Never have we seen this much sequin and glitter in daytime Singapore. You know The Eras Tour is here, and Swifties rule the city

By Emma Ng

I have never, in my short, blink-free life on this island, seen this much sequinned looks worn by so many young women—men, too—in the bright and scorching day. We are not exactly a city of dressed-up individuals, but suddenly, over about one short week since last Saturday, the streets, the malls, hotel lobbies, and the MRT trains (and on platforms of certain stations), are overrun by lasses in very short skirts, reflectively spangled. Taylor Swift is here and Swifties—local and from abroad—won’t let you forget that. I had not before this thought of the impact The Eras Tour would have on my daily life. Or one woman’s influence on the sartorial visual of our island. Admittedly not a Swiftie, I block out much of the extended mind-blowing mania. Sure, when the tickets were made available last July, I was, like everyone else, amazed by how quickly they sold out and how frantically many tried to score them. Although we are now coming to the end of the thick of things, I still continue to tune out the madness and ignore the news of anything connected to the concert. My interest has laid dormant.

But it’s not merely the relentless news coverage and their notifications that I have been receiving on my phone. I feel I am constantly reminded of the singer on our shores—her presence palpable. Last Sunday, Ms Swift accompanied my family and I, uninvited, when we sat to brunch at an East Coast café, exhorting above our heads, Now That We Don’t Talk and, as I was about to swallow the yolk of my poached egg whole, Look What You Made Me Do. Just as I was about to get up and tell the café manager to change the playlist, the singer banged on, You Need To Calm Down. Taylor Swift—and through those who wanted to look like her—was just everywhere. It felt like a haunting. On the first night of the concert here, I was out with friends for dinner. As with most such makan session, we ended with coffee and cake, and long conversation. And then one of them looked at her watch and quickly said, “Oh no, we are too late to beat the Swiftie crush.”

I dashed to the MRT station and true enough, many Swifties have left National Stadium and were off to somewhere else (not necessarily home since many were quite dolled up and the night was, by the looks of it, young). I have never seen such mass identical expression of dress. And so much sequins and glittery whatever. How was I sure they were Swifties? By their friendship bands!!! Or unmistakable The Eras Tour T-shirt. Or the tote bag. And the women were all still palpably excited. The concert was probably still ringing in their ears. They were talking loudly among themselves. And just as intrusive was what many of them wore. A popular item (I gather now) was some wrap (like an apron), sequinned, of course, or in glittery beaded fringe that could be used to cover mini-skirts, hot pants, and denim cut-offs to shimmery effects. A twentysomething woman standing next to me was in a sequinned mini-skirt and an equally brilliant silver blouse which she told her friend was her mother’s—she had “bought it at Marks & Spencer for Christmas”.

The idea, I suspected, was to surrender individuality to something not only aesthetically, but also emotionally Swiftian. So many girls, for example, adopted purple as the colour of choice to effect, corny as it sounds, a Lavender Haze wherever they went as a group—a blur of mauve immoderation. Many times, I saw possibly unwilling boyfriends, too, as part of the pale purple paean. Outside PLQ (Paya Lebar Quarter, another gathering point, it seems) on the second day of the concert, a septet of very excited girls of no more than sixteen were appreciating each other’s giddily gaudy concert wear. All were togged in at least a piece that was glittery (one in a fully sequined shift). Feeling like an outsider, I asked one of them if they had spent a lot on the clothes so as to project a befitting sense of glamour. And she said yes. Why? “Experience of a life time, mah” came the answer. To you, how long is a “lifetime”? Giggling, she replied: “Don’t know, lah!”

I saw largely two loose categories of concert wear: Indiscriminate semblance of what the attendees’ idol wore on stage and the many loose T-shirts (worn oversized, of course, to affect a ‘pant-less’ look) from the concert merchandise sold on site and off (the materiality! There was a pop-up at The Shoppes at Marina Bay Sands) that happily appeared on those for whom the heat was too much to be a mobile Christmas tree. Those who adopted the former often went all the way to mirror their star. As homage to Ms Swift’s country roots, many also included touches of cowgirl aesthetics, such as the Stetson (hat), including the cattleman style, and to project truer vibes, the headwear was inevitable covered with glitter. I suppose this was what the more aware among concert-goers might call “dopamine dressing”. Others whose fashion choices did not fall into either category, carried an uncoloured tote bag (some used two) that was printed in black and white with the tour poster. Anything to indicate connection to Swiftie-dom.

What has been amazing—even admirable—to me was how these women bonded over not just Ms Swift’s teen-friendly music, but also over what they wore to her concert. Magpies of a feather did flock together. Based on turnout, everyone knew where everyone was heading or who they swore allegiance to. At an MRT station one late afternoon, a girl who was togged as if she was attending the CMA (Country Music Association) Fest in Nashville was alone on the platform texting until she quickly spotted two fellow Swifties. Without hesitation, she asked them if it was alright for her to take a wefie with them, and the pair giggled and obliged. Photos taken, they stepped apart. I have already heard and read of the incredible bonding at The Eras Tour, not just the mass singing, but also the kinship felt and shared, and enjoyed. When you are a Swiftie you are automatically friends with another Swiftie, never mind if you thought her dress was tacky.

Another thing that pulled virtually all Swifties together, whether you are from Xinyi (Taipei), Sampheng (Bangkok), or Sengkang (Singapore), is the friendship bracelet. No shared propinquity required. I have never known such wrist wear to be this popular and compulsory. They did not even look especially valuable, but that was beside the point. It was as if to say, you were not a true Swiftie if your wrist was not encircled with one. But no one wore just one. You needed at least five, it seemed. Some of the more ardent of friendship bracelet wearers slipped on enough bracelets to fill an entire forearm. And these beaded pieces did not mesmerise only the young. Even older women gleefully succumbed to them. Veteran Hong Kong actress, Carina Lau (刘嘉玲), who was widely reported to have flown here for The Eras Tour (and visited hairdresser David Gan [颜天发] before the show), shared on Instagram images of what she wore. One of the photos was a close-up of her wrist. There were seven strands on the left carpus; two of them with alphabet beads clearly forming CARINA and SWIFTIE. But perhaps, more striking was the 2023 Rolex Oyster Perpetual 126000 with ‘Celebration Bubble’ dial that sat like a crown atop the jester beads. The lowest price listed on Vestaire Collective is S$37,992.25.

It was astonishing to me how girlish accessories could be so effortlessly paired with more grown-up garb, and more so when they were those worn by the countless women who preferred adult wear that were sexier—ubiquitous, for example, were cropped tops and, of course, the miniest of skirts. The antithetical part of womanhood that is marvelous and so appreciated and so celebrated, and so admired in Taylor Swift? And that was another amazing effect she had on her followers—they were not defined by demographics. When I looked through social media and read the countless posts with images of the fashions shared, I was amazed that many of her fans were older than Ms Swift (on the streets, I saw sixty-plus-year-olds wearing the unmistakable concert tee). One woman (seemingly late with motherhood), who shared images of her and her very young daughter (all togged up—meaning sequinned, even the face), commented: “never too late to be a Swiftie”.

When I think of Taylor Swift, I see a lanky singer who tries to be the every girl/woman, with unerring aptitude in communicating. The Taylor Swift influence (and it was, not Kiaraa Kitty’s, for example) has been so effectual and far-reaching that she is considered a breathing example of what a model singer-songwriter/public figure could be. Not only is she a relatable “older sister” (as the pre-pubescent Swifties would call her), she is also “an unpaid therapist”—South China Morning Post quoted fans saying—to “all the things that girls go through.” Never mind if that sounds cultish, especially when fans everywhere in the world keep the “American treasure” revered by never letting the flame at her alter go out, like they did at the Temple of the Vesta of ancient Rome. A friend from Missouri recently said to me, unsurprised by the frenzy he too witnessed here, “she’s got good points, but you have to approach Taylor Swift like you do Jesus. You don’t have to love her followers.”

And, of course, Taylor Swift is the single biggest inspiration and source of what to wear to countless women across the world, more than Shein, more than what you get on TikTok, and certainly less than vogue.com. I know I am going to get flak for this (and I did remind myself to guard my tone), but I cannot recall a single outfit Ms Swift have worn—on- or off-stage—that, to me, was memorable. For The Eras Tour, what she wore was very much a rodeo queen’s getup. Or, for a night at the Grand Ole Opry. The grassroots’ idea of what for-stage glamour is. My Missourian friend was helpful again: “Well, you obviously haven’t seen Missouri gals on a fancy Saturday night out.” Lest I am mistaken, there is nothing wrong with that. Ms Swift chose not the high camp of Kylie Minogue or the couture finesse of Madonna. I don’t hold her fashion choices against her, but even a beaded Versace onesie with the silhouette of a bathing suit was not, sadly, a fashion high. The truly visible outcome was that Kallang and its vicinity were looking far much more glamourous than they have ever been. One elderly gentlemen was heard saying, as he ogled at the unmistakable Swifties, in an MRT train that these lasses were better dressed than the “芽笼妹 (yalongmei or Geylang girls).” Can’t wait for someone to sing, Is It Over Now?

Photos: Zhao Xiangji