They Raised Me to Cage Me—Here’s Why I Went From Liberal Darling to Conservative Turncoat

Ready for it… Night 1 of the Eras Tour at MetLife! Repping lucky number 13 and soaking up every second before Taylor takes the stage

There’s something poetic—okay, maybe just very gay—about writing something inspired by Taylor Swift’s song, “But Daddy I Love Him”. But here I am, ALMOST (lol) 29 years old, gay, and no longer welcome in the very community I thought was built on love, tolerance, and individuality. I never imagined that shifting from the left to the right would feel like running with my dress unbuttoned, screaming, “But Daddy, I love him!” But here we are.

You see, I haven’t become some “Trumpist,” as they love to label anyone who steps outside their ideological line. I’m not stupid, uneducated, ignorant, or any of the names they throw around with smug righteousness. I’m just a guy—smart, thoughtful, politically engaged—who dared to ask questions, to challenge the narrative, and suddenly find myself as a cast out.

“I forget how the West was won, I forget if this was ever fun,” Taylor sings in her new song, But Daddy I Love Him. And that hits. Because this liberal movement we once championed—the one full of energy and hope—has curdled into something else. Something joyless. Something that feels like it only exists to police, to shame, to isolate. I grew up believing in freedom, tolerance, dialogue. What I’ve come to realize is that the modern left doesn’t believe in any of that—not really. And it broke my heart.

Taylor sings, “I just learned these people only raise you to cage you.” And I swear, I’ve never heard anything truer. Being gay used to be about liberation. Now, if you’re not the right kind of gay—if you’re not hypersexual, plugged into every trend, marching to every protest, preaching the latest orthodoxy—you’re shamed. Mocked. Labeled. Even other gay people will call you homophobic if you dare to disagree. I’ve been told I have internalized homophobia because I don’t subscribe to this new cult of performative identity. I’ve been told I’m transphobic, racist, misogynistic—simply because I’ve moved to the right. But I’m none of those things. I believe in freedom. I believe people can live how they want, love who they want, dress how they want. But I also believe in personal responsibility, in national sovereignty, in protecting kids from indoctrination. And that makes me the enemy?

“They try and save you... cause they hate you,” Taylor whispers. That line cuts to the bone. Because it’s exactly what it feels like. The LGBTQ+ community, the liberal movement—these are the people who raised (Education System, Media) me, who made me feel like I had a home. And yet the moment I expressed a political opinion that didn’t match theirs, they slammed the door.

Taylor sings, “Too high a horse for a simple girl to rise above it, they slammed the door on my whole world—the one thing I wanted.” That’s me. I wanted community. I wanted home. I wanted real conversations. Instead, I got slammed doors and cold shoulders. We are witnessing a cultural moment where the left is no longer fighting for anything—it’s fighting against. Against dialogue. Against freedom of speech. Against personal expression that doesn’t match the script. You can’t even say “I want secure borders” or “Biological sex exists” without being called hateful. The left has become a machine of outrage, fueled by identity politics and groupthink.

Take J.K. Rowling—decades as a feminist icon, a vocal LGBTQ+ ally, donating millions to women’s shelters and queer youth organizations. And yet, the second she said biological sex exists, she was torched. Not questioned. Erased. I remember watching it happen and thinking, “If even she’s not safe to speak, what chance do the rest of us have?” That was one of my wake-up calls. Because the second I dared to voice my beliefs, I felt the same pitchforks turn on me.

Then there's Riley Gaines. She never said trans athletes shouldn’t exist. She said women—biological women—deserve fair competition and private spaces. That's it. And for that? She's been dragged through the mud, smeared as a bigot, a villain. I’ve seen it firsthand: friends of mine called me homophobic just for defending my right to ask questions. It’s like nuance is dead. Dialogue? Canceled. You either toe the party line, or they’ll crush you under it.

And let’s talk about the drag queen lesbian Midwest princess herself: Chappell Roan. All she did was say she didn’t want to pick a political side on Call Her Daddy, and the left completely lost it. People who praised her one day were calling her a traitor the next—as if refusing to parrot a script meant she wasn’t “queer enough” anymore. Never mind that she’s out here every night in drag, waving Pride flags, and creating glittery, defiant queer anthems that save lives. That still wasn’t enough. She even posted a TikTok later clarifying that she’s pro-choice and cares deeply about her fans, but it didn’t matter. The rage machine had already decided she was guilty—for pausing, for thinking, for not immediately pledging loyalty to a side.

And that hit me hard, because I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to live authentically, to create from the heart, and still be told it’s the wrong kind of gay. I’ve seen people turn on me just for hesitating, just for not falling in line. It’s not about hate or harm—it’s about control. And the same people who preach acceptance are often the first to exile you when you stop fitting their mold. Chappell didn’t betray anyone—she just refused to be owned. And in today’s world, where your queerness is only valid if it comes with the “right” politics, that’s the kind of courage that should be celebrated, not condemned.

Dave Chappelle? Another case study in cancellation. A legend, using comedy to ask the uncomfortable questions—and they branded him a monster. I used to laugh at the idea of cancel culture. Until I voted differently. And suddenly? I was invisible. Old friends stopped texting. Loved ones side-eyed me. I became “one of them.” Overnight. This isn’t community. It’s a cult of conformity. We’ve entered an era where dissent = betrayal. Where authenticity only counts if it’s pre-approved. And if you dare to think for yourself? They’ll try to burn you down. That’s not inclusion. That’s control. And I won’t play that game.

And all of them, like Taylor’s runaway bride, basically said: “No, I’m not coming to my senses. I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want.” The “he” here isn’t a man—it’s freedom. Independence. Sanity. The right to think differently. When Taylor sings, “I’m telling him to floor it through the fences,” I feel that. Because that’s what it’s like to run from this stifling orthodoxy. It’s not graceful. It’s wild, chaotic, messy. But it’s real. “I'll tell you something right now / I'd rather burn my whole life down / Than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning.”

That’s where I’m at. I’ve been gay my whole life, out and proud, and yet now I’m called a traitor. I didn’t leave the LGBTQ+ community. It left me. I’m not the one saying you don’t belong—I’m the one being told I don’t. Taylor sings, “God save the most judgmental creeps / Who say they want what’s best for me / Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I’ll never see.” If that doesn’t describe the blue-check influencers and activist mobs on TikTok and Twitter, I don’t know what does. Their “empathy” is just performance. It’s about control, not compassion.

Even in media, dissent is treated like treason. Remember when The New York Times published an op-ed by Senator Tom Cotton calling for troops to handle violent riots in 2020? The editor who published it was forced to resign. An opinion piece. From a sitting U.S. Senator. That’s not liberalism. That’s authoritarianism.

Taylor’s line, “If all you want is gray for me, then it’s just white noise,” might as well be my anthem. I’m done being boxed in. I’m done pretending. I’m not going to fake enthusiasm for ideologies I don’t believe in, just to be accepted by a community that clearly never accepted me to begin with.

And I’m not alone. There’s a growing number of Gen Zs moving right. Maybe it’s the censorship. Maybe it’s the hypocrisy. Maybe we’re just tired of being told what to think, how to feel, what to post. Maybe we’re all just screaming, “But Daddy, I love him!” and finally meaning it.

Taylor ends the song with this devastating image: “Now I’m dancing in my dress in the sun and / Even my daddy just loves him / I’m his lady, and oh my God / You should see your faces.” That’s the dream, right? To be accepted. To be whole. But until then, I’ll be unbuttoning my metaphorical dress, flying down the road of political freedom, and telling every pearl-clutching “Sarah” and “Hannah” to get out of the way.

Because this is my life. My choice. My wild joy. And you ain’t gotta pray for me.

Unapologetically,

Jake