Taylor and Travis Make Us the Parasocial Third Wheel
A Millennial Fan’s Lament for the Good Old Days
On Monday morning, Taylor Swift’s official fan page @TaylorNation teased her newest era with a carousel of orange outfits from The Eras Tour. Hours later, Travis Kelce’s podcast New Heights teased an upcoming guest—fans spotted his brother Jason wearing an Eras Tour T-shirt. Soon after came the confirmation: Taylor herself would appear on the show to announce her brand-new album The Life of a Showgirl.
As an OG Swiftie, my first reaction was: huh??? This is a huge departure from her usual rollout style, where personal relationships remain firmly in the background. (Have you ever seen her walk a red carpet with a boyfriend? The answer is no.) Even Joe Alwyn’s songwriting contributions were hidden behind the pseudonym “William Bowery.”
The next day GQ revealed Travis Kelce as its September cover star. The timing was… convenient.
For years, she’s kept her art and her love life separate, letting the music lead and the partner play a subplot. This era? The couple is the headline. Different rollout strategy, different visuals, and given her reunion with Max Martin and Shellback, possibly a return to her 1989 sound.
I’m not trying to be one of the “Brads, Dads and Chads” she joked about in her Time cover story. I enjoy the paparazzi shots of the two of them stepping out at Italian restaurants around NYC. I love that Travis isn’t intimidated by her fame and even popped up for a cameo at an Eras show. But lately it feels like he’s trying to match her star power. His GQ quote, “I hadn’t experienced somebody in the same shoes as me,” made me roll my eyes. Taylor Swift is not in your shoes, sir. You are not Beyoncé.
And yes, I draw the line at being asked to tune into a straight man’s podcast.
I want to make it clear that I remain ecstatic about this album, with its most overt sexuality and a return to a more colorful palette. While I’m sick of seeing Travis’ face everywhere, (wait — am I just the reverse Brad?) I appreciate the ways he’s either inspired her as a muse or rekindled a light within her that she was perhaps performing.
What’s shifted is the parasocial dynamic. Younger fans, especially women, often form intense one-sided bonds with celebrities, and couples double the appeal by offering an ongoing romantic storyline. But as fans get older, those bonds tend to fade, and authenticity starts to matter more than fantasy.
That’s where I am now, a 30-year-old, married fan who used to decode liner notes in her high school library and cry to the original “All Too Well” after my high school boyfriend broke up with me (repeatedly). I helped build this fandom, but I no longer see myself in its new focal point: shipping a relationship I can’t relate to.
It’s not that I dislike Travis. I just miss the way Taylor’s relationships used to unfold: embedded in the music itself, revealed through lyrics and storytelling rather than through constant appearances alongside her. For most of her career, fans discovered the personal story as part of the album experience — like girls gossiping at a sleepover, not having the men themselves become part of the club. Since 2020, she’s released eight albums, evenly split between originals and rerecordings, without the Swifties ever catching fatigue. From the visuals and credits we’ve seen so far, this new era promises growth and a renewed vitality, but Travis’ presence feels ever more omnipresent, perhaps signifying an end of the era of mystery.