Yesterday morning I had to order a close friend to desist from texting me and the other eight women in our WhatsApp group because not only was she draining my phone battery, distracting me from my job, and putting us all in a state of acute stress, I think she was about to give herself a panic attack.
There has not been a day in the last three weeks that we have not been subject to instant-message artillery that has troubled our heart rates. TikTok links about the ways 14-year-olds in Madrid are organising their spreadsheets; hourly check-ins to find out if we’ve yet received “The Email” with “The Code”, deranged blue-sky thinking about how feasible it is that we temporarily relocate to Poland as a group “to boost our chances” and threats that if “you plebs” have failing tech or mess up “the plan” then we will never be spoken to again.
It’s burning everyone out at a time when we all need to be match-fit ahead of next week. The most important week of our lives. The presale. Not one of us can be afford to be off our game.
Yes, in case you managed to miss it: Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour is coming to Europe. Last year we mourned in solidarity as our North American sisters were spurned by the infamous Ticketmaster cock-up of 2022 in which bots and demand that outweighed supply denied tickets to millions and now our time has come, as we sacrifice ourselves and our dignity and the better part of a month’s salary and attempt to get into what will be, by all accounts, one of the most critical experiences of our lives.
Eras is not just going to be a concert (or concerts – Swift is doing 16 dates in the UK and Ireland next summer). Making the pilgrimage to one of these shows – and we’ll go anywhere – is a sign of our devotion, it is to be among our tribe, it is to stand in the presence of this woman whose music has spoken to our souls as intimately as we’ve spoken to each other for most of our formative lives. She has grown up, and we have tried to grow up with her.
She hasn’t toured here since 2018. She has nearly doubled her back catalogue since then. Which is why it feels so important, and why my group chats are dominated by things like, “Concerned she hates us in London after the breakup with Joe Alwyn”; “What’s the most everyone’s willing to pay? Might have to be around the £400 mark but beggars can’t be choosers”; “I’ve got somewhere for us to stay sorted for all the dates in Cardiff, Liverpool and Edinburgh – booking dot com is free cancellations so can’t hurt!” and “Might be thinking outside the box here but… Zurich?” We are, by the way, 32.
I did not silence my friend because she was being ridiculous – it feels normal now. This kind of hysteria is dominating every conversation I have at work, with family, with strangers in the Co-op. I heard two different groups of women talking through their strategy during one lunchtime walk through the park. And it’s in every part of the world: a friend in Kuala Lumpur has been giving me running commentary on her fight to get tickets to one of the six Eras dates in Singapore.
“There are over a million people in the queue in front of me,” she said, with some optimism. She did not get any – but is waitlisted for Germany. I tried to cheer her up by reminding her it’s her wedding next week and all I got in response was a few side-eye emojis. I can’t blame her. I have not missed a Taylor Swift tour since the very first show in 2008 and I am not about to start.
So I have mobilised, applying a kind of organisational talent I did not know I possessed and which has me considering a career move into the military. I will log on dutifully at the scheduled times to use my presale code, I will move my meetings around to accommodate it, I will pay more money than I dare say out loud. I will forgo holidays, weddings, food, sleep.
And if I do manage, I have been warned in no uncertain terms, it will come at a price far greater than pounds sterling. We are limited to four tickets per person, and friendships with the unsuccessful will not survive. If it’s not the hope that kills us, it will be each other.