The 8 months leading up to the concert, every night before I slept there was only one thought in my mind – the Eras Tour. What I would wear, how close I would be to her, which songs I’d scream and cry to and which ones I would dance and vibe to. I would open up a hundred different tabs and inspiration pictures on Pinterest, and spend all my time fantasizing about what I would wear. The reels all over my feed felt as though they were almost taunting me – it was the exact experience, but I would have to wait a few months. Months, which felt more like years.
The weekend of the concert was during mid-sem break, and I was brimming with excitement for the concert. It felt like a life-changing moment. And so, for this landmark moment in my life, I decided to make the one decision that every girl probably considers at some point in their life: bangs. People usually decide to get bangs when they’re going through something, but the only thing I was going through was uncontrollable feelings of nervous excitement (my boyfriend’s sister asked him if I was going through it after seeing my bangs on my Instagram story, proving my point).
I went to the hairdresser, and asked her to cut my hair – my hair, mind you, which is extremely curly – and give me bangs. She was extremely against it and spent the next 10 minutes telling me how when she got bangs at my age, her father used to say that it looked like the paanwadi’s mucchi because of how it would curl up and go to the sides (if you’ve ever got bangs as a curly haired girl, you can probably picture this). And so I agreed to not get them. That is, until my hair was blow-dried and she told me the haircut was done. And all I could think about while staring at myself in the white cape in the mirror was how much I wanted bangs, and how cute they would look at the concert.
Initially, I loved the bangs. I went home staring at myself in the phone camera and loving the blow-dry. And then I started overthinking it. I saw old pictures of myself and how cute my face-framing layers were and I completely. freaked. Out. So then I had the bright idea of straightening my bangs since they were blowdried and curled up a bit – because of course, straightening my bangs would automatically make them grow like 3 inches in length and turn them into curtain bangs. Needless to say, that did not happen. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how to curl them with the straightener, so I had another bright idea of using a curling iron to make them look all cute and soft and puffy again. A 180-degree burning hot curling iron held just a couple of millimeters away from my forehead because of how short my bangs were.
And that is the story of how I ended up at the airport at 11 PM on the way to Singapore, 48 hours before my flight with my hair clipped on either side and Silverex lathered on my forehead, so the blister wouldn’t leave a scar. This really, really ruined my airport look
If you’re wondering why you’ve just read 350 words of my bangs decision-making process, it’s because it’s the biggest decision I’ve probably ever made, and will forever associate it with this concert.
Having never had bangs before, and also having no idea how hot and humid Singapore would be, by the end of my first day there my bangs had become curly. And of course, I forgot my straightener so there was nothing much I could do. The hours before the concert were spent with me in my full face of makeup and outfit trying to blowdry my bangs. It didn’t turn out great, but it would make do.
Weeks of planning led to me to the entrance of the stadium from the metro, with an escalator of 300 swifties all decked up and bubmling with excitement. Mother really said Swifties assemble.
The 30-minute walk from the entrance of the stadium to the VIP Merch queue, then the security, and then down all the stairs to the floor made me realize just how tricky the concert was going to be with my 5-inch boots. You see, they were a necessity – being on the floor as a 5-foot 3-inch girl meant that there was no way I would be able to see Miss Swift over the sea of people and their phones.
I was proven to be right on both accounts. The boots were an absolute pain to stand in; every time the songs paused for even a second, I was aware of the excruciating pain my feet were in. I didn’t regret wearing them for even a second though.
The concert experience peaked for me in the second half when her folklore era came on. After scream singing every one of her songs with tears in my eyes, I realized for the first time that I am, in fact, a folklore girly.
Folklore was soon followed by Red, and I enjoyed singing every one of her songs. And then, the song came on. The song I had been dreaming of experiencing in person ever since she first released it; the song to which I know the lyrics in and out, front and back, awake or asleep. The song I’ve cried to and screamed to over 100 times. All Too Well 10 Minute Version. I was in the first 10 rows from the stage, surrounded by die-hard Swifties in bridal gowns and purple poofy dresses and hand-bejewelled bodysuits. Yet, in those 10 minutes of All Too Well, I was the one being stared at by all the swifties as I screamed and cried my eyes out, gasping for breath but refusing to miss a word. The girl next to me offered me tissue multiple times for both the makeup melting off me and the tears in my eyes, and I waved them away with my hands, never taking my eyes off her for even a second. The 10 minutes of screaming and crying (but no kissing in the rain) culminated in all the lights going black when she stopped singing – and for a minute there, I blacked out too. It could have been due to the heat, or the dehydration, or the extreme pain of my boots (which is what I would bet on).
Sometime around 1989 was when I realised that my bangs had gone back to curly, but even worse than earlier – they were curly, frizzy and all over my forehead. I was loving the concert, but the fact that my bangs were in such a terrible state was stopping me from taking videos of my face. That is until I saw Taylor up close singing the surprise song, and realised that her bangs were in the exact same state. Knowing that I was in the same situation as my absolute idol made everything 100x better; in that moment, I was so happy that I had the bangs.
The end to the concert experience came with the glitter on the floor after the party, and then the 40-minute walk in my boots, with the box of vip merch to the metro station. Never EVER trust a Singaporean sign telling you that the metro station is close by. The streets of Singapore were filled with hundreds of Swifties walking in their heels in the rain. The most fascinating detail of the leaving process to me was the behaviour of the people. Even though it was pouring, the Singaporeans made a queue to cross the road and waited for every green walking signal.
The next week for me was a trance; no matter which class I was in, where I was, what I was doing, I was only in one state of mind: No thoughts in head, just Taylor.