a driveway with a basketball hoop.” 

This is not regression, but revelation. The most influential woman in music has declared that girlbossing alone cannot satisfy, and that the answer is not a sensitive, hesitant man who keeps love in limbo, but a strong one who pursues, provides, and commits. 

Why does this matter? Because Swift’s story is the story of her generation. Women raised on feminist slogans were told they didn’t need men, and should eschew love and marriage to chase corner offices and paychecks. Yet the great irony of our time is that women are not flourishing under this so-called “emancipation” from family and commitment. Yale’s “Paradox of Happiness” studies show women’s happiness has declined in both relative and absolute terms since the dawn of the sexual revolution, with many realising too late that long nights spent in front of laptops in company cubicles are not the key to meaningful fulfillment —that raising a family might be. The non-committal boys looking for a good time on dating apps are a poor substitute for dependable, devoted, masculine men. The beta boyfriend—coasting, indecisive, forever delaying commitment—is the emblem of a failed cultural experiment. 

Swift’s new album sounds like a verdict: women don’t want men who merely orbit their lives, afraid to lead. They want men who step into the role of protector, provider, and partner for life. 

And this is why her fans are cheering—not just for Travis Kelce, but for what he represents. His presence in her life, and now in her music, signals the cultural return of something radical: strong masculinity. 

The feminist decades told women to sneer at marriage, to see domesticity as a trap, to applaud men who refused responsibility as somehow enlightened. But The Life of a Showgirl offers a counter-narrative: that being cherished, chosen, and committed to is not weakness, but strength. 

Lois McLatchie Miller (@loismclatch) is a British cultural commentator.