Shake It Off opens in a ballet studio, and the first thing it shows you is discipline. The camera looks down at a sharp diagonal across a minimalist room with dark grey walls and a polished light grey floor so glossy that it mirrors every leg and every barre support. Two parallel light wooden barres on silver metal stands run from the bottom left of the frame to the top right, and lined up along them are at least six dancers, all bent forward in a deep stretch, hands resting on the wood, hair pulled into tight, neat ballet buns.
Their clothes tell you this is a rehearsal, not a performance. The dancer closest to the camera, in the bottom right, wears a pale pink leotard with black leggings and satin pink pointe shoes with ribbons tied at the ankle. The one beside her wears a white graphic T-shirt printed with a simple black cat face, a purple wrap skirt over black leggings, and the same pink pointe shoes. The others wear black leggings, grey leg warmers, and light leotards or tops. The light is soft and even, the colors all greys, blacks, and pale pinks, and everything is orderly: the barres parallel, the stretches deep, the buns tight.
The song’s opening line drifts over this orderly room: “I stay out too late.” It’s a confession of not fitting in, and it arrives over a picture of people who fit in perfectly.
The person who doesn’t fit is Taylor Swift, and the next shot makes it obvious. Against a solid black background, a wooden barre runs across the lower third of the frame. Taylor is on the middle left, in sharp focus, her blonde hair pulled back, wearing a pale peach or light pink long-sleeve zip-up sweatshirt. She leans forward and peers through a gap between the dancers with a wide-eyed, comically open-mouthed expression, like she’s just snuck into a class she wasn’t invited to.
The ballerinas around her are soft and out of focus. The one in front of her, with her back to the camera, wears a white leotard with a deep V cut down the back, and the others wear white or light pink leotards with white tights. Off to the far left, a brown or tan pointe shoe rests on the barre at the end of an outstretched leg. The dancers are stretching. She’s peeking. That contrast drives the whole video.
She tries, though. In a close shot from behind and to the side, Taylor leans her torso deep to the left over her raised left leg, which rests on the light wooden barre. Her right arm arches over her head toward her lifted foot, her left tucked at her side, her hair in a tight bun. She’s wearing a light grey long-sleeved ribbed knit top, a short black pleated skirt, a dark olive-green ribbed leg warmer pulled up to mid-thigh on her left leg, and a tan leather ballet or jazz shoe. The background is a solid black void, soft light glinting off a silver barre post. It’s a serious stretch, and for a second she looks like she belongs.
The ballet section reaches its fullest form in the swan scene. In a light grey studio with a darker, reflective grey floor that mirrors legs and tutus, Taylor stands at the center in a white ballerina costume: a white, intricately textured bodice with silver or iridescent sequins, a stiff white feathered tutu, white tights, white ballet slippers, and a white feathered headpiece wrapped around the back of her head, topped with a small sparkling silver tiara. Behind her stand seven or eight dancers in matching white tutus and feathered headpieces, slightly less ornate than hers.
She’s mid-motion, arms out to the sides, body angled, eyes half closed, mouth open, singing or straining, her tutu blurred from a spin or a jump. The dancers behind her hold graceful poses with their arms raised or extended, some facing away, some in profile. The light is bright and even. It’s every bit the classic swan picture, with Taylor dropped into the middle of it.
One of the cleverest images in the video comes next. Taylor stands perfectly centered, en pointe on her right foot with her left leg crossed slightly behind, arms raised out to the sides, chin lifted, looking straight ahead with a calm, focused face. She wears a white fabric headband or cap, a white bodice embroidered with silver or light-grey sequins in a feather or leaf V-pattern, a stiff white feathered tutu that sticks out horizontally, opaque white tights, and pale peach or pink satin pointe shoes with ribbons.
Directly behind her, six to eight dancers stand in single file so perfectly lined up that you can only see their arms and their pointe shoes. Their arms are held at graduated heights, so it looks like Taylor has a whole fan of arms, five pairs or more, spreading out from her body like a many-armed figure. Their pointe feet recede in a row between her legs. The floor is dark cool grey and reflective, the wall a lighter, featureless grey, and the light is bright and clean. It’s a precise, beautiful trick, the kind that only works if every single person behind her is exactly in line.
The joke lands right after. In a wide shot of the grey reflective floor, six professional ballet dancers stand in a line behind her, three on each side, in perfect focus, poised and classical, arms extended. They’re all dressed for Swan Lake: white bodices with silver sequin or embroidered feather patterns, stiff, layered white tulle tutus, opaque white tights, light pink satin pointe shoes, and white feathered headpieces with small sparkling silver tiaras. In front of them, at center, Taylor is slightly out of focus, hunched forward, her arms flailing downward in a blur, frantic and clumsy, her mouth open in a shout. Her eye makeup is heavy and dark.
The lyric is “That’s what people say / That’s what people say.” Behind her, perfection. In front, chaos. She’s leaning into exactly what people say about her and making it funny.
In a medium close shot, she leans forward toward the camera in the full swan costume, the white bodice covered in feathers and intricate silver sequins and beads, a white feathered headpiece shaped like wings, and a small ornate silver tiara. Her eyeliner is heavy, black, and winged, her lipstick bright pink. Her arms stretch out to the sides with her elbows slightly bent and her hands in stylized ballet positions, and she looks straight into the lens, focused and a little defiant. Behind her, the soft-focus ballerinas in identical swan costumes, one with a tiara of her own, mimic the same wing-like arms. She’s not quite a swan, and she’s okay with it.
From the ballet studio, the video shifts into a world of grey contemporary dance. A seamless medium-grey wall curves down into a slightly reflective light grey floor, and four barefoot women in grey dancewear are mid-choreography. Taylor stands just left of center, her blonde hair in short loose waves, in a dark grey sleeveless fitted crop top and high-waisted briefs. She’s up on her toes, holding a large, translucent grey fabric that billows and swirls across the front of her body and over her head.
The other dancers move around her with big, expressive shapes. On the far left, a woman with long dark hair in a dark grey long-sleeved top and matching briefs throws her arms high, her hair flying up. Toward the back on the right, someone in a grey sports bra and dark grey shorts raises one arm and tucks the other behind her. On the far right, a Black woman with a short afro, wearing a loose draped charcoal-grey tunic over grey shorts, sinks into a deep wide squat with stylized bent arms. Everything is grey on grey, bare feet and skin the only other colors.
The lyric sung here is “I’m dancing on my own.” She’s wrapped in that grey fabric, swirling it around herself, in the middle of a group dance that she’s only partly following.
The grey world gets wilder in a crowded close-up. At the center, a dancer with reddish hair pulled back, wearing a dark grey ruched sports bra, has her mouth wide open in a dramatic expression, her right hand near her face with fingers splayed. In the left foreground, a dancer with long brown hair tilts her head back with an intense, pained look, teeth showing, as a shirtless man’s muscular arm wraps over the top of her head. Below, another dancer’s hands reach up toward someone’s face. On the right, a shirtless man holds his hands to his mouth, blowing a kiss or shouting. It’s tightly packed, dramatic, and a little over the top, the kind of intense modern dance moment that’s almost begging to be laughed at kindly.
In another frame, the camera crops tight on a dancer mid-jump, legs spread wide in a split, arms out to the sides, the head, hands, and lower legs all out of frame. You see taut, defined muscles in the abdomen, arms, and thighs, and a dark charcoal grey two-piece: a spaghetti-strap sports bra with a gathered center and very short, high-waisted athletic shorts with fine ribbed texture. It’s pure athletic energy against a cool grey backdrop.
The video jumps genres again with a hip-hop scene, and it’s built around a small comedy bit. Against a solid light grey background, two people stand waist-up. On the right, Taylor, with wavy shoulder-length blonde hair and bright red lipstick, wears thick black square glasses with little gold accents at the hinges and a black varsity jacket with leather-look shoulder patches. She’s turned slightly toward the man beside her, concentrating hard, holding her hands up at her chest and copying his gestures while watching her own fingers. On the left, a Black man in a black baseball cap, large dark-tinted thick-framed sunglasses with gold side accents, and a shiny black zip-up jacket makes a complex, symmetrical hand sign at his chest. He’s leading. She’s trying to keep up.
In a close-up against medium grey, Taylor looks straight at the camera with a neutral, focused face. Her blonde hair has a deep side part with a slight wave across her forehead, her eyeshadow is dark and smoky, and her lipstick is a vibrant bright pink or magenta. She’s wearing oversized thick-rimmed black square glasses and a black bomber or varsity jacket with matte fabric and shiny leather-look chevron panels across the chest and thick ribbed cuffs. She raises her hands to forehead level on either side of her face, palms in, fingers spread, slightly blurred, her nails painted black.
In another close shot in the same look, she forms a heart with her fingers and thumbs, framing her nose and mouth, her eyes peeking over the top. Her hair is straight with a side-swept fringe, her glasses thick black Wayfarer-style frames, her lipstick a bright matte fuchsia. The jacket here is a black zip-up bomber with matte sleeves and shiny vertical panels on the chest. These are small, goofy poses, and that’s exactly the point: she’s playing the earnest learner, getting the moves a little bit wrong.
From there, the video drops into a red, old-school look. Against a dark slate-blue background, Taylor stands center, singing, with a large rectangular silver vintage boombox balanced on her right shoulder, held with her right hand. You can see a round speaker on one side, a cassette deck in the center, a radio dial along the top, and silver knobs and switches. She’s wearing a red hooded varsity jacket with shiny black leather sleeves and gold snap buttons, a white patch reading “12” on the left chest, and a white T-shirt underneath with a large light-grey “89.” Under the red hood she wears a black-and-white striped brimmed hat, her straight blonde hair framing her face, her eyeliner winged, her lipstick bright red.
That “12” and “89” are the kind of details you’d never pick up by listening, numbers printed right on her clothes.
Two men flank her in soft focus. On the left, one wears a red-and-black varsity jacket and a red baseball cap, his hands clasped. On the right, a man with tattoos on his arm stands with his arms crossed, in a red sleeveless tank and a thin gold chain, looking toward her, with someone in a light grey zip-up hoodie partly visible behind him. The whole picture is red, black, white, and silver. The line here is “Players gonna play, play, play, play, play.” She’s got the boombox. She’s playing along.
The next scene is worth describing exactly as it looks. The camera sits low, looking through a tunnel of dancers’ legs, and Taylor crawls forward on her hands and knees across a glossy black reflective floor. She looks up at the camera, wide-eyed and a little surprised, her mouth partly open, her lipstick a bright purple or magenta. She’s wearing a leopard or cheetah-print zip-up track jacket and chunky gold jewelry, including thick gold chains, one with a large coiled gold snake pendant. Her hair is a sleek, high-volume updo with a pompadour in front and a long braid trailing behind.
The dancers above her stand with their legs wide apart, forming the tunnel. They wear very short frayed denim cutoffs, thick black knee pads, and matching white high-top sneakers decorated with gold studs and gold chains around the ankles. The wall behind them is solid grey-blue, and the floor mirrors her hands and their sneakers. Taylor looks like someone who wandered into the wrong rehearsal and decided to crawl through it anyway.
The video changes sports for a moment of real grace. Against a seamless neutral grey backdrop, Taylor is caught mid-air in a wide split leap, a grand jeté, her right leg straight forward and her left straight back. Her right arm is raised, holding a ribbon wand, and her left reaches back parallel to her back leg. Her head turns slightly toward the camera, focused, her blonde hair in a tight bun at the crown. She’s wearing a long-sleeved rhythmic gymnastics leotard that shades from sparkling white sequins at the chest and shoulders into vibrant purple down the sleeves and torso, with a short, textured purple feathery fringe skirt at the bottom. A long ribbon in dark purple and black or dark blue trails out to the right in a huge serpentine wave. She’s alone in the frame, with just a faint shadow on the floor beneath her.
The cheer section is all bright white. In an infinite white studio with a reflective white floor, five cheerleaders are caught horizontally mid-air in backflips, all in white sneakers. The men wear blue tops and white pants striped in yellow and blue, the women blue-and-yellow uniforms, one seen upside down from behind with white straps criss-crossing her back. Five people, all upside down at the same moment.
Taylor joins in as a cheerleader. In the white studio, she stands center with her arms raised in a wide V, holding huge pom-poms of alternating blue and yellow strands. Her mouth is open in an energetic shout, her blonde hair in a high ponytail tied with a thin blue-and-yellow ribbon, her lipstick bright red, her winged eyeliner sharp. She’s wearing a white sleeveless cropped cheer top with yellow-and-blue stripes at the neckline, armholes, and hem, and on the center of her chest, a blocky yellow “TS” logo outlined in blue. Her skirt is a high-waisted royal blue pleated mini with yellow stripes near the hem. Cheerleaders with dark ponytails stand on either side of her in matching uniforms, smiling, their pom-poms up.
That “TS” on the chest is another piece of on-screen text, a team logo made from her own initials.
In a solo shot against pure white, with no floor line visible, she stands alone from mid-thigh up, arms raised with bent elbows, hands spread palms forward at shoulder level, mouth wide open. The interlocking “TS” logo is large on her chest, the blue pleated skirt below. The line here is “Baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake.” She’s cheering into an empty white space.
The cheer section’s big finish is a stunt. On the reflective white floor, Taylor sits dead center, held up in the air by her feet in a classic cheer lift, wearing the same white crop top with blue and yellow trim, the “TS” logo, the blue pleated skirt, and the high ponytail with its blue ribbon. Two men in the foreground hold her feet, wearing royal blue polos with a small yellow “TS” on the chest and white trousers. More lifts rise on the far left and right, women in matching uniforms hold their arms in a V, some standing on teammates’ shoulders. The whole squad spreads out symmetrically, their feet and legs mirrored in the floor.
From the cheer gym, the video jumps into something shiny and futuristic. Against a solid black background, Taylor leans toward the camera in a high-collared zip-up jacket covered entirely in small, densely packed, reflective gold sequins, with a dark olive or brownish-gold ribbed collar. Her blonde hair is now a bright bob with blunt bangs cut straight across at her eyebrows, and her lipstick is a pale shimmering gold. A large, sporty, semi-transparent brown-tinted visor covers the upper half of her face, and the studio lights reflect in the lenses as two bright white squares. Behind her, blurred on either side, two male dancers wear matching silver tracksuits with a crinkled, foil-like texture and black rectangular visor goggles with a bright white reflective strip across the lenses.
In another shot of the same look, she sings or shouts with her mouth open, her hands crossed and pressed to the center of her chest. A grey-tinted futuristic visor stretches from her forehead to the bridge of her nose, her lipstick metallic gold, and the men in silver foil stand soft on either side of her. Gold and silver light bounces everywhere.
One of the silver dancers gets a solo moment. On a deep black stage with a reflective floor, a man with short dark hair poses in the crinkled silver tracksuit, oversized dark wraparound visor glasses over his eyes. He’s mid-move, robotic or hip-hop, his legs wider than his shoulders, knees bent, torso tilted to the right, elbows bent, hands near his waist with fingers spread stiff. It’s a sharp, mechanical pose.
A breakdancer flips against a solid dark navy-grey wall, caught at the peak of a backflip with his body nearly horizontal and upside down, head toward the bottom left and legs kicking to the top right. Somehow, his black baseball cap with a red brim stays on. He wears a red mesh-paneled tank and baggy black joggers, and at the right edge of the frame someone in black stands with their back to the camera, watching.
In the bright white void, a dancer bends forward at the waist and whips their hair, mid-length light-brown or blonde hair flying out in a blurred fan toward the ground, the face hidden behind it. They wear a light mint-green hoodie slipping off the shoulders over a dark top printed with purple, blue, and white galaxy swirls. It’s a quick burst of pure motion.
Near the end, the video drops all the costumes and shows the band. In a stark all-white room with a polished, reflective floor, Taylor stands in the center foreground with shoulder-length blonde hair and red lipstick, wearing a simple black short-sleeved crew-neck top, black skinny pants, and pointed metallic silver flats. She sings into a black corded microphone held in her right hand, her left hand raised, the cord trailing across the white floor.
Everyone around her is dressed in black. On the far left, two men in black hats play saxophones. Slightly left and toward the back, a musician with curly hair in a black leather jacket plays a Roland keyboard on a black X-stand. Behind and to the right, a drummer sits at a multi-piece kit with light brown or orange wooden shells. Next to the drums, someone in a black shirt and pants plays a sunburst bass, and on the far right, a backup singer with curly hair in a short black sleeveless dress stands at a mic stand. The line that comes in here is the hook itself: “I shake it off, I shake it off.” After all the costumes, this is her in plain black, singing with a band.
The final stretch of the video turns into a party. In the white void, Taylor stands on the right in a fitted black high-neck top, her shoulder-length blonde hair with bangs, her lipstick bright red, her head turned toward a young man beside her as she laughs or sings with her mouth wide open, her body and arms blurred with motion. The man, with reddish-brown shaggy hair and an orange polo with thin white horizontal stripes, leans back mid-movement with his mouth wide open in an exaggerated shout or cheer.
Another dancer jumps through the white space, a man with shoulder-length wavy brown hair flying mid-swing, balanced on the toes of his right foot with his left leg bent behind him and his arms flung out in a blur. He’s in a patterned salmon-pink button-down and bright red slim trousers, his legs reflecting softly in the floor.
The closing image is wide and joyful. About twenty-five young men and women stand in a horizontal line across the lower third of the frame, with the vast, empty white space filling the upper two-thirds and the reflective floor mirroring everyone below. At the center, Taylor wears a form-fitting all-black long-sleeved top and tight pants, her blonde hair flipping back, her head tilted up. Everyone else is in casual, colorful everyday clothes, T-shirts, tank tops, jeans, shorts, sundresses, in blue, red, pink, green, and yellow, jumping, swaying, stepping, arms raised. The song repeats: “Shake it off, shake it off.” No one is in a costume anymore. Everyone is just dancing.
The video ends on a solid black frame with a single centered line of white text: “© 2014 Big Machine Records, LLC.”
Taken as a whole, Shake It Off is built like a tour of styles that Taylor tries on and doesn’t quite fit. It opens in a ballet studio full of perfect lines, moves through swans, contemporary dance, hip-hop, rhythmic gymnastics, cheerleading, and a shiny futuristic crew, and in nearly every scene, she’s the one slightly off the beat: peeking through the barre, flailing in front of the swans, copying hand signs a step behind. Then the costumes come off. She sings in plain black with her band, and the final line of dancers in ordinary clothes isn’t trying to be perfect at all.
The structure mirrors the song. Shake It Off is about hearing what people say and refusing to let it stick, and the video makes that a visual joke. She tries every polished version of cool and gets each one a little wrong, on purpose. By the end, the lesson isn’t to get the moves right. It’s to dance anyway, with a whole crowd of ordinary people dancing right beside you.
FAQ
What dance styles appear?
Ballet at a barre, contemporary grey ensemble, hand-gesture duo, live band performance, cheerleading flips, breakdance flip, hair-whip solo, and a large line dance in a white void.
What does she wear in the band scene?
Black short-sleeve top, black skinny pants, metallic silver pointed flats, singing into a black corded microphone.
What cheer colors show?
Blue uniforms with yellow trim, white sneakers, mid-air backflips in a white studio.
How does the video crowd the final frame?
A horizontal line of ~25 dancers in mixed colorful casual clothes with Taylor centered in all black.
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