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Over the past decade, sleep has become better understood as a core part of wellness. But the stressors of modern life mean that Americans are getting less of it.

First, here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

The Supreme Court goes through the looking glass on presidential immunity. The inflation plateau The campus-left occupation that broke higher education

Sleep No More

In the 1980s, when Rafael Pelayo was a young medical student setting out in the field of sleep research, people thought he was wasting his time. At that point, our culture was not so obsessed with the subject of rest. Now, he told me, people acknowledge that he was onto something—and insomniacs circle him “like sharks to blood” when they hear what he does for a living. Pelayo, a clinical professor at the Stanford Sleep Medicine Center, says that the “tide is changing” in how society values sleep. Over the past decade, how, and how much, we sleep has become a major health and wellness concern.

It’s a subject on Americans’ minds: Late last year, for the first time since Gallup began asking the question in 2001, a majority of surveyed American adults said they would feel better if they slept more; 57 percent of people surveyed said that they need to get more sleep, up from 43 percent in 2013, when the data were last gathered.

People’s self-reported quantities of sleep are also on the decline. Compared with a decade ago, fewer people report getting eight hours or more of sleep, and more people say they get five hours or less. Just 36 percent of women report getting the sleep they need—down from more than half in 2013.

As anyone who has lain awake at night knows, anxiety can affect sleep. That Americans say they are not sleeping as well as they reported in 2013 likely can be blamed in part on the stresses of the pandemic, Brynn K. Dredla, a neurologist and sleep-medicine specialist at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida, told me. “From a survival standpoint, if we’re under stress, our body thinks, Well, I have to be awake to deal with that stress,” she explained. Our brains have trouble distinguishing between acute danger, such as a bear attack, and chronic stress. “For us to sleep, we need to have a physically and psychologically safe environment,” she said. (A cold, dark, quiet room—with Instagram and news apps far away from the bed and the mind—doesn’t hurt either.)

Teenagers aren’t sleeping enough, and they’re experiencing high levels of stress—particularly teen girls. Blaming the ubiquity of the smartphone for bad sleep would be easy, but Pelayo finds that too simplistic—after all, we “had sleep issues way before the phones came out,” he noted. Teens aren’t getting enough sleep, Pelayo argued, in part because school tends to start at such an ungodly hour (he has advocated for later start times, a legislative effort that has gained momentum in states including California and Florida). It doesn’t help that adolescents are generally not great at recognizing when they are sleepy. Teens need a lot of sleep, Dredla explained, and sleep deprivation often makes them frustrated, which in turn “will lead to behaviors that actually can start promoting wakefulness,” such as napping or drinking caffeine. It’s not just teens—anyone can build up “sleep debt” and get into a cycle of sleeping poorly, stimulating themselves to stay awake, having trouble sleeping at night, and doing it all over again.

As sleep has become more central to Americans’ conception of wellness, companies have swooped in to try to package sleep as a luxury good. A cottage industry of products, including specialized pillows, apps, and pills, has sprung up in recent years promising to help people sleep better. Some simple pieces of technology—better mattresses, better cooling systems—have indeed enhanced sleep over the decades. But you don’t necessarily need to buy more stuff in order to sleep better. Savvy marketing makes people think the solution is complex, but at its core, the human body wants to sleep. “You were sleeping in utero,” Pelayo reminded me.

Of course, knowing this is not always enough to help a person struggling to get solid sleep. Pelayo advises that a good step for people having trouble sleeping is to wake up at the same time every morning. Forcing yourself to fall asleep is nearly impossible; if someone offered you $1,000 to fall asleep immediately, it might get even harder. But, he said, you can make yourself wake up consistently.

A good night of sleep consists of four factors, Pelayo explained: amount of sleep, quality of sleep, timing of sleep, and state of mind. That last one is key, he said—if you don’t look forward to going to bed, or if you dread waking up in the morning, you may have a very hard time sleeping. People tend to blame themselves when they don’t sleep well. He suggests that a better route for such people is to try to move past “that self-blame, because it’s not helpful. We want to figure out what’s happening.” It could be that you have a sleep disorder; many women, for example, develop sleep apnea after menopause.

Over the decades, Pelayo has watched sleep wellness become more valued, in parallel to many Americans beginning to internalize the benefits of eating healthy foods. “Waking up tired is like leaving a restaurant hungry,” Pelayo said. Though many Americans seem to feel that way these days, he retains hope. The good news about sleep? Everyone can do it. “It’s a fun gig as a sleep doctor, because most patients get better.”

Related:

The Protestant sleep ethic Can medieval sleeping habits fix America’s insomnia?

Today’s News

An appeals court overturned Harvey Weinstein’s sex-crimes conviction in New York, where he has been serving his prison sentence. Since he was also convicted of sex offenses in Los Angeles, in 2022, his release is unlikely. The Supreme Court heard arguments in Donald Trump’s presidential-immunity case, addressing the question of whether a former president can enjoy immunity from criminal prosecution for conduct related to official acts that took place during their time in office. The Biden administration finalized a new regulation that would significantly reduce emissions and pollution from coal-fueled power plants by 2032.

Dispatches

Time-Travel Thursdays: For centuries, Jews were accused of preparing their Passover food with Christian blood. Yair Rosenberg investigates the dark legacy and ongoing body count of this ancient anti-Semitic myth.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read

Illustration by Ben Kothe / The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

Why Your Vet Bill Is So High

By Helaine Olen

In the pandemic winter of 2020, Katie, my family’s 14-year-old miniature poodle, began coughing uncontrollably. After multiple vet visits, and more than $1,000 in bills, a veterinary cardiologist diagnosed her with heart failure. Our girl, a dog I loved so much that I wrote an essay about how I called her my “daughter,” would likely die within nine months.

Katie survived for almost two years … [Her] extended life didn’t come cheap. There were repeated scans, echocardiograms, and blood work, and several trips to veterinary emergency rooms. One drug alone cost $300 a month, and that was after I shopped aggressively for discounts online.

People like me have fueled the growth of what you might call Big Vet. As household pets have risen in status—from mere animals to bona fide family members—so, too, has owners’ willingness to spend money to ensure their well-being. Big-money investors have noticed.

Read the full article.

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Culture Break

Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Gary Shteyngart.

Listen. In the latest episode of Radio Atlantic, Gary Shteyngart details his “seven agonizing nights” aboard the Icon of the Seas, the largest cruise ship ever.

Analyze. In Taylor Swift’s “The Albatross”—a bonus track on her new album, The Tortured Poets Department—she identifies with the notorious bird from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem. Why does she see herself that way?

Play our daily crossword.

Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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How do you get the albatross off your neck? You know, your albatross. Your own dank collar of bird carcass, bespoke feathery deadweight of shame/rage/neurosis/solipsism/the past/whatever, the price of being you as it feels on a bad day … How do you let it drop?

In Taylor Swift’s “The Albatross”—a bonus track on her new double album, The Tortured Poets Department—the albatross is a person. A woman, to be precise. “She’s the albatross / She is here to destroy you.” Which could be a trope from some slab of 1970s misogynist boogie, Bad Company or Nazareth howling about a faithless woman and her evil ways, etc., etc., but—because this is Taylor Swift—it isn’t.

Let me quickly locate myself in the Taylorverse. I’m a “Bad Blood”/“We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” guy. I like the bangers, the big tunes. Midnights was not my cup of tea: overdetermined as to lyrics (too many words), underpowered as to melodies (not enough tunes). For me, it was as if she’d taken the DNA of a maundering, heavy-breathing, medium-Swift song like Reputation’s “Dress” and unraveled it over a whole album, abetted by the soupy skills of Jack Antonoff. But what do I know? Midnights was one of the biggest albums of all time. And now, less than two years later: The Tortured Poets Department. And: “The Albatross.”

[Read: Taylor Swift is having quality-control issues]

Sonically, musically, we’re in Folklore territory with this song: the strings; the wending, woodwindy vocal line; the tender electronica; the muted mood; the pewter wash of tastefulness. Chamber music, if the chamber in question has been decorated by Bed Bath & Beyond. Is there a tune? I mean, kind of. Not one you’re going to be bellowing in a toneless rapture at the wheel of your car, but it’s there.

Lyrically, however, things are more lively. There’s this woman, the albatross: a bad habit, a bad relationship, a self-ensnaring situation, a bundle of familiar negatives (“Devils that you know / Raise worse hell than a stranger”). People have warned you about this person. She’s bad news! And Swift, ever-alert to the opprobrium of the herd, cannot help identifying with her. The voice shifts to the first person: “Locked me up in towers / But I’d visit in your dreams.” Reputation-style vibes of slander and persecution are felt: “Wise men once read fake news / And they believed it / Jackals raised their hackles …” As always, the Swifties are speculating: Who’s this song for? Who is it about? Joe Alwyn? Travis Kelce—and the warnings he got when he started dating Swift? Is she his own stubborn albatross?

By the end of the song, the singer herself has assumed the form of the albatross, and is flapping in to perform a “rescue.” “The devil that you know / Looks now more like an angel.” Embrace your shadow? Embrace your albatross? Embrace your partner with your own long-feathered and doom-laden albatross wings?

This is not how it usually goes with albatrosses.

[Read: Travis Kelce is another puzzle for Taylor Swift fans to crack]

Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is the source, the fons et origo, of the albatross metaphor. In the Rime, a sailor shoots an albatross, and brings a curse upon his ship. Why does he shoot the albatross? No reason, or none given in the poem. Maybe it’s the old existentialist acte gratuit, more than a century early: Maybe he does it because the sun is in his eyes, like Meursault in Camus’s L’Étranger. He shoots it, anyway, prangs it with his crossbow, and the wind drops, and the ship slides into a hell-sea, and the dead bird, as punishment and emblem of shame, is hung around his neck.

Back, then, to our question: How do you get rid of the albatross?

Coleridge, fortunately for us, was very clear on this: You bless the water snakes. It’s all in Part IV of the Rime. The ship is becalmed, the sea is rancid, the crew are dead, and the Mariner—albatross slung Björk-ishly around his neck—is sitting on the deck in a state of nightmare. Meaning, purpose, a following wind: all gone. Perished with his shipmates. Now he’s in a scummy realm, a realm of mere biological outlasting. “And a thousand thousand slimy things / Lived on; and so did I …”

But. However. And yet. With nothing else to do, with no phone to look at, he watches the slimy things as they writhe and flare in the water, super-white in the moonlight, darker and more luxuriously hued when in the shadow cast by the ship itself. And something happens. His heart opens. Or perhaps it breaks. He is mutely, selflessly stirred and awakened. With his core, from his core, he spontaneously exalts what is before him: He blesses the water snakes.

And with a complicated downy loosening, and maybe a glancing clang from its beak, the albatross—fatal baggage of a bird—falls off into the sea.

Taylor Swift is not the first musician to engage with albatrossness. There’s Fleetwood Mac’s beautiful instrumental “Albatross” from 1968—slow celestial wingbeats, bluesy exhalations over a dazzling sea. There’s Public Image Ltd’s trudging, splintering “Albatross” from 1979, interpersonal, more in the Swift vein: “I know you very well / You are unbearable.” Corrosion of Conformity’s “Albatross” is a kind of sludge-rocking, negatively charged “Free Bird”: “You can call me lazy / You can call me wrong … Albatross, fly on, fly on.”

But for the full Coleridgean thing, the full voyage, nothing beats Iron Maiden’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” The live version, preferably. This is a straight-up workingman’s adaptation of the poem, 14 minutes of galumphing rock opera, Coleridge’s words doggedly paraphrased by Maiden bassist–vision guy Steve Harris, and it succeeds spectacularly. Especially at the water-snakes moment, which the band orchestrates to perfection: a flicked and rushing pattern on the hi-hat, a trebly-warbly melodic figure on the bass, palm-muted chug-a-chug of one, then two (then three?) guitars, the tension blissfully building until Bruce Dickinson, with soaring all-gobbling theatricality, sings it out. “Then the spell starts to BREAK / The albatross falls from his NECK / Sinks down like LEAD / Into the SEA / Then down in falls comes the” [King Diamond–style infernal androgynous scream] “RAAAAAAIIN!!”

So what are the water snakes? Coleridge’s Rime is not, for me, an allegory, so the water snakes are not representing or symbolizing something. They are something. A coiling and uncoiling beautiful-terrible, playful-awful force that breaks the surface in snaky loops and flashes. Wonderfully indifferent to us, horrifyingly indifferent to us. But mysteriously in relationship with us, because it is in our eyes that these water snakes, these incandescent reptiles, these limbless creatures of the deep, are made holy. We are the ones who can bless them.

And you can’t decide to bless the water snakes, that’s the point. It’s not about gratitude. It’s not about improving your mental health. No squint of effort, no knotting or unknotting of the frontal lobes will get you there. The blessing arises by itself, or it doesn’t arise at all. Total brain bypass: a love so simple and helpless it barely even knows what it’s loving.

[Read: James Parker on the Rick Rubin guide to creativity]

So it becomes a question of orienting oneself to the possibility of this love. How to do it? I’m out of my depth here—which is just as it should be, for here we are in the zone of the mystics and the mega-meditators. We are full fathom five, where your feet don’t touch anything, because there’s nothing to touch. If you’re the Ancient Mariner—or perhaps if you’re addicted to opiates, as Coleridge was—you’ll have to go through it, all of it. You’ll have to be carried to the end of yourself. The blessing of the water snakes happens at the Mariner’s clinical bottoming-out: when he’s utterly isolated, on a suppurating sea, besieged by the forces of death.

The rest of us, maybe we don’t have to go—or be taken—that far. Maybe there are other, less drastic, more everyday opportunities and invitations for us to be broken down and opened up. For our grip on the albatross to be unclenched. For the love to pour through us like Iron Maiden. For the albatross itself to wrap its angelic Taylor Swift wings around your inner Travis Kelce.

One way or another, though, sooner or later, gently or with loud sunderings and burstings, it’s going to happen. Life, thank God—it’ll get you and get you again.

This article has been adapted from James Parker’s upcoming book, Get Me Through the Next Five Minutes: Odes to Being Alive.

The year was 2006. Popular music was, for women, a pretty desolate landscape. Songs such as “My Humps” and “Buttons” served up shimmering, grinding strip-pop, while dull, minor-key objectification infused “Smack That,” “Money Maker,” and similar tracks. In the video for “London Bridge,” the singer and former child star Fergie gave a lap dance to a silent, immotive King’s Guardsman, barely pausing to lick his uniform. For “Ms. New Booty,” the rapper Bubba Sparxxx staged a mock infomercial for a product offering women “a little more frosting in your cakes … cantaloupes in your jeans,” before proselytizing the message of the era: “Get it ripe, get it right, get it tight.”

Against this backdrop, late in the year, a 16-year-old ingenue arrived who radiated not sex appeal but feeling. Taylor Swift at this point was a country artist, welcomed into a genre that embraced the kind of romantic imagery she played with in her lyrics: small towns, broken hearts, blue jeans, innocence that’s bruised but not shattered. Her self-titled debut record was full of diaristic songs that courted intimacy with her listeners, sharing adolescent dreams and secrets (“In a box beneath my bed / Is a letter that you never read”). But it also introduced motifs that Swift has returned to over and over since then: pathetic fallacy, the passing of time, the mythology of love.

Every song on that record except two, in fact, deals with love, but in terms that make it feel more like a subject she’s intent on exploring than a consuming personal affliction. This is a novice storyteller’s idea of emotion, patchworked together out of movie clips and imaginative sincerity. On “Cold as You,” Swift compares an emotionally unavailable love interest to a rainy day: “You put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray.” In “Picture to Burn,” furious after a betrayal, she declares, “Watch me strike a match on all my wasted time.” The album is softly romantic but also notably sharp. Listening to these early songs now, I sense the initial construction of a character who’s already constrained by archetype, unsure of who she might actually be outside the apple-pie conventions of a genre.

Almost 20 years later, the same metaphors and frustrations are present in Swift’s new record, The Tortured Poets Department, but they’ve calcified into a mode that, in lyrical form at least, feels like it’s suffocating her. Over 31 songs—the last 15 added in the early hours of the morning as a surprise drop—Swift portrays herself as a woman stuck in a spiral of obsessive overthinking, with new cuts seeming to open up old wounds. The pain seems realer now, more lived in, but the imagery she uses to describe it is the same as it was when she was 16. “If all you want is gray for me / Then it’s just white noise, and it’s just my choice,” she sings on “But Daddy I Love Him,” barely animated by chilling fury. Time, again, taunts her; on “So Long, London,” she sighs, “I’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.”

This is the saddest album I’ve heard in a long time. And I’m fascinated by how jarringly it strikes down public perceptions of Swift from the past few years: the golden girl swept into a jubilantly triumphant romance with the football star, the impossibly beloved auteur of women’s emotional lives, the billionaire savior of entire economies, the lyrical subject of study at Harvard. The song that feels the most revelatory is “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” which tears down the curtain to reveal the truth behind it, scored to a frantic, pulsating, almost obscenely jaunty beat. “There in her glittering prime / The lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night / I can show you lies,” she sings, numbly. “I cry a lot but I am so productive, it’s an art / You know you’re good when you can even do it with a broken heart.”

What are we to do with all this pain? People wanted a boppy summer soundtrack, and they got an exorcism instead—a messy, sprawling litany of musically familiar grievances. The immediate reviews have not been kind, pointing out the clunkiness of certain lyrics and accusing Swift of solipsism bordering on self-obsession or of digging up old grudges better left buried. Critics both amateur and professional have rushed in to excavate which songs seem to be about which real people, turning a creative work into confessional fodder for the Daily Mail’s sidebar of shame—a habit that Swift herself has seemed to encourage. (“I realized very early on that no matter what, that was going to happen to me regardless,” she told Rolling Stone in 2019. “So when you realize the rules of the game you’re playing and how it will affect you, you got to look at the board and make your strategy.”)

I can agree with my colleague Spencer Kornhaber, who described much of The Tortured Poets Department as “a dreary muddle, but with strange and surprising charms, and a couple of flashes of magic.” Yet the album is also intriguing to me as an autofictional work that’s chafing at its own layers of lore and artifice. Swift has long constructed her identity out of archetype, cliché, and torn-up fragments of Americana. She’s a people pleaser, a perfectionist, an eldest daughter, a dreamer, a schemer, a wronged woman, a vengeful gorgon, a cat lady, a girl next door. But at 34, she seems to be butting up against the reality that there are no cultural models for what she’s become. Too earnest to be a diva, too workaholic to retreat into reclusion or retirement, she’s stuck being an extraordinarily rich, influential, and powerful woman who still, somehow, feels like she has no real power at all.

* * *

In an Instagram post announcing the release of The Tortured Poets Department, Swift described the record as:

an anthology of new works that reflect events, opinions and sentiments from a fleeting and fatalistic moment in time—one that was both sensational and sorrowful in equal measure. This period of the author’s life is now over, the chapter closed and boarded up. There is nothing to avenge, no scores to settle once wounds have healed. And upon reflection, a good number of them turned out to be self-inflicted. This writer is of the firm belief that our tears become holy in the form of ink on a page. Once we have spoken our saddest story, we can be free of it.

Swift is asking us to read the album as a metamorphic bid for catharsis—the idea, espoused by Aristotle (whom Swift name-checks on TTPD), that staging pain and tragedy as artistic spectacles can help purge us of their effects. As someone once inexplicably compelled to write about the worst time of my life, I can empathize. But the finality with which Swift declared matters to be closed for debate is striking. This is what having an arsenal without authority looks like. Swift knows, at the end of the day, that there’s actually very little she can do to influence what people make of her.

[Read: Fans’ expectations of Taylor Swift are chafing against reality]

And yet, the simple existence of the record is an assertion that her version of events will be the one that endures, the one we remember. History, even recent history, has not been kind to women who attempt to reify their side of the story. In ancient Rome, a woman named Gaia Afrania who tried to argue for herself in court was enshrined by the writer Valerius Maximus as a “monster.” For speaking honestly in King Lear, Cordelia is disinherited and then executed by her lying sisters. Nora Ephron was likened to a child abuser in Vanity Fair for lightly fictionalizing her husband’s infidelity while she was pregnant with their second child in Heartburn. And when Rachel Cusk wrote about her divorce in her 2012 memoir, Aftermath, one critic branded her “a brittle little dominatrix and a peerless narcissist.”

Still, writers keep trying, possibly inspired by Ephron’s assertion, via Heartburn’s narrator, that “if I tell the story, I control the version.” Swift’s mission with her new album seems testimonial; she wants to have certain facts entered into the cultural archive. “At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger / And put it on the one people put wedding rings on,” she states on the title track. It’s the weakest song on the whole record, with a jangling, Bruce Hornsby–like piano riff in the background and lyrics that feel half-baked. So why is it here? I would argue, for context: It documents all the particular texture of a betrayal—the grand emotional duplicity and the intensity, the beauty of flashing-neon warning signs. In the following song, “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys,” there’s the inevitable follow-up: “He saw forever, so he smashed it up.”

Illusion also plays a big role on this record; events blur and coalesce into a fuzzy narrative wherein the clearest emerging thread is Swift’s own pain. Autofiction is a particular example of writing that performs “a push-me, pull-you of cloaking and revelation,” the critic Alex Clark wrote in a 2018 analysis of recent works in the genre. Women writers and writers of color, she argued, are the ones who are most “bedevilled by the expectation—from readers and critics—that their work is based in the reality of their own lives; what follows is a treasure hunt for the ‘real’ in their imagined worlds, and a diminution of its importance.” Since the beginning, Swift has dropped breadcrumbs throughout her albums that have been analyzed fervently by her fans. Never has it felt less like a rewarding practice than it does now, with her lyrics hovering awkwardly between the neatness of legend and what the French writer Marie Darrieussecq described as “the authentic cry of the autobiography.”

Swift seems to think that if she’s not keeping us busy, we’ll get tired of her. But this mentality, too, is a trap. “The female artists that I know of have reinvented themselves 20 more times than the male artists,” she explains in Miss Americana, a 2020 documentary about a tumultuous period in her career during which she dealt with backlash for the first time and became more open about her politics. “They have to, or else you’re out of a job … I want to work really hard while society is still tolerating me being successful.” In another scene in that movie, she responds to perceived failure by saying, “This is fine. I just need to make a better record.” The perfectionist’s impulse is to just do more and work harder, to try to annihilate failure with relentlessness. That narrative is a particularly American one too—as familiar as Johnny Appleseed or standing by your man. Swift loves storytelling. So why is it hard to shake the feeling that it’s ruining her?

She seems, on her new album, like a woman stuck in a fairy tale, who escapes one gilded cage for another, and then another, and then another. This possibly accounts for the music feeling so static—it’s the first record she’s made that hasn’t shifted musical modes, the first whose lyrics lack methodical precision. My hope is that this album is catharsis for her: the purging not just of an emotional moment in time but also of a preoccupation with the motifs that are holding her back. On “Mastermind,” my favorite song from 2022’s Midnights, Swift herself observed how limiting romantic tropes are for women, how they have to plot with intention not to be “the pawn in every lover’s game.” The legends and stories that both her music and her persona are built on simply don’t contain enough substance for her anymore. Swift is going to have to write her own way out.

The Tortured Poets Department became Spotify's most-streamed album in a single day, the platform said.

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Are young people turning away from the Democratic Party in 2024? Will turnout be as high as it was last time around? What about the gender gap? Today I’ll do my best to address some pressing questions about how young folks will behave in November. But first, here are three stories from The Atlantic:

The bone-marrow-transplant revolution Radio Atlantic: The crucial factor of the Stormy Daniels case Abolish DEI statements, Conor Friedersdorf argues.

The “Realignment” Mirage

What are the youths up to this election cycle? several readers asked me via email last week. Well, lately, they’ve been giving Democrats heart palpitations.

A handful of surveys from late last month suggested that Trump is performing better among young voters than he did in 2020—even, in some cases, better than Joe Biden. Some Democrats are worried about what Politico recently called a “massive electoral realignment.” For decades, Democratic candidates have secured younger voters by big margins. In the 2020 presidential election, for example, voters ages 18–29 broke for Biden by more than 20 points. So if young voters were to turn toward Trump, that would be an enormous deal.

But before Democrats freak out or Trump fans get too excited, let’s all take a nice, deep breath. Several other youth-voter polls from last month showed Biden on par with Trump, and even beating him.

“Following recent polls of young voters has been a bit like reading a choose-your-own adventure book,” Daniel Cox, the director of the nonpartisan Survey Center on American Life at the American Enterprise Institute, told me via email, when I asked him what he makes of the surveys that point to a realignment. “You can craft a completely different narrative,” he says, depending on which poll you see.

These surveys vary so much, in part, because polling young people can be tricky. Getting young people on the phone via the traditional cold-call method is a nightmare, because they don’t tend to answer (I get it: These days it seems like every call is a scam.) Lately, younger voters have been eschewing traditional party labels, and they’ve grown more cynical about the entire political system. These phenomena make it difficult to both identify younger voters by party and to get them to participate in a poll.

It’s unlikely that a total realignment is happening, Cox and other pollsters told me. Let’s not forget which voters we’re dealing with: Young adults today are less religious, more educated, and more likely to identify as LGBTQ than prior generations, Cox noted, which are all characteristics generally associated with left-of-center political views. “It’s hard to see this completely changing over the course of a single campaign.”

A brand-new poll from Harvard throws even more ice-cold water on the “great realignment” theory: Biden leads Trump by 19 points among likely voters under age 30, according to the poll, which was published today and is considered one of the most comprehensive surveys of young voters in the country. Biden is definitely underperforming among young people compared with this point in the 2020 election, when he led by 30 points. But today’s poll showed no hint of a Trump lead.

Instead, the bigger threat to Biden will be third-party-curious young people. In a recent survey of young voters from the nonpartisan polling organization Split Ticket, Biden led Trump by 10 points, and the young voters who did abandon Biden weren’t going to Trump—they were going to independent candidates like RFK Jr.

The real themes to watch in 2024, experts told me, are youth turnout and the growing gender divide.

Young people are less likely to vote than older Americans—that’s true. But the past three national elections have actually had really high young-voter turnout, relative to past cycles. In the 2020 general election, 50 percent of eligible voters under 30 cast a ballot, according to estimates from CIRCLE, a nonpartisan organization that studies youth civic engagement. Will more than 50 percent of eligible young voters show up to the polls again this November? Maybe: About 53 percent of young Americans say they will “definitely be voting,” according to the Harvard poll published today. That’s about the same as it was around this time in 2020, when 54 percent said they’d vote.

But some experts say that matching 2020 levels is a long shot. Biden and Trump are historically unpopular presidential candidates among all age groups. Given that, Lakshya Jain, who helped design the Split Ticket poll, doesn’t think young-voter turnout will be “nearly as high as it was in 2020.” That cycle was special, he says: “a black swan of events” during one of the most tumultuous times in America. The election followed four years of a Trump administration, and the start of a global pandemic. “I see this environment as much more like 2016,” Jain said, when turnout among young people was closer to 40 percent.

The other important trend is gender. More American men than women support Trump—and that gap is growing. Now it seems like the same phenomenon applies to young people. Among likely young women voters, Biden leads Trump by 33 points in the new Harvard poll; among young men, he only leads by six. (In 2020, Biden led young men by 26 points.)

This gender chasm may not actually be reflected in November’s outcome. But that, pollsters say, will be the possible realignment to watch. “It will make the youth vote less Democratic for one,” Cox said. And “a longer-term political gender divide could transform the character of the political parties.”

Related:

Are Gen Z men and women really drifting apart? Generation Z doesn’t remember when America worked (From 2022)

Today’s News

Twelve jurors were sworn in for Donald Trump’s hush-money criminal trial in New York; the selection of alternate jurors will resume tomorrow. A commander of Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps said that it is “possible and conceivable” that Iran will reconsider its nuclear policies if Israel attacks Iranian nuclear facilities. In a new package of bills dealing with aid to Israel and Ukraine, the U.S. House revived legislation that would force TikTok’s owner to either sell the social-media platform or face a national ban.

Dispatches

Work in Progress: Supercheap electric cars from China or an American industrial renaissance? Pick one, Rogé Karma writes. Time-Travel Thursdays: Helen Keller was funny, smart, and much more complex than many people know, Ellen Cushing writes.

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Evening Read

Investigation Discovery

The Uncomfortable Truth About Child Abuse in Hollywood

By Hannah Giorgis

During Nickelodeon’s golden era, the network captivated young viewers by introducing them to an impressive roster of comedic talent—who happened to be kids, just like them … For nearly two decades, the network dominated not just kids’ programming, but the entire cable-TV landscape.

A new docuseries argues that at least some of this success came at a great cost. Quiet on Set: The Dark Side of Kids TV explores troubling allegations of child abuse and other inappropriate on-set behavior during this run at Nickelodeon. The documentary builds on a 2022 Business Insider investigation into programs led by the prolific producer Dan Schneider, and on details from a memoir published earlier that year by the former child star Jennette McCurdy. (McCurdy, who doesn’t identify Schneider by name in her book but describes an abusive showrunner widely believed to be him, was not involved with the documentary.) Over its five episodes, the series offers an important record of how the adults working on these shows—and Hollywood as a whole—repeatedly failed to protect young actors. But Quiet on Set also, perhaps unintentionally, ends up creating a frustratingly tidy narrative that elides some crucial complexities of abuse.

Read the full article.

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Culture Break

Millennium Images / Gallery Stock

Read. Our Kindred Creatures, by Bill Wasik and Monica Murphy, explores why Americans love certain animals and are indifferent toward many others.

Pace yourself. Scott Jurek ran a 2,189-mile ultramarathon—the full length of the Appalachian Trail, Paul Bisceglio wrote in 2018. What can extreme athletes tell us about human endurance?

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P.S.

In case you haven’t heard, it’s Pop Girl Spring! And tonight is the big night: Taylor Swift is releasing her new album, The Tortured Poets Department. I’m thrilled, because I love a breakup album, and this one promises to be moody and campy in equal measure. (The track list includes songs called “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived” and “But Daddy I Love Him”!) For a really thoughtful unpacking of the album, I recommend tuning into the Every Single Album podcast from The Ringer, hosted by Nora Princiotti and Nathan Hubbard. They have a preview episode up now, and a new one will be out in a few days.

Even if Taylor isn’t your cup of tea (gasp!), their other episodes covering new music from Beyoncé, Maggie Rogers, and Kacey Musgraves are delightful and informative, too.

— Elaine

Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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