Picture this: a high-stakes presidential campaign banking on a pop icon to sway voters, only to hit a wall of silence. The Kamala Harris campaign tasked Doug Emhoff with securing Taylor Swift’s support, but despite his efforts, the superstar’s endorsement was as far as it went.
The New York Post reported that the Harris campaign’s bid for Swift’s star power, as detailed in the upcoming book “2024: How Trump Retook the White House and the Democrats Lost America,” hinged on Emhoff’s outreach, yet it couldn’t coax her beyond a single post-debate nod of approval.
Early on, Emhoff, leveraging his past as a Los Angeles entertainment lawyer, reached out to Swift’s attorney, Doug Baldridge, to express appreciation for any potential backing.
He had a prior connection with Baldridge, which seemed like a promising start. But the campaign made it clear to staffers: don’t touch this one—Emhoff’s got it covered.
“Staffers who worked on celebrity appearances were instructed not to make any outreach to her universe; Doug Emhoff was handling it,” the book’s authors note.
Well, that’s one way to keep things exclusive, but it also meant no backup plan when Swift’s team didn’t budge. A single gatekeeper for such a pivotal ask—bold, if not risky.
Baldridge’s response was polite but firm, essentially saying, “Swift would do what Swift thought was best.” No surprise there—pop stars aren’t exactly known for bending to political pleas. The campaign’s hopes for a grand gesture were left hanging on that curt reply.
After Swift’s endorsement following the Harris-Trump debate in September, the campaign clung to faint rumors of a possible appearance at the final rally in Philadelphia, near Swift’s hometown of West Reading, Pa. But as the book authors put it, “Nothing more than the endorsement ever materialized.” Wishful thinking doesn’t win elections, folks.
At that Philadelphia rally, attendees got a lineup of Fat Joe, Lady Gaga, Ricky Martin, The Roots, and Will. I am, and Oprah Winfrey—but no Taylor Swift. It was a star-studded affair, no doubt, yet one couldn’t help but wonder if the missing headliner was the real story. The crowd got spectacle, but not the one they whispered about on Election Day eve.
Meanwhile, the Harris campaign went all-in on celebrity dazzle, organizing a slew of concerts in the days leading up to the final vote.
Katy Perry, Christina Aguilera, Megan Thee Stallion, Bruce Springsteen, Jon Bon Jovi, 2 Chainz, and Mumford & Sons were among the acts aiming to energize low-propensity voters. Even Beyoncé, Cardi B, and Jennifer Lopez showed up, though their lack of performances left some fans underwhelmed.
The price tag for this Hollywood parade? A staggering tens of millions, with Election Eve concerts alone reportedly costing $20 million. Held in crucial swing states, these events were a gamble to boost turnout—a gamble that didn’t pay off when the dust settled.
Behind closed doors, some Harris campaign staffers weren’t sold on the value of these pricey spectacles. As the book authors reveal, there was “scant evidence that the rallies were persuading voters or necessarily boosting turnout.”
Throwing millions at concerts while voters remain unmoved feels like a masterclass in progressive overreach. Let’s be fair—the intent behind these events wasn’t malicious; it was a desperate bid to connect with a distracted electorate.
But when strategy becomes a popularity contest, you’re not campaigning; you’re auditioning. And the audience, it seems, wasn’t buying tickets. Critics might argue that focusing on Swift or any celebrity distracts from policy substance, and they’ve got a point.
Voters aren’t swayed by glitter when their wallets and safety are on the line. The Harris campaign’s fixation on star power looks more like a symptom of cultural disconnect than a solution.
Emhoff’s failed outreach to Swift isn’t just a footnote—it’s a cautionary tale about banking on cultural icons to carry a political message. Sure, endorsements can generate buzz, but they don’t substitute for grassroots grit. The Harris team learned that the hard way.