Sorry Again (Taylor's Version)

On 2023's expectations, intentions, Taylor Swift, and Madonna

Madonna in the 1985 film, Desperately Seeking Susan

I was fifteen when Desperately Seeking Susan premiered in theaters as Madonna’s rise into superstardom continued its meteoric ascent. I was a huge Madonna-wannabe by this point—had been since the first time I heard the singer’s first single, “Holiday.” By the time the “Borderline” video debuted on MTV, I was hooked, dancing in my room to the music’s silky bops and studying her image for clues on girlhood and femininity. 

My best friend, Rosanna, and I dressed like Madonna: Ripped tights, bustier, tousled hair, crucifix earrings, and heaps of black, plastic bracelets stacked high on each wrist. We wanted to be her and the closest we could get to this was through the trash-fashion accouterments we bought (or, let’s be honest, sometimes lifted) from a nearby flea market.  

I was up late one night a few weeks after Desperately Seeking Susan’s premiere, watching David Letterman’s talk show with my mother. The actress Susan St. James, who at the time starred in one of our favorite shared shows, Kate and Allie, was on to talk about the sitcom. 

By this point in our relationship, my mother and I were firmly entrenched in the battle of sullen teenage daughter versus tired, rigid mom. Simply put, we didn’t get along much of the time and one of us was usually mad at the other.  Which is to say that a moment like this, watching late night television on a school night, felt like a rare moment of peace (my mother, like me, was a night owl and, once I became a teen, never policed my bedtime). 

Back to Susan St. James. On the television, the actress appeared dressed like Madonna. If my memory serves me at all, she wore an oversized blazer, copious plastic bangles and her hair teased up into an oversized bow.

(Alas, my memory does not serve me well because what I found instead as I tried to google this recollection was a surprising account about a 1987 literary scandal involving the writer David Foster Wallace lifting, nearly wholesale, an exchange between St. James and Letterman for his short story, “Late Night”. Wow, talk about a Bad Art Friend).

Anyway, perhaps my memory is just a fever dream, but that’s not the point here. What I remember, specifically, is this feeling of amusement that St. James had dressed like my idol and that she was using Letterman’s platform to praise the singer in a time when most adults seemed to deride her for her clothes, her high-pitched singing voice, and her suggestive dance moves. Finally, someone gets it, I said to my mother.

Not so fast. My mother looked at me, eyebrows arched.

 She’s making fun of her, she said dryly as St. James continued her Madonna-logue. It’s just satire, she doesn’t like Madonna, she’s dressed like that because she’s trying to make a point of how dumb she thinks she is.

Oh. I felt the air escape from my balloon. It was true, I could see that now, watching the actress through my mother’s eyes. On one level it disappointed me because it seemed as if, finally, the adults were getting something right with this acknowledgement of the singer’s charisma and talents. On another level—one I couldn’t yet articulate—it also angered me, this dismissive and condescending attitude.

Fine, Madonna wasn’t meant for you anyway, I thought with an edge of teenage bitterness. 

(An aside: Recently, Rosanna reached out to invite me to see Madonna with her in San Francisco. More than forty years after I became a fan, I’ll finally get to see her live. Thank you, Rosanna!).

Time magazine’s Person of the Year: Taylor Swift

I recently thought of this moment after Time magazine named Taylor Swift its 2023 Person of the Year. A controversial or odd choice? Perhaps, but I think debating the validity of this choice is pointless.

Taylor Swift, is inarguably, one of the biggest stars of our time and by all accounts she’s a decent person, too. She writes her own songs, she’s kind to fans, she’s taken control of her career, and she’s motivated thousands to register to vote. (For a highly entertaining, clear-eyed take on Swift check out Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s excellent “What I Saw at Taylor Swift’s Delirious Eras Tour”).

And yet the backlash has been strong among certain factions—most notably hipsters so hip they refuse to call themselves hipsters, and older, crankier folks out of touch with modern pop culture sensibilities.

I won’t share all the insults that the internet lobbed against Swift after Time’s cover reveal but the one that I found most obnoxious came from an older female acquaintance who dismissed her as a dumb bimbo guilty of not writing protest songs during a time of global unrest.

What the literal hell. Swift’s music might not be for you but why, in the year 2023 and beyond are we subjecting women to such nonsense? It’s not just wildly misogynistic (whither the Ed Shereen backlash? Harry Styles?), it’s misguided. Why is it her responsibility to write protest songs or do anyone else’s bidding (a conversation about the evils of capitalism and the tarnished art of grand performance is a conversation for another day).

Whatever, though. Taylor Swift likely doesn’t care and even if she did, I’m sure she’ll persist.

In 2016, when Billboard presented Madonna with its “Woman of the Year” award during its Women in Music awards, the singer accepted the honor by saying “the most controversial thing I’ve done is stick around.”

Madonna. Taylor Swift. Cher. Miley. Christina. Britney. I could write a list that goes on for ages, but the point is this: Stop reducing women to the sparkly bikini-clad sum of their very smart parts. It doesn’t make you sound cooler or wiser, it makes you sound petty and cruel.

Speaking of Britney, earlier this year I listened to the singer’s memoir, The Woman in Me, on audio book. I know the book was co-written with several ghost writers but that’s fine—I don’t expect her to be a great writer, I expect her to be Britney Spears and, honestly, that’s probably an unfair expectation on my part, too.

Anyway, that was probably me you saw driving around town, wiping away tears as I listened to the actress Michelle Williams’ Oscar-worthy narration of Spears’ troubled life. Seriously, screw her family and everyone else who exploited her.

This has all been a long-winded way of getting to my other point: An entire year has passed since my last post here. That was not the intent but, rather, the reality. The year 2023 whirred past me in a blur.

It wasn’t a bad year, but it was a tough year—something I’m learning to discern the difference between. It was an entire year during which I felt like I was always behind, trying to keep up and always falling short. In that act of falling, I slipped into some wells of depression and then pulled myself out again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Occasionally, I took stock of my accomplishments in life and found them wanting. Sometimes, I took a step back and told myself that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. For now. If I didn’t have time post here it was because I’d devoted the time to something else more pressing. It wasn’t just that my plate was too full, it was perhaps that it was just full enough.

Ironically enough, though, earlier this month Spotify informed that my most-played song of the year was Velocity Girl’s “Sorry Again.” As with last year, I once again went with a song that was decades-old: “Sorry Again” was released in 1994 and although it’s never really left my rotation, this year it seemed to roar back into my daily playlists, a jangly apology of sorts about broken promise—but for the sake of something better.

With that in mind, as 2023 ticks to its end, I’m taking the moment to reflect on the year and its promises, unfulfilled or otherwise. As with last year, instead of a Top Ten list, I want to once again share five loose categories that shaped the last twelve months of my time on this planet.

A woman, reading and reflecting at a file cabinet.

Writing: I wrote! A lot! More specifically, I revised the hell out of a lot of pages (writing is revising, revising is writing) and pulled 163 pages from the 250-some pages I wrote for my MFA thesis. And I’m done. Well, the thesis is done. The memoir that will eventually emerge from that thesis is far from done but I’m allowing myself a moment of joy and pride to recognize the hard work that went into the two-and-a-half years of this program. (I also did some freelance work—not as much as I would have liked, but I knew that I needed to prioritize the thesis).

In the new year I’d like to write here more but because I’m continuing to prioritize the memoir, I’m not making promises. Rather, I’m setting intentions and doing my best to create space and structure for them.

Reading: Speaking of writing, I read a lot this year. Not as much as I would have liked, but enough to create a rich, bookish tapestry. Among my favorites, the Spears’ memoir, Melissa Febos’ craft book, Body Work, Elissa Altman’s richly layered account of her relationship with her spoiled and glamorous mother, Motherland, and the poet Maggie Smith’s absolute barn burner of a divorce memoir, You Could Make This Place Beautiful.

Also on my favorites list: Eula Biss’ indescribable long-form essay, The Balloonists and Emma Cline’s moody page-turner The Guest.

Watching: Of course, I watched television. And a few movies, too. Last night we watched a Swedish film, Thank You, I’m Sorry, about a pregnant widow facing old relationships following the sudden death of her husband and it had me both crying and laughing. It’s a simple yet smart and emotionally nuanced film and one I’ll probably return to again in time.

Chloe Sevigny in Russian Doll

We also finally got around to watching the second season of Russian Doll and when I tell you that the finale gutted me into sobs, what I mean is that this storyline about time-hopping and mother-daughter relationships hit terribly, wonderfully close to home. Related: Natasha Lyonne in Poker Face is a goddamned delight.

Other films and shows I loved: Barbie (of course), Beef, The Bear, The Curse (okay, maybe “loved” is a little strong, but it’s mesmerizing in an incredibly uncomfortable way), Last Tango in Halifax (terrible name, great show), and Deadloch (recommended if you’re craving a funny Broadchurch with lesbians). Also recommended: Slow Horses and Patriot if you’re in the mood for darkly funny, melancholy spy thrillers.

We also watched a lot of Sacramento Kings games, both on television and in person. The 2023-2024 season was so much fun and so far, the beam continues to be a consistent delight.

Listening: I listen to music all the time but this year, as with last year, I suppose, was mostly about comfort music. See: Velocity Girl. Also, Courtney Barnett, Boygenius, Tiger Trap, Sebadoh, Blake Babies, and Wilco. I also loved songs by Olivia Rodrigo, Dua Lipa, and, yes, Taylor Swift. One of my favorite tracks was Kurt Vile’s track “Another Good Year for the Roses” and I’m still sad we didn’t go see him play at Pappy & Harriet’s. Next time! We did go to a few great shows, however: Courtney Barnett and Neil Young, both in Berkeley, were absolute standouts, as was Joe Pernice in someone’s backyard in the hills of Orinda.

Shopping: I’ve always loved thrifting and vintage-shopping and this year, thanks to my mother-in-law, I returned to it with a vengeance. I added a shelf at the antique mall where I sell vintage goods and clothes and went thrifting as much as time would allow. My mother-in-law, who is retired, also shopped for me. A lot. She knows a lot about vintage glassware, and it’s been fun to learn more about it with her—and even more fun to load up my cart with her at the shops. I hope to sell (and shop!) even more in the new year so stay tuned.

Being: The last year has been one of emotional restructuring. What the hell does that mean? Honestly, I’m still figuring it out, but it has to do with boundaries and requirements and still—STILL—learning to be comfortable in my aging skin. In 2023, in pursuit of that, I traveled a bit (New York, Florida (!), Baltimore), and forged community. I sought out new creative connections and tried to, not always successfully, I’ll admit, shed myself of unrealistic expectations.

Listen, I even grew out my emotional support bangs, which I’ve had for more twenty years, so you know I was putting in the work. It’s a work in progress, though— I’m a work in progress and I’m glad to still be here.

Happy New Year and, if you’ve read this far, thank you—I’m grateful you’re part of my community.