The inherent mistrust of our collective society was boiled down to two keywords in a caption on September 25, 2023: “seemingly ranch.” The off-handed comment by one of many die-hard Swifties was made via what will always be called Twitter, through the account, @tswifterastour. Like many accounts, @tswifterastour is run by a fan who takes it upon themself to provide regular updates on the various goings-on (both personal and professional) in Swift’s life. The latest being her apparent transition into the cheerleader she derided on “You Belong With Me” by showing up to Kansas City Chiefs football games to support her current flame, Travis Kelce. In the week since the post went up, Swift has already attended another game (this time with her requisite “squad,” as though to harken us back to her “Bad Blood” era in time for the 1989 [Taylor’s Version] release at the end of October). But it didn’t offer any viral moment on par with what @tswifterastour did by simply writing a “speculative” caption.
A caption that, in fact, speaks to the self-imposed role of “sleuth” that every internet and true crime junkie has taken on for themselves in the past several years. This stemming from the rightful sense of suspicion that has arisen over the decades of lies and assorted “massaged truths” presented by some of the world’s most “reputable” institutions, not least among them being the U.S. government. And while, “obviously,” the white substance on Swift’s grossly-presented plate wasn’t cum, for fuck’s sake, the use of “seemingly” made the ranch come across as though it could be something else (as some outlets have posited). Even some kind of coded message from Swift herself, revered by fans for Easter egg-laying as much as anything. Alas, in a time where everything is questioned (no matter how “self-evident” it might have once been), @tswifterastour’s caption not only makes all the sense in the world, but is a reflection of the present, that’s right, era. That is to say, questioning everything we see as digital manipulation not only ramps up, but becomes more sophisticated thanks to AI.
One thing, however, that has remained “evergreen” in most eras since Adam Smith fucked us all over is the instant swooping in of various corporations (this time, condiment brands) to capitalize on the sudden newfound interest in a product. In this scenario, ranch (which is unfortunate for other condiments if, in reality, it wasn’t ranch at all). From Heinz to Hidden Valley (the OG creator of the dressing), big business has all at once seen the “power of Swifties” yet again. This time in a far more profitable way than Ticketmaster did last year amid the Eras Tour presale fiasco. Even McDonald’s has gotten in on the “craze” with ad copy that reads, “Seemingly Ranch, Definitely McNuggets.” After all, Taylor is the greatest representation of the celebrity-industrial complex since Britney Spears (who has proven she still has quite an effect on product sales if her recent ability to save a fledgling prop shop is any indication). What’s more, businesses are likely relishing (no condiment pun intended) how the word “seemingly” makes it even easier to get away with selling what amounts to artificial food. It’s almost tantamount to the very specific verbiage on beauty labels that say things like, “May reduce dark circles.” Not necessarily, though. Only seemingly. The word is the perfect “asterisk” to defend against any legal blowback. After all, the Cambridge Dictionary defines it as “appearing to be something, especially when it is not true.” That couldn’t describe America itself any better: appearing to be a beacon of freedom when it is anything but.
Which brings us to how “Miss Americana” herself is falling even more into that title as she becomes a fried chicken-eating football proponent who dresses in what looks like the Hooters uniform for a cameo at the game. Specifically, the game where she was eating seemingly ranch. All of this ultimately fortifying what can be called “quintessentially American” propaganda. And, unlike Swift’s one-time collaborator, Lana Del Rey, she isn’t dredging up Americana tropes of the 50s and 60s as a larger statement on decay, but rather, reinforcing what Republicans would call “good old-fashioned American values.” The image of a white blonde girl going to support her white football player boyfriend at the “big game” has summed up that cliche for centuries.
And then there is the proud display of the nastiest-looking plate to consider. Featuring a piece of fried chicken that’s shaped like the turd emoji, positioned near two foul “plops” of her condiments of choice. Clearly, no one thought food styling might be important for any and all images of Swift at this event. And why would they? Americans really don’t care about how things look or taste; they just want to shove some kind of slop into their mouth and call it “nourishment.” Ranch certainly fits that bill. And it’s not surprising that 1) Hidden Valley Ranch is owned by “renowned” bleach purveyor Clorox and 2) ranch would go on to surpass Italian dressing as “America’s favorite” in 1992. After all, why would Americans want anything so natural (minus the corn syrup, of course) and simple as the contents of that style of dressing?
As Swift taps into “American dreams” by way of Abercrombie visions of America (side note: Taylor did model for Abercrombie in 2003, a year she calls “unbearable” [seemingly for the fashion choices] on Midnights’ “Paris”), the enthusiastic reaction to her “football/ranch dressing era” is on par with the reason conservative voters got on board with the “Make America Great Again” slogan. These are the “good, clean” images people, seemingly, want to see. Like Jenna Rink (Jennifer Garner) in 13 Going On 30 conjuring up yearbook-inspired photos for her magazine’s redesign and announcing of the “clean-cut” images, “I wanna see my best friend’s big sister, and the girls from the soccer team, my next-door neighbor. Real women who are smart and pretty and happy to be who they are… We need to remember what used to be good.” And what used to be “good” was always the football player/cheerleader trope. As tried-and-true as mocking a bald woman. Both Swift and the NFL are catering to this old-hat method for their separate reasons—the commentary on “foodstuffs” in the U.S. just happened to be an added bonus for those on the outside looking in at what Americans willingly choose to consume. Not to mention an added bonus for corporations banking (literally) on how Americans don’t question anything they put into their mouth. They honestly can’t afford to. And hey, since all-American, relatable Swift is such a “seeming” fan of ranch and fried chicken, how bad can it be?
Yet no one increasing their ranch consumption wants to acknowledge that while they’ll likely notice signs of it on (and inside) their body, Swift will continue to stave off any traces of unhealthy diet habits by frequenting Body by Simone classes in New York. Such is the benefit of peddling “Americana” while being able to pay to erase its effects on you personally. All under the pretense of being just another “relatable queen.”
But newsflash: there is nothing relatable about the football player/cheerleader (or cheerleader-adjacent) cliche. It only continues to endure precisely because, sadly, people still find it aspirational. Indeed, as Swift has confirmed in many of her lyrics, high school never really ends, having a tendency to, at the bare minimum, rear its ugly head repeatedly in the not-so-coded language of pop culture. And yeah, ranch feels like code for Kelce’s cum in this case, too.
