I’m a Fangirl… And What About It?

Last night I went to a show to see one of my favorite current bands. It’s only the second time I’ve gotten to see them perform, and it truly was electric. The first song had everyone obeying the frontman’s commands— being part of a crowd that was present reminded me of how important live music is. I was more blown away last night than the first time I saw them; and if you’ve had the pleasure of seeing The Struts live, you’ll know what I’m talking about. (Seriously, I barely saw anyone have a phone out.)

Over the summer, none of my favorite bands or artists have been touring or releasing new music. Without the pull of diving into something new or busy nights full of shows, it led me to examine some old favorites— reframing the works I consider highly essential to the soundtrack of my life, and reflecting on the emotional connection of what music and fandom culture means to me.

I was 12 when I found One Direction. They ended shortly after I turned 16. Back then, social media was still a playground— Twitter trends, Tumblr dashboards, fan edits, and reading fanfiction on Wattpad until 2 a.m. on a school night was the norm. It wasn’t influencers selling products or dancing to the next trending sound; it was a bridge between celebrities and their fans that had never been crossed before. Even fans could meet in chat rooms and groups from all across the world.

Fandom culture, mixed with growing up, was genuinely the closest experience I’ll ever have to Beatlemania. One Direction WAS my Beatlemania— the first love that opened the floodgates of fan culture in my life.

So when I was standing in a crowd brushing shoulders with the people around me, hearing a grown man behind me yelling along to every song as loud as he could, I felt that same rush and feeling I did at my first concert. Every fan knows the feeling I’m talking about. It’s that “everyone around me is a stranger, yet we are all connected and present in this moment together, and that is beautiful. I feel at home in a place full of people who don’t know me, and I don’t know them.”

There was a moment toward the end of the show that I looked over and saw a woman, probably in her 50s, look so flustered over something one of the band members did. She had turned and made a face at her friend—you know the look women do when they are like, “oh my god, that was so hot, I’m overwhelmed with emotions.” And in that moment, she was no longer a middle-aged woman, but a young woman out with her friend, absolutely overtaken by the pure joy of being enamored. No one else probably saw that interaction happen, but I did, and I smiled to myself, because I’m all too familiar with the feeling. My mom definitely saw the same look on my face the first time I saw Harry Styles with my raw eyeballs back in 2014.

Earlier this year, I met one of my favorite ’80s rock heartthrobs, and I pronounced my own name wrong introducing myself to him. I was thinking, “C’mon Haili, this man is older than your dad,” and I still was so flustered I mixed the words “hi” and “Haili” together. No joke. Let me just rebrand myself as “Highly,” because that’s how I said my own name.

He shook my hand and talked with me for a bit. He asked about my life, what I do, and if I like it. He emphasized to never let fear stop me from going after what I want— to actually chase what I fear because it will make me grow. He had just performed a set, I was backstage at his show, and he gave me his undivided attention. He even gave me some snacks, signed some of my band merch, AND got the whole band up to take pictures. I hadn’t even paid for a meet and greet or anything. It was one of those moments of, “Well how’d I end up here?” Very nice, sweet, and hugely talented man. It’s something I’ll never forget… even if my face gets warm every time I remember that I pronounced my own name wrong.

I saw him a few months later at an event he was part of, and while everyone was clearing out I was waiting in a group of people who just so happened to be giant fans of his. He came over and thanked everyone for coming, and shook their hands— but for some reason, when he got to me, he gave me a hug. I think it says a lot about an artist when they acknowledge their fans, even in small ways. It could be the tiniest interaction but it’ll stay with a fan forever. I don’t know why he hugged just me, but I’m not complaining.

There are some bands I can barely remember the members’ names and still love the music no less than a band I held as a hyperfixation and know everything about. Being a fan is a spectrum, and I hate the rhetoric that being a fan is embarrassing. It’s deeply rooted in misogyny (that’s a talk for a different time, but still important to acknowledge).

All of your favorite bands take inspiration from their own personal idols. All art is drawn from a muse somewhere. I’m a firm believer that a muse is almost as important as an artist. Sometimes they’re synonymous, sometimes not at all; a muse doesn’t necessarily have to be a person— it could be a place or a feeling you draw from. Just like me writing this from the inspiration of togetherness one can feel at a live show. The connection between artist and fan. It’s indescribable. For some people, that could be racing a car, climbing mountains, running, or partaking in some adrenaline-rushed activity— but for people like me, it’s jumping up and down screaming along to the music that helped you through some of the hardest, best, or even worst times of your life. Truth is, sometimes the artist needs the fan just as much as a fan needs the band.

Being seen is so important. Art is too. The way they cross lines isn’t acknowledged by many, as many listen to music for… well, the music. I’m more of a lyrics gal. It’s the best when the music along with the lyrics punches you right in the gut— that’s what gets me off. Live music is and forever will be a prized experience in this human existence. So next time your friend says, “Hey, wanna go to this show?”

Go… and scream your little heart out.