The Starmers were supposed to have the moral high ground – at least according to Labour eschatology – and yet we read of their grubby relationship mega-donor Waheed Alli. Alli was given a security pass to 10 Downing Street in return for his money. During the election, he lent Team Keir the use of his £18 million Covent Garden home. Lady Starmer, meanwhile, certainly has time and taste for more than NHS occupational health work. Vics was pictured front row at the show of London Fashion Week’s wokest designer, Edeline Lee, dressed head to toe in Lee’s own creation, a polka dot dress (on loan), worth over £1,000. Altogether, Vicky has been clothes-horsed in £5,000 of designer-wear courtesy, once again, of Alli.
I’m not tone deaf; I grew up playing the violin, and love Beethoven piano sonatas as well as mid-period Beatles, 1990s grunge and grime
For me, more off-putting from an austerity Labour first lady was her appearance at a Taylor Swift concert in Wembley. Surely a more worthy candidate could be found? Free tickets to Taylor Swift seem like something for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, not the wife of the Prime Minister.
Why on earth did Lady Starmer want to be there in the first place? Since Swift’s Eras tour graced the UK earlier this summer, the sight of influential middle-aged parents going gaga over her has become all too frequent. We’ve seen everyone from Wills and Kate and kids (snapped with a delighted Swift, obviously) to the Sunday Times’s foreign editor, Ben Hoyle, turning up and boasting about the amazingness of the experience and how bonding it was for his family.
Swift, and Swiftiness, seems a particular magnet for royal and prime ministerial figures and their families – especially, for obvious reasons, those with daughters. Liz Truss is a fan, Rishi is a fan. Barack Obama is thought to be a fan.
Why does all this irritate? First, it’s the try-hardness. Certainly Truss lent into her reputation as a Swiftie, as though we were supposed to empathise with her because it would make her appear normal. Or take Lady Starmer. She is 50-odd. Her world is now one of power struggles, ruthless compromises, and balancing global fame with home life. It’s about getting used to life in No. 10, and motherhood and being a wife, secrets, strategy, and appearance. Now let us recap what Swiftiness consists in: insane enthusiasm for a skinny white American woman in her early thirties, with bright red lips, who loves to wear sequins and – crucially – sings about fights with friends and broken relationships. Swift’s world is one of schoolyard angst, revenge, hurt feelings, cutting people dead, fancying boys, being dumped and being betrayed. This is certainly the stuff of teenage life and perfectly serious – but it is not the world of glossy middle-aged mums. Or at least, where our Prime Minister’s wife is concerned, it ought not to be.
While it is understandable, even predictable, that her daughters – and those of Rishi and Liz – are into Taylor (the internet demands nothing less), grown-up Swiftiness is either a desperate act or a very concerning sign of emotional immaturity.
Then there’s the music itself. Now, far be it from me to invite the scorn and rage of Swifties, known to hunt down those who cast shade on their goddess, but the truth is I have tried and tried to get the fuss. I have listened to endless Taylor ‘best of’ playlists and I just do not understand. I’m not tone deaf; I grew up playing the violin, and love Beethoven piano sonatas as well as mid-period Beatles, 1990s grunge and grime. I also like chart-topping pop (in moderation) – Dua Lipa, Doja Cat, Lana Del Rey, Miley Cyrus, Cardi B, Rihanna, Beyoncé…
But I couldn’t tell you why Swift’s music is special. It sounds just as algorithmic as that of Sabrina Carpenter. Her lyrics are at least different from the standard pop fare, because she writes them, and this sets her apart. Even so, they are firmly about friends and feelings and boys.
That girls love Swift is understandable. And she is a fun role model with what appears to be a genuine heart and soul. But middle-aged woman? For the Vicky Starmers of the world, who presumably came of age in a far more inventive, creative period of music, made without the input of bots, the love of Swift’s music is odd, if not incomprehensible. Roughly as odd as the eagerness to sing along to songs like ‘Bad Blood’: ‘Now we got bad blood,’ growls Swift. ‘Now we got problems. And I don’t think we can solve ’em.’ Actually, as far as a meaningful message from Britain to the Starmers goes, it’s not that bad after all.
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