Taylor Swift, for as much as she writes in her songs about being condemned and maligned by both the media and the diabolical force in her life that is Kimye, is fairly often, by and large, praised and commended. Not just for her music, but for her various “acts of charity.” Mind you, it took her until 2018 to suddenly take an interest in being political, when one word from her in 2016 might have tipped the entire election scales in Hill’s favor (if her ability to get people to register to vote after throwing her hat in for Tennessee Democratic senator Phil Bredesen was any indication–alas, Republican Marsha Blackburn still won. But the point is, Swift showed her clout had vast weight in the political arena as well). Quelle tragédie, Swift wasn’t ready to be vocal then. Apparently, she’s making up for all that lost time from the years when she was lapping up success amid theories she was some sort of Aryan goddess sprung from country music’s loins of white supremacy.
To assure all that not only was this never the case, but that she is also, to boot, the beacon of a “white ally” (the most absurd and superfluous phrase to gain traction amid the resurgence of BLM in the media), Swift has responded well, swiftly, to accusations from a Black-owned business called The Folklore that her own album merchandise ripped off the brand and its logo. Making the rounds on the likes of just about every fashion blog after Amira Rasool, the owner, tweeted on July 24th, “Wait hold up. Taylor Swift, it’s one thing to use the name “Folklore” but we’re out here stealing Black women’s logos too?,” Swift and her “team” (likely primarily the latter) were quick to extract the “The” in question from any mention of Folklore on her clothing or other memorabilia being sold in promotion of her eighth record (a surprise drop that comes from a classic move also kifed from a black woman: Beyoncé).
While the seeming commonness of such a word might lead some to raise their brow at Amira, it was the undeniably similar font and placement of “the” in front of Folklore that couldn’t be ignored in terms of an overt copycat style. Once Swift remedied the situation, all the good will was being showered upon her instead of Rasool, who received an incredible backlash and barrage of hateful comments from Taylor’s usual breed of diehard “Swifties.” Swift continued to bask in the glow of her newfound white allyship when she tweeted, “Amira, I admire the work you’re doing and I’m happy to make a contribution to your company and to support the Black in Fashion Council (launching on 8/3) with a donation @thefolklore @amirarasool @bifcglobal #blackinfashioncouncil.” Well, at least Rasool could cash in on some of Swift’s “kindness” while the (branding) iron was hot. And many, indeed, have accused Rasool of “capitalizing off of an artist’s name to sell stuff” (as Twitter user @hepatItIs put it). Let’s play devil’s advocate and say that level of cynicism was valid instead of just another example of black people being written off as “overly dramatic.” Then, so what? Is it any worse than what White-owned business (ahem, corporations) have done over the decades in order to get ahead by cutting corners (and yes, ripping people off without so much as a credit or financial payoff)? No. So if Rasool is doing what she can for her brand to get into the spotlight, then apparently it’s Swift’s job as a requisite white ally to make that happen.
Rasool retweeted another comment that summed up her genuineness in wanting the label to be treated as its own entity: “It happens so frequently in both the music and design industry where other people’s creations are used without consent or any awareness that their work is bringing someone else profit. Some people may not notice or be confused, but the logo looks similar and may be overshadowed.” This was the primary concern of Rasool’s. To not have her own brand–an Afrocentric label–constantly confused with some white bia’s faux indie record. But back to this notion of being a “good white ally” in the twenty-first century (which should be an inherent expectation that doesn’t need to come with a fucking stamp on it reading: WHITE ALLY). All it takes is a few tweets, the moving of some money and a brief PR blitzkrieg of assurances to “make amends” or to “do the right thing.” Looking back at one of the most glaring examples of what we would now dub “white allyship,” however, much more was put on the line. Not just because the times were not accepting at all of black people in a White’s world, but because most are simply accustomed to things coming easily now by way of gestures put forth that generate the most acclaim with the least amount of true impact. In the friendship between Marilyn Monroe and Ella Fitzgerald, the former put way more of her own milky skin in the game than Swift with Rasool to ensure Fitzgerald’s rightful place among the musician greats. The fact that their friendship was genuine as opposed to Marilyn trying to deal with some PR snafu related to Ella might have helped in her willingness to go the extra mile, sure. But it doesn’t discount that she very much did go the extra mile, regardless of personal motive.
Insisting upon Fitzgerald setting up a brief residency at Los Angeles’ Mocambo Club in 1955, Marilyn assured the owner that she would show up every night in the front row, which would, in turn, incite other celebrities to reserve a table (including Judy Garland and Frank Sinatra), therefore plenty of hangers-on seeking to be near celebrities. Needless to say, the production was a success, with Fitzgerald gaining increased name recognition thanks to her “celebrity sanction.” While Marilyn risked being pegged as that still “terrible offense” back in the day–a “n***** lover”–or worse, having the studio come after her (being that studios were notoriously overly involved in their stars’ personal lives) to “ban” her friendship, she didn’t care. She did what she knew was right with regard to how to wield her “power” (although, ultimately, Marilyn was pretty powerless herself). She even kept up her commitment to getting Fitzgerald seen and treated the way she ought to in other parts of the country as well, refusing to enter a Colorado nightclub that wouldn’t allow Fitzgerald to go through the front unless both of them could walk in together.
Unfortunately, the ugly fact in both cases is that it seems the white women involved still somehow managed to get more attention after the individual successes of the black women in question. Which is why Rasool also added to her roundup of tweets in response to the incident, “I created @TheFolklore to provide a platform for designers from Africa and the diaspora to reach global audiences. It should not take a celebrity headline for you to finally start to talk about what we’re doing.” So it would seem, despite the era, “white allyship” comes at the additional cost of a white person getting to feel super beneficent about their “contribution.” Especially now that it has this handy label. Maybe Swift will think twice before she puts “the” in front of it should she decide to logo-ify “white ally” on one of her cardigans as well.
