Taylor doesn't need Travis to fight her battles

The sentence was eagerly awaited and precisely executed: “I have done my research and made my decision. Your research is entirely yours, and the decision is yours.” She ended the sentence with a dig at Donald Trump's running mate JD Vance: “With love and hope, Taylor Swift, childless cat lady.”

Swift's endorsement of Kamala Harris on Tuesday night was no surprise; the pop star has supported Democratic candidates for years and used social media to encourage her followers to vote. Perhaps just as unsurprisingly, Trump supporter and platformer Elon Musk posted a childish response to X shortly after Swift's announcement. “Good, Taylor… you won,” he wrote. “I will give you a child and protect your cats with my life.”

The statement could be interpreted in a number of ways. Musk, a known fertility fanatic, could have been joking about giving Swift a child (perhaps by lending her one of his own 12?). Or he could have been implying a more sexualized threat: I'm going to impregnate you. In any case, it was an attempt to assert his dominance over a woman who it's easy to imagine Musk seeing as an intruder on his turf – a billionaire in her own right, entering politics and stirring up a huge (and devoted) fan base against his preferred candidate. Musk's move was also a familiar one: the kind of sexist attacks long used by men trying to put women in their place.

Read: The tough guy's wannabe presidency

The reaction was immediate. Men and women, Swifties and casual observers alike, cried out for vengeance. And all of that could have been encouraging if it weren't for one kind of response — one that, instead of highlighting Swift's power, invoked that of her famous friend, Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce. “I'm not into violence per se, but Travis should get complete and total immunity for beating up Elon,” one post read. Actor Billy Baldwin wrote, “Elon… You should apologize because… Travis will be beating you up by next week.”

Conflict is, of course, a defining feature of social media discourse, insult and aggression its lingua franca. And one can understand where the idea of ​​Kelce as Swift's enforcer comes from. He's a big man (6'5″, 250 pounds) who plays a violent sport for a living. Musk may pose as “alpha” when challenging his tech-bro rivals to a cage fight, but Kelce embodies the kind of strength and physical superiority that Musk can only fake.

Many Americans glorify the gladiatorial power of a football star. A certain part of the culture also still romanticizes male jealousy: For some, Kelce's defense of Swift's honor isn't just a matter of possessiveness or pride; it's a swoon-inducing way to demonstrate one's love. And considering that some reactions to Swift's support quickly escalated into more overt accusations of violence, it's also easy to understand how even those who normally condemn male violence as “toxic” might find a way to let Fight Club fans pass.

In a world where the gendered threats against women online mirror the threats they face in real life, the desire for an advocate is understandable. Offline, reports emerge daily of women enduring everyday lewdness and sexual violence that could be straight out of a horror movie. Offline, some women feel compelled to turn to friends—real or fake—to fend off overly persistent pursuers because too many men only respect boundaries when faced with the prospect of another man's presence. Even the proudest feminist might not object to the idea of ​​a male ally joining the fight against sexism, misogyny, and abuse.

Read: What is the American gender war really about?

But the instinct to demand a man-on-man duel is not an effective remedy against gendered attacks. It validates the male attacker by deeming him worthy of serious attention, and it devalues ​​the attacked woman by denying her the opportunity to determine her own response. Both Swift and Harris have experienced and defused sexualized attempts at dominance before – without demanding male support.

In a single released in February 2016, Kanye West, now called “Ye,” reignited a seven-year feud with Swift, claiming, “I feel like Taylor and I could still have sex / Why? I made that bitch famous.” Swift responded by highlighting her own achievements, racking up award after award while Ye's career stalled. At the MTV Video Music Awards the night after Musk's comments, Swift took home seven trophies, including the top prize for the third year in a row.

Harris, too, has refused to fall for the bait. Last month, during a televised discussion of U.S. foreign policy, Fox News host Jesse Watters speculated that she would be “paralyzed in the Situation Room while the generals do whatever they want with her.” Instead of responding to that (and similar) comment, Harris and her campaign team have ridiculed the right's misogynistic rhetoric and policies, branding her attackers “weird” rather than lending them credibility. And as for revenge: About a day after Harris out-voted Trump at their first debate, a link posted by Swift on Instagram sent more than 400,000 visitors to a federal website urging people to register to vote.

By failing to energize the misogynistic attacks, Swift and Harris make their opponents seem pathetic and ineffective. They have shown that the most effective response to sexualized threats is not to reward harassment with attention, but to allow the harassers to himself just as scary and embarrassing – no muscular friends required.