Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce’s Madison Square Garden wedding was a huge inconvenience — at least, on paper. The affair, stretched over two days in the middle of Manhattan, involved street closures, subway station exit rerouting, an uptick in police presence, and a handful of bars and restaurants shutting down during the 4th of July weekend, smack dab in the middle of the World Cup and a heat wave, during whatever the hell’s going on with all those tall ships. To scroll the internet during the Swift-Kelce nuptials was to see a barrage of people lamenting the city’s electricity bill, misspent taxpayer dollars, and the alleged tackiness of a private, sure, but very much not secret affair. She’s there, beware, get used to it.
New York, however, is nothing if not resilient, and as disruptive as Swift and Kelce’s wedding could have been, in reality the neighborhood carried on with modest enthusiasm tempered with indifference. For the two days the duo took over MSG, I walked the area, dipping into delis and coffee shops, bars and restaurants, into Penn Station and Moynihan Hall, and all around the surrounding blocks in 100 degree heat. I spoke to fans and tourists, paparazzi and cops, Marriott bartenders and Crocs employees, and found that life was mostly just trudged along like normal, if not sweatier. “She can fuck up a lot,” a woman told me, waiting for New Jersey Transit, “but I don’t think she can fuck up the trains.”
It’s both auspicious and a total coincidence that I arrive at Penn Station at 11:11am — something perhaps Swift herself would appreciate, if she happens to appreciate scene-reporting during one of the most important weekends of her life. Upon exiting the A/C platform, I wander through the basement level of Penn, past a few fast casual dining spots that don’t feel any busier than usual. There does seem to be a higher percentage of cops and state police officers dawdling about, as well as what I’m assuming are incognito security forces and/or just a bunch of really buff guys. When I take a picture of a small horde of them in front of me, a guy wearing a #1 MARINE DAD glares at me.
A relatively peaceful scene at 11:11am on Thursday.
Photo: Fran Hoepfner
I stop at Chopt both for a quick nosh and because I see a table full of cops sitting and chatting. I ask them a handful of questions about Swift’s wedding — Do they anticipate big crowds of fans? More or less than when the Knicks were in the playoffs? — and get ignored. “I don’t know anything about that,” one says to me. They get up and leave. The cops posted outside of the nearby Swarovski and PINK stores are similarly unwilling to entertain my interrogations.
On 31st Street, a construction crew is setting up a tent near MSG’s 4 Penn entrance. A woman with a clipboard talks to a man in a polo shirt. “I feel like it’s too hot for them to try to come see her,” she says. A pair of female cops stationed at 7th Avenue finally break my silence streak, sort of. “Rehearsal dinner,” one of them mouths to me. “Tonight?” I ask. She nods. I ask if either of them are invested in this event. “I don’t really listen to her,” one of them shrugs. I wonder if the families posing with their children in front of the MSG marquis listen. “Swifties?” I ask a particularly blonde-looking family with three small children. “World cup!” they tell me. “Go Norway!”
In Moynihan Hall, the most chairless place in America, the trains are running on schedule, except for the ones that have been canceled due to the heat. I ask a few different travelers whether or not Swift’s wedding impacted their commuting plans today. “Why would she affect trains?” asks a woman named Elisa, who’s headed to Boston to see her grandkids. “It’s nice to leave the city this weekend no matter what’s happening.” If anything, the halal cart and newsstand guys say business has been a bit slower than normal, though standard for a festive weekend. They don’t seem especially mad, just resigned: “It’s a holiday no matter what,” one newsstand operator tells me. The increased amount of police hasn’t been a burden either. “We’re not worried about it,” a Starbucks employee tells me.
Outside on the front steps of Moynihan Hall I finally locate a Swiftie — a 28-year-old named Davina taking her lunch break. She works retail in the surrounding area (“K-Town-ish,” she says, pointing in a vague direction) and trekked close to MSG with hopes of catching sight of something wedding-related. She’s the first of several people who end up expressing doubt to me as to whether Swift will actually appear at MSG, despite all the reporting. “I just feel like she’d do something more public,” Davina says. “It’s because of the fans that she got to where she is. It’s surprising to me she wouldn’t let them see a little of it — a red carpet, or something. She usually shares a lot.”
I stop to get an iced coffee at the Blue Bottle inside One Penn, where the baristas tell me it’s been slow all day. “With the Knicks it was way more insane,” one of them explains. Out in the plaza, I sit down with two summer interns, Sam and Elizabeth, who are 19 and 22 respectively, and work in the building. Elizabeth doesn’t keep up with Swift, but Sam considers herself a fan. “I’m honestly surprised if the wedding winds up happening here,” she tells me. “She has that gorgeous house in Rhode Island. Why wouldn’t she get married there?” She’s generally happy for Swift and Kelce, but admits everything about their relationship feels “so P.R.”
In the middle of our conversation Ivan Kuznetsov and Angela Nikolau, the couple who climbed to the top of the Empire State Building and got engaged, walk through the courtyard and into One Penn. We do a collective double take before another woman loudly asks, “That was the Empire State couple, right? I saw a ring on her finger!”
The backs of Ivan Kuznetsov and Angela Nikolau as the disappear into One Penn.
Photo: Fran Hoepfner
“Oh my god, maybe they’ll climb our building and we’ll get to go home early,” Sam says. Elizabeth nods. “I saw that yesterday and immediately changed my Hinge profile to be like, ‘Climb the Empire State building for me so I know it’s real.’”
I drift up to Times Square to the Marriott Marquis, the hotel at which early reporting from the New York Times said the Kansas City Chiefs will be staying. The warmest part of the day is swiftly (sorry) approaching and my phone is starting to feel dangerous hot. An hour’s worth of air conditioning would do me good. There are two national guard members waiting in line at the Starbucks on the ground floor.
I post up at the bar in the lobby directly under an AC vent and get a Diet Coke. The bartenders working ask not to be named, but none of them have seen any particularly hulking-looking, football player-type guys. “I’ll tell you what I have seen,” one of them explains, “about 700 sailors.” An older retired couple, Michael and Erin, are very excited about the tall ships that will be passing down the Hudson River. They’re in town to see their niece and have little to no interest in Swift’s wedding. “Who is she marrying?” Michael asks me. “It’s interesting how they always say ‘Taylor Swift’s wedding,’ and not ‘Travis Kelce’s wedding,’” Erin says.
I walk back down to Madison Square Garden where activity has picked up slightly. Civilians are still allowed near the 7th Avenue entrance, which is where I run into a mother-daughter duo from Washington state on vacation. “We saw cater waiters!” the mother says. “But we won’t come back tomorrow. She should just have her day.”
A pod of reporters are positioned outside of the loading dock on 33rd Street. “We’re all standing around to get a pic of a chair,” one woman says to her cameraman. Eventually, what looks to be a pink couch gets loaded out of a truck and everyone goes nuts.
Pink couch!
Photo: Fran Hoepfner
Back on 31st Street, I chat with a photographer named Luiz, who is trying to find the best vantage point now that it’s clear a tent will be used to block off the entrance rehearsal dinner guests will be using. “One picture that’s a sliver of those two would probably go for six figures,” he says. He introduces me to Wagner, his friend and a longtime paparazzo in town from Los Angeles, but Wagner is too determined to find his proper angle to talk. I stop into O’Brien’s, whose eponymous owner called the Tayvis affair ridiculous. A sign on the door announces that the night’s trivia event is canceled. Is that a wedding consideration? “It’s just because of the Fourth,” a bartender tells me.
Back out on the street, I talk to a 63-year-old woman from Boise named Gigi who’s visiting her friend and her friend’s granddaughter. She’s a huge Swiftie, and she’s excited for the singer and Kelce to take this next step in their relationship. “He’s really good for her,” she says. But Gigi is surprised the event isn’t being televised. “I was hoping we’d be able to see it.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as an Italian family stops a group of cops outside MSG’s 4 Penn entrance. “No, it’s not ticketed,” the cop explains. “You can’t get tickets to this.”
Eventually the police and a series of tattooed men in civilian clothing with walkie talkies push everyone to either 7th or 8th Avenue, as a small parade of Escalades lines up down the block. “Isn’t there an underground entrance?” a photographer named Kyle asks. “Why are they bothering to do this outside at all?” I hover on the corner of 7th and 31st, watching to see who I can spot through tinted windows. Eventually, one window rolls down and a hand I later learn is Lena Dunham’s comes out as she talks to a traffic cop. A coach bus turns onto the street, and then several more cars with tinted windows. “Excuse me, what’s going on here?” a pedestrian in business casual clothing asks as she waits for the light to turn. I tell her what I know and she smiles. “Aw, that’s nice,” she says.
A friend asks the group chat whether she needs to account for the wedding in her Amtrak travels the next day. “I think you’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Is she really getting married tomorrow at MSG?” another friend asks.
I return to Penn Station a little before they shut down the entrances on 7th Avenue, so I’m still able to walk up to the horseshoe-shaped entrance of MSG. It’s there I find two Swifties, Bryan and Mary from Long Island, trying to peek through the dusty rose curtains blocking the views of anyone loitering outside. They’re not in town specifically for Swift’s wedding — they have museum plans later in the day — but figured they might as well try to ogle, especially since neither felt confident the event was actually going to be at MSG til yesterday. “They brought in a piano, so…” Bryan says.
Another early afternoon in paradise.
Photo: Fran Hoepfner
I head down 30th Street and then over to 8th Avenue. I pop into a couple of quiet coffee shops. “No one wants to be over here right now if they don’t have to,” one barista says, pouring a foam heart into someone’s latte. I stop what I think is a Swiftie in a flower crown, but is actually just a woman in a flower crown. “Flowers have been my thing way longer than they’ve been hers,” she tells me. Two women from Philadelphia linger by a construction-crew barrier that wasn’t here yesterday. “Ooh, she’s got a tunnel,” a woman visiting from Philadelphia says to her friend as they schlep by with suitcases.
In Moynihan Hall, I’m determined to find someone whose travel plans have actually been disrupted by Swift’s wedding, but everyone is far more annoyed by the merciless sun. Dominic, a 28-year-old from D.C. in town to visit friends for the weekend, says Swift’s wedding had nothing to do with how he planned his journey today. He and another friend are waiting on a third pal coming from Boston whose train was canceled the day before due to the extreme temperatures, so they took a lap around MSG in the meantime to spy on the Swift of it all. “She’s crazy,” he says, “but go off.”
I slip down 33rd Street and pop into a deli for a Gatorade. “No one here, so quiet,” the owner says, shaking his head, “but the lady has to get married.” Down in Champs Sports, the teen employees are just as bored. “It’s more fun when there’s people here because then we can all watch the game together,” one named Gabe tells me, nodding at the giant TV up on the wall. “We’ve spent the whole day just talking to each other.” Out on 6th Avenue, a woman brushes by me holding a tiny white dog. “Well, it’s just really inconvenient for normal people,” she says to someone on the phone.
By mid-afternoon, 7th Avenue is a ghost town inhabited by cops and men in suits and earpieces. The odd firetruck gets through the barricade, but otherwise there’s no thru traffic to speak of. Swift’s guests are rumored to be arriving around 3:30, so I decide to post up at 7th Avenue and 31st Street where one side of the corner is occupied by journalists and the other by fans. A group of Irish radio hosts approach a woman to ask if she wants to answer any questions as a Swiftie. “Not this week,” she laughs. Teen fans Frankie and Gray, from Connecticut, are more amenable. “It’s put the whole city in this amazing mood. It’s like the Knicks all over again,” Frankie says of the wedding. What about MSG as the venue? “Iconic.”
The parade continues.
Photo: Fran Hoepfner
“I really hope she films it,” another fan named Ella says.
A little after three in the afternoon, guests start arriving in tinted SUVs, sprinter vans, and a few regular-looking Uber minivans. “I just know that’s Bradley Cooper’s car,” says a woman with an Irish accent talking to a friend on FaceTime. She holds her phone up. “Can you see it? Bradley Cooper’s car?”
My colleague Zach Schiffman informs me that 6th Avenue and 33rd Street is the place to be, as it’s where the various Escalades and sprinter vans pass through the police barrier. When I join him on the corner, there are small crowds on either side trying to catch glimpses of guests. A woman shoves her way past the idling parties, stating that she’s pissed off about “everybody acting goofy.”
Those navigating the police barricade must show a QR code, which involves rolling down the tinted window to prove they’ve been invited to the wedding. Many of the celebs in question do not seem to understand that they can pass their phones up to their drivers in lieu of rolling down their own windows, so we end up catching sight of several guests: Bowen Yang (with Alison Roman), Lucy Dacus, Aaron Dessner, Jerrod Carmichael, George Stephanopoulos, Nikki Glaser.
When a couple, Izzy and Matt, both 26 and from D.C., stumble upon our corner and ask what’s going on and, subsequently, who’ve we’ve seen, I rattle off the above list. They respond with blank stares. “Maybe these are people who are famous in New York,” Izzy says. A middle-aged woman standing nearby tells them she saw Tony Romo. “Now he’s famous,” Matt announces.
I head over to the nearby pizza restaurant Roberta’s. I was told cops were letting people through the barricade here so long as they were actually going into Roberta’s. I get past the blockade with no problem and head in to have a Diet Coke. The woman working the register is soft-spoken and bored. She tells me it’s been “so dead” all day, which means no tips. On the restaurant’s second floor, spirits are a little higher. “We have popsicles in the back,” one of the waitstaff tells me. One server shows up to his shift late, asking, genuinely, “Literally what the fuck is going on outside?” A different coworker emerges from the kitchen: “I can’t stop listening to the new Madonna!”
I dip into the Crocs store on 34th Street for another blast of air conditioning and I overhear the employees talking about the nearby nuptials. “It feels like a hoax, like, why would that happen? She’s done shows there,” one wonders aloud. “It’d be like if I got married here.”
I loop back for one more shot of the police perimeter, tightening by the second. “Bitch, I’m at the Taylor Swift wedding barricade,” a woman says to a friend on FaceTime, spinning around in the intersection to show off the cops. An officer flashes a peace sign while another tells her to move along. “Always some stupid stuff going on here,” she tells her friend, before turning a corner and heading off into the night.