It is summer in downtown Louisville. My friend Wake and I, in white tees and ripped jean shorts, are heading towards our final destination: the KFC Yum Center. In one hand, I hold a mixed drink while Wake holds a water bottle filled with stage blood. With each block, one of us takes a swig, while the other throws blood onto the drinker, then swap. Ten blocks deep, we are drenched in blood and our alcohol levels are flirting with intoxication, but we have made it – to see the one, the only, the unavoidable Taylor Swift. What Wake and I didn’t know is that night, June 2, we were going to meet a true star.
“No guys, you know my daughter – Taylor?” she says while simultaneously pointing to Taylor Swift, under the phosphorescent spotlight.
Our first encounter with this mysterious figure was a moment of pure confusion. A few beats into the show the Jose Cuervo and Trader Joe’s Limeade combination has converted our bodies into two wacky inflatable arm men, our throats are dry from Swift’s plethora of pop songs, and our T-shirts dripping with a mixture of high fructose corn syrup and red dye (get it – "Bad Blood").
All of a sudden, a hand lands on Wake’s shoulder, and Wake flies back with it. I turn about face to see two tall, hard-bodied, well-oiled machines. However, upon my initial overview I manage to miss an individual. Between the two mountains lies a graceful female in her mid-50s in an all black getup. She comes to Wake and I. “Hello, what are y’all’s names?” she asks with genuine curiosity.
From there, the conversation leaps across the normal introductory questions with the unforgettable addition of y’all: "Where are y’all from? Why are y’all here?" We fire back responses as fast as our semi-inebriated bodies will allow until we are asked one final question. You guys are awesome! I wanna introduce you guys to my daughter. Do y’all wanna meet after the show?
Wake and I, previous – as Swift calls it – Starbucks gay lovers, meet eyes, in a sheer moment of panic. She is trying to set us up with her daughter. From there, we produce a litany of excuses: we have to wake up early tomorrow, she probably isn’t our type, etc. Eventually, the kind lady raises her hand to silence us and reveals her identity. “No guys, you know my daughter – Taylor?” she says while simultaneously pointing to Taylor Swift, under the phosphorescent spotlight.
"The conversation goes on for another 20 minutes, and we completely forget we have yet to meet Taylor because her mother is so damn captivating. "
Two hours later we have red backstage wristbands to match our shirts and are standing in the 1989 Loft, a VIP area for hardcore Swift fans. Taylor enters and begins to make her rounds to each one of the fans. Our view is obscured, with another hand on the shoulder and a friendly hug from Andrea Swift, or Mama Swift. “How was the rest of the show, guys? Oh my god, when Taylor got off the stage she asked me if I got those two boys covered in blood, and you know what I told her?”
We communicate through a nod: “No, Mama Swift.”
“Too late! They are already backstage” she giggles.
From there, she jokes around with us about our less than acceptable dancing and singing, and we joke right back. “You guys were having so much fun, that is really all Taylor and I want to see – her fans enjoying the moment.” On paper, her words appear to be run-of-the-mill insincere responses that a mom to a pop–star would normally say to his or her fans; however, hers are different, hers are in fact shockingly genuine.
The conversation goes on for another 20 minutes, and we completely forget we have yet to meet Taylor because her mother is so damn captivating. Our obsession is such a problem that when we finally meet Taylor the only thing we discuss is how cool her Mom is.
Taylor Swift laughs, agrees, and then lays her head on my shoulder for a picture (haha – suck it, Wake) and we say adieu to both Mama Swift and Taylor Swift.
The next day is crazier than the day before. Parents, uncles, aunts, friends, and third cousins calling and texting us in disbelief that we had met the enigmatic Taylor Swift. However, I think we are still in disbelief that we had met the real star of the show, Andrea Swift.
In a day and age where DUIs, sexual assault, and nude photo leaks run rampant Andrea has managed to cement Taylor’s feet to the ground. Whether you enjoy her daughter’s music or not, Andrea Swift’s devotion to her daughter’s career is beautiful. Whether it be advising Taylor on an outfit choice, helping her through writer's block, or finding drunken boys in a stadium of teenage girls. She is the star and is arguably the reason Taylor Swift has been as successful as she is. Without any further ado, I would like to honor the hardest working star – and more importantly, mother – there is: Mrs. Andrea Swift.
