Taylor Doesn’t Need Travis to Fight Her Fights

It was highly anticipated and tautly executed: “I’ve done my research, and I’ve made my choice. Your research is all yours to do, and the choice is yours to make.” She signed off with a dig at Donald Trump’s running mate, J. D. Vance: “With love and hope, Taylor Swift, Childless Cat Lady.”

Swift’s endorsement of Kamala Harris on Tuesday night was not a surprise; the pop star has for years backed Democratic candidates and used social media to encourage her followers to vote. Also perhaps unsurprising was that Elon Musk, supporter and platformer of Trump, took to X shortly after Swift’s announcement to post a juvenile response. “Fine Taylor … you win,” he wrote. “I will give you a child and guard your cats with my life.”

The statement could be parsed in multiple ways. Musk, a known fertility obsessive, might have been joking about gifting Swift a child (perhaps by lending her one of his own 12?). Or he might have been implying a more sexualized threat: I will make you pregnant. Either way, it was a bid to assert dominance over a woman whom it’s not hard to believe that Musk might see as encroaching on his turf—a billionaire in her own right, entering the political sphere, rallying an enormous (and devoted) fan base against his preferred candidate. Musk’s move was also a familiar one: the kind of sexist attack long used by men trying to put women in their place.

[Read: The wannabe tough-guy presidency]

The reaction was immediate. Men and women, Swifties and casual observers alike, called for vengeance. And it all might have been heartening if not for one style of response—which, instead of highlighting Swift’s power, invoked that of her famous boyfriend, the Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce. “I’m not into violence per se, but Travis should get complete and total immunity for beating the shit out of Elon,” one post read. The actor Billy Baldwin wrote: “Elon … You should apologize cuz… Travis gonna knock you into next week.”

An eagerness for conflict is of course a defining feature of social-media discourse, insult and aggression its lingua franca. And one can see where the jump to imagining Kelce as Swift’s enforcer comes from. He’s a large man (6 foot 5, 250 pounds) who makes his living by playing a violent sport. Musk might posture as an “alpha” when challenging his tech-bro rivals to a cage fight, but Kelce embodies the kind of strength and physical mastery that Musk can only pretend at.

Many Americans valorize the gladiatorial might of a football star. A certain segment of the culture also still romanticizes male jealousy: To some, Kelce defending Swift’s honor wouldn’t just be about possessiveness or pride; it would be a swoon-inducing way of demonstrating his love. And given that some responses to Swift’s endorsement escalated quickly to more openly violent insinuations, it’s also easy to see how even those who might normally decry male violence as “toxic” might find a way to give fight-club enthusiasts a pass.

Yearning for a champion is understandable in a world where the gendered threats against women online mirror the threats they face in real life. Offline, reports emerge daily of women enduring garden-variety lewdness as well as sexual violence that could be ripped from a horror film. Offline, some women feel compelled to invoke boyfriends—real or fake—to fend off overly persistent pursuers, because too many men respect a boundary only when faced with the prospect of another man’s presence. Even the proudest feminist might not mind the idea of a male ally joining the fight against sexism, misogyny, and abuse.

[Read: What is America’s gender war really about?]

But the instinct to demand a mano a mano duel is not an effective counter to gendered attacks. It validates the male attacker by deeming him worthy of serious attention, and it invalidates the woman under attack by stripping her of the agency to define her own response. Both Swift and Harris have faced, and defused, sexualized attempts at dominance before—without calling for male backup.

In a single released in February 2016, Kanye West, who now goes by “Ye,” reignited a seven-year feud with Swift by claiming, “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex / Why? I made that bitch famous.” Swift responded by highlighting her own achievements and has gone on to rake in honor after honor while Ye’s career has foundered. At the MTV Video Music Awards the evening after Musk’s comments, Swift took home seven trophies, including the top award for the third year in a row.

Harris has also resisted taking the bait. Last month, during a TV conversation about U.S. foreign policy, the Fox News host Jesse Watters speculated about her getting “paralyzed in the Situation Room while the generals have their way with her.” Rather than reacting to the comment (and others like it), Harris and her campaign have ridiculed the right’s anti-woman rhetoric and policies, tarring her attackers as “weird” instead of lending them credibility. As for vengeance: Within roughly a day of Harris’s outfoxing Trump at their first debate, a link Swift posted to Instagram sent more than 400,000 visitors to a federal website directing people to register to vote.

By refusing to give energy to the misogynistic attacks, Swift and Harris make their opponents appear pathetic, not powerful. They have shown that the most potent response to sexualized threats isn’t to reward harassment with attention, but to allow the harassers to out themselves as creepy and cringe—no brawny boyfriends required.