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Fearless: Repetition, Time, and the Power of Rewriting
In the book Taylor Swift and Philosophy, Swift’s act of rerecording her earlier albums is viewed not merely as a legal or economic move, but as a philosophical statement about repetition, authorship, and identity. When Swift reclaims her music through the rerecording of Fearless, she is not just looking backward—she is moving forward. Søren Kierkegaard, a Danish philosopher, draws an important distinction between recollection and repetition. Recollection, he says, is a backward glance—a passive memory. Repetition, however, is active and forward-moving: it affirms the value of something by choosing to bring it back into the present.
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This distinction becomes clear when we examine Fearless (Taylor’s Version). Though the songs are largely the same lyrically and structurally, they are sung by a different version of Swift—older, wiser, and more in control. This isn't just nostalgia; it's intentional authorship. By revisiting lines like “I’m in the room, it’s a typical Tuesday night” and updating it to “I’m in my room,” Swift subtly asserts that the story is now fully hers. The past is not erased—it is re-experienced, re-voiced, and re-owned.
Swift’s version of “Love Story” demonstrates how repetition can create difference. By retelling the tale of Romeo and Juliet but replacing the tragic ending with a joyful one, Swift plays with time and narrative expectation. The repetition of the opening line—“We were both young when I first saw you”—at both the beginning and the end uses a poetic device known as inclusio, framing the story in a way that makes it feel cyclical and complete. But unlike Shakespeare’s version, Swift’s loop doesn’t end in death—it ends in hope. This is repetition as transformation.
Swift’s music constantly references time: the ticking of the clock, the passing of seasons, or the significance of specific ages (“At fifteen you’re gonna believe them…”). In Fearless, time is both a source of vulnerability and empowerment. Songs like “Fifteen,” “White Horse,” and “The Best Day” frame time as a shaping force, where heartbreaks, regrets, and memories become emotional landmarks that shape identity. But with Taylor’s Version, time becomes something Swift bends to her will—she chooses what to bring forward, what to re-inhabit, and what to leave in the rear-view mirror.
Conclusion
To Kierkegaard, repetition is a form of love—repeating something not because it is the same, but because it is worth affirming. In that light, Fearless (Taylor’s Version) is not just an album—it is an act of fearless love: of her younger self, of her fans, and of her right to tell her story. It turns time into a spiral instead of a line, and in doing so, shows how repetition is not stagnation but a reclamation of voice, meaning, and power.