The digital ghost of Taylor Swift recently found itself in two very different, yet equally troubling, places.
One was a series of non-consensual, sexually explicit deepfakes that flooded social media; the other was a set of artificial intelligence (AI)-generated images shared by Donald Trump, falsely suggesting the pop icon had endorsed his presidential campaign.
Swift’s response was not just a public relations maneuver, but a legal one.
In April, the singer filed three trademark applications with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO). The filings weren’t for catchy song lyrics or tour merchandise, but for the very essence of her persona: audio clips of her saying “Hey, it’s Taylor Swift” and specific visual imagery from her record-breaking Eras Tour.
Swift isn’t alone in this unconventional legal pivot. She is following a trail blazed by Oscar-winning actor Matthew McConaughey, who began securing federal trademarks for his voice and his iconic “alright, alright, alright” catchphrase in 2023. As generative AI makes it easier than ever to clone a voice or synthesize a face, the world’s biggest stars are attempting to turn themselves into registered brands to create a “federal deterrent” against digital body snatchers.
The strategy, as McConaughey’s attorney Jonathan Pollack admits, is a bit like fitting “a round peg in a square hole.” Traditionally, trademark law is designed to protect consumers, not celebrities. It ensures that when you see a “Swoosh,” you know you’re buying Nike, and when you hear the NBC chimes, you know which network you’re watching.
To win a trademark, an artist must prove their voice or image functions as a “source identifier” in commerce. You cannot trademark your entire personality, but you can trademark specific “sound marks” or “motion marks” if they are used to sell a product or service. McConaughey’s team, for instance, registered his drawl for use in “audio recordings in the field of self-help and spirituality.”
When Swift followed suit, it signaled a shift in industry sentiment. “In a world where we’re watching everybody scramble to figure out what to do about AI misuse,” Pollack says, “we have a tool now to stop someone in their tracks or take them to federal court.”
The irony of this “trademarking oneself” trend is that celebrities are already arguably the most legally protected class of people on the planet. They possess a robust arsenal of NIL (Name, Image, and Likeness) rights:
- SAG-AFTRA protections. Recent union strikes secured ironclad rules preventing studios from using digital replicas to replace actors in roles without consent.
- Copyright law. This protects the actual recordings and videos of performances. No one can legally stream a Swift song or a McConaughey film clip without permission.
- The Right of Publicity. Most states have laws prohibiting the use of a person’s likeness to sell cars or fragrances without a license.
- The Lanham Act. A flexible federal law that already bans “false endorsement,” such as using an artist’s song in a political ad to imply support.
So why add trademarks to the pile? The answer lies in the sheer scale and speed of AI. Trademarks offer a different kind of ammunition. If someone uses a cloned version of Swift’s voice to provide “music information services” (one of her filing categories), a trademark registration allows her team to skip several legal hurdles. It provides a presumption of ownership and opens the door to statutory damages and the destruction of infringing materials — remedies that are often harder to secure under general privacy laws.
While these high-profile filings represent a fascinating beta-test for legal strategy, they offer little comfort to the average person. For a regular citizen whose voice might be cloned for a phone scam or whose image might be used in a deepfake, the trademark route is a dead end. Without a “merchandising empire” or a commercial history of selling goods under your own name, the USPTO will not grant you a mark.
The broader solution may lie in the “No FAKES Act,” a piece of federal legislation currently pending in Congress. Supported by SAG-AFTRA, the act aims to create a universal right to one’s voice and likeness, protecting everyone—not just the “Alright, Alright, Alright” crowd—from unauthorized digital replication.
Until such laws are passed, the courtroom remains the primary laboratory for AI ethics. By filing these trademarks, Swift and McConaughey are building a digital perimeter around their identities. They are sending a clear message to the creators of deepfakes and AI chatbots: when it comes to the commercial exploitation of their souls, they will no longer just “Shake It Off.”
