It’s pitch black in a room of approximately twenty thousand screaming people. I can’t see anything, but I hear everything. It’s like when you turn off your light before you go to bed. Your eyes are immediately consumed with the darkness, and it takes time for your dilated pupils to adjust to their new surroundings. I knew the exact moment when the lights would go off, yet I was still unprepared. Thirteen seconds from the end of the last song on the playlist of her current favorite songs, someone hit the switch. I hooked my pinkie finger under the silicone wristband on my right hand and twisted it. In a matter of seconds it would be illuminated to the beat of the opening song. The bassline began to beat along with my heart rate that was approaching astronomical levels. The first time I saw Taylor Swift in person, I cried. And it wasn’t silent, cinematic, single tears either. It was heaving sobs that I tried my best to control, because I didn’t want security thinking I was going into cardiac arrest. I waited 283 days for this moment, my countdown app that I checked religiously told me so. I braved my entire junior year of high school knowing that this day would eventually come. I tried not to think about the fact that it would be over in about two and a half hours.

That morning, I woke up in the laundry room. I was extremely disoriented as I had fallen asleep with my head next to my mom’s sewing machine because I was up all night trying to finish our costumes in time for the big day. Yes, you heard that correctly, a costume. Although this would be my first live Taylor Swift concert, I had attended every single night of the 1989 World Tour virtually through furiously refreshing my tumblr feed and staying up all night when she was on the other side of the planet. I’ll let you in on something. Swifties are known for dressing up in elaborate, ridiculous, insane costumes at every single show of a Taylor Swift tour. It’s almost like some kind of glorified costume party really. My friend Aly and I spent the majority of our summer planning our costumes and designing posters. We decided to recreate a sparkly fringed tour outfit that Taylor would be wearing for the encore finale song. Aly told me that I should be the one to make our costumes because I’m more creative than her. She also insisted that I should paint our posters too, because I already had the supplies at my house. Aly wasn’t always the nicest to me. And I didn’t really like her. Come to think of it, she is one of the shittiest people I’ve ever met. But she liked Taylor Swift almost as much as I did. Almost.

My mom let me skip school on the day of the concert because I was too anxious about the long awaited night ahead. I got ready four hours early. I couldn’t believe I was going to hear the lyrics that I spent all my time in AP Calculus drawing on pieces of paper. I stared at the lyric pages on my wall as I do quite often and think about what I was feeling as I created each one. Letters carefully formed in all kinds of fonts and colors to capture the emotion. I hoped it would feel the same tonight. Aly came over, and we went over exactly what we were going to do when we finally arrived in our T-Swift heaven. I knew that when I passed security and entered the world of Taylor Swift, no one was going to question my bold outfit choice. I reached for battery pack duct taped to my shorts and flicked the switch illuminating my outfit with a purple glow. I was lit up among the crowd like a Christmas tree, she would definitely see me in the crowd. It took me 45 minutes of taping myself into this costume, but it would be worth it. I twirled the purple strings on my shorts around my index finger. In any other place, this outfit would most definitely require an explanation. I looked at the girl dressed as an oversized loofa a few rows ahead of me, and the same could be said about her too. As fans of Taylor Swift, we take her lyrics very seriously. They are the words that serve as the inspiration behind an outfit comprised entirely of an oversized shower accessory. The thirteenth song on her album named “Clean” was a popular one. I witnessed a box of laundry detergent in the concessions line and a giant cylinder of Clorox waiting for the bathroom. And you thought the loofa was a lot. On my way down to the floor seating level I almost got taken out by a giant Band-Aid with rainbow lights wrapped around it. They really reached for that one. There is one line in her song “Bad Blood” that claims that “Band-Aids don’t fix bullet holes”. But I have to admit I knew the second I saw it. There are a thousand Taylor lookalikes running around dressed in her many iconic costumes and tour outfits. There are Taylors from 2006 with cowboy boots and curly hair, Taylors with band uniforms and ringleader costumes and Taylors with red lipstick and sparkly crop tops.

I finally stopped crying halfway through Taylor’s second song. Before the third song could begin, she skipped to the front of the stage. “Hi, I’m Taylor!” She introduced herself as if someone might have stumbled into the wrong concert. As if 20,000 people didn’t pay an exorbitant amount of money to be in her presence. If you haven’t noticed, I refer to Taylor on a first name basis. She feels closer that way. From then until the lights came back on, I screamed. I screamed every single word and danced like I would never run out of energy. By the time she gave her final bow, my battery pack had died. It was fully detached from my outfit and was hanging by the wire. With each step that carried me out of that arena, my muscles ached because of the constant movement of the last two hours. My voice was gone, but I was speechless anyways.

I’m sure by now you might have rolled your eyes a couple times at how ridiculous all of this sounds. I am highly aware that a large sum of people do not feel even a fraction as strongly as I do about Taylor Swift. And a lot of people flat out just hate her. I think most people’s questions revolve around why? Why spend all of your time listening to one artist, why do you care so much about her songs? Why do you buy five, six, seven copies of the same album? Why do you spend all of your hard-earned barista money on a concert that is only going to last two hours? And most of all, why Taylor Swift of all people?

I could talk about Taylor Swift for hours, to most people’s dismay, but when these questions are shot at me, I feel like I can never find the words. I feel like they’re asking me to defend this person, these songs, these words that have carried me through some of my most pivotal life experiences. I’m sure whatever I say, won’t suffice. I’m not really an emotional person, but whenever someone invalidates a piece of music that means something extremely significant to me, the anger is overwhelming. But it’s not just that, it’s the hurt anger that makes you so frustrated that after you finish internally yelling, you sink into yourself and helplessness sets in. What would people say if they knew that when I first heard Taylor’s fifth album 1989, I was just starting my junior year of high school, and for the next two years it would be all that would play in my headphones as I sat at my small wooden table in the left corner of the library and ate my peanut butter and jelly. As I sat in my car not wanting to face another day at Rosary All-girls Catholic high school. As I sat on the floor of my closet so that my mom couldn’t hear me crying.

I got to school early every morning. I did my homework in the library, then went straight to class. At breaks and lunch, I would walk laps around the second floor or eat my lunch in an empty classroom while I worked on my AP Calculus homework. The entire time, I never took my headphones out. I would listen to 1989 all the way through multiple times every single day. With each day, I would hear the songs and dreamed about what it was going to be like to hear the words come from her actual mouth. Whenever I would pass one of my old mean friends in the hallway, I could hear Taylor telling me to just “shake it off”. My love for Taylor was one of the many things they made fun of me for. They would tell me that my admiration of her made them hate her even more. Before I banished myself to the second floor, away from the main quad on the first level, I was the host of all our group sleepovers and hangouts. Whenever I brought out my guitar, they referred to it as noise. Especially because the only songs I could play were from, you guessed it, Taylor Alison Swift. They never understood what she meant to me.

You’re lying if you say a song, an album, a soundtrack, a person’s voice has never touched you in a profound way. You’re lying if you say you’ve never sat in your car while that song was the background music for the tears sliding down your cheeks. You’re lying if you say someone’s lyrics have never cut to the core of your very soul. You’re lying if you say there is no song in existence that has made you feel less alone in this world. And it doesn’t always have to be sad. It could be a song that you have unconsciously connected with a memory. A dance party in the kitchen. Karaoke in the car. And that is why when someone tells me that a song means something to them, I always turn up the volume and listen. I am almost guaranteed to learn something about them that way.

As we made our way back to the car on the best day of my life thus far, as I proclaimed in my journal that night, the last thing I remember was the smell of those bacon-wrapped hotdogs being cooked on the sidewalk. Now that is something that isn’t unique to Taylor Swift concerts. That night I sat on my bedroom floor flicking my wristband making it light-up. When you leave the venue, it defaults to activating with touch. The batteries died sooner than they should’ve because I kept shaking it, reenacting the concert in my head. Aly was supposed to stay over, but she told me she didn’t want to after all. I pulled on my new concert t-shirt, my back decorated with the names of cities I’ve never been to but have (virtually) attended the concert in. I slipped my headphones into my ears and closed my eyes letting Taylor’s voice calm me. It was now that the tears were silent as I accepted that the next day I would have to return to another day at Rosary All-girls Catholic High School.

Three years passed before I could return to this place. The familiar sound of the ticket scanner lets me know that I am right back where I belong. Not much has changed since I was seventeen. I mean obviously I have, but this place hasn’t one bit. The details of the venue will blur into oblivion soon enough. The nacho stand by the west entrance, the location of the photobooth area, the letter of the lot we parked our car in. I wouldn’t really remember what everything looked like, but I would never forget how it felt. Sure, we were at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena this year instead of the Staple Center in downtown LA, but the feelings were still there. Still the same.

This time I don’t have battery operated lights strangling my limbs. Those actually got banned from concert venues since, a tragedy in the Taylor Swift fandom. But I definitely wasn’t going to be slacking on the costume party. I’m wearing a black cropped shirt with the album title “reputation” printed across the front entirely in rhinestones. Yes, I glued each of the hundred stones by hand. At least I didn’t have to make one for Aly. I haven’t seen her in 3 years. Though she would probably be here tonight. I did, however, gladly make five more shirts identical to mine for each of my friends. Yes, I have friends now.

A teenage girl brushes by me with a giant gold cage entrapping her whole body. Ah, yes track seven, “So it Goes…”. A creative way to symbolize the lyric that says “Gold-cage hostage to my feelings”. Taylor would definitely appreciate the effort there. It feels good to see the consistency of our fandom. Everyone is wearing some kind of black. Taylor is going through an edgy phase and apparently so are we.

I stare at the stage where Taylor will be in a few minutes, and I’m immediately transported back into the thoughts of my seventeen year old self. No tears this time though. At least not yet. The words of Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation” are ringing in my ears.

            I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation, she screams.

I smirk at her song choice. It’s just about time for lights out.

            The bass blares as the opening song erupts on the stage that is ten times bigger than the last one. Taylor steps out in a black sparkly hoodie and thigh high black boots with four inch heels. She dramatically raises the microphone to her red lips that rest in a half-smile and she asks, “Are you Ready for it?” I was, in fact, not ready for it.

The stage explodes into a cosmic display of fireworks and laser lights cutting through the crowd. I am one of about sixty thousand people that woke up to come to this concert today. I looked down at the flashing lights on my wrists. I managed to finesse five silicone wristbands this year. After she played a few songs from the new album, she launched into a medley of her hits from the country Taylor days and the unsuspecting crowd roared. I knew it was coming of course, because even in my bustling life as a college sophomore, I still managed to find a moment to virtually attend the opening show a week previous. The pop country notes of “Love Story” dance around the room, and I’m taken back to fifth grade when I yelled the lyrics on repeat in my mom’s white suburban on the way to school. It wasn’t long before the CD mysteriously went missing and my mom swore she had no idea where it went. Before Taylor gets to the bridge, she takes a pause and the music shifts seamlessly into a faster, different beat. The crowd is confused, but I know exactly where she’s going with this. I hear the chords of the first Taylor Swift song I ever learned on my guitar. I was ten at the time and not very good yet, but I was determined. I spent all night drilling those chords into my head. I still have blood stains on the wood because I just didn’t know when to stop. For several weeks following, my family was serenaded with the masterpiece that is “You Belong with Me”. I look down at the scars on my fingertips and back up at Taylor. She has been in my life for ten years, and she has no idea. As much as I tell people that she knows me, I’m mostly joking. Her music has walked beside me through every moment. The first song I ever performed was her song “Fifteen” in a talent show my freshman year of college. I remember I was almost hyperventilating, and it was the only song that I could play with my eyes closed. I learned how to play it by watching videos of her performing it acoustically in concert. I wanted to know exactly how she did it.

It’s the halfway point of the concert. I know because I see Taylor walk out onto the second stage she always has in the back of the stadium. She flew over our heads on a light-up basket-like thing in order to get there. She likes to get as close to us as she can. She has her green sparkly guitar tonight. This is my favorite part of the show every single time. It’s just her, the guitar and us. She chooses an old song and plays it just how it sounded when she first wrote it. Without all the noise. Without all the lights and beats and pyrotechnics. It would be the only song on the setlist that I wasn’t prepared for. With a single strum, she has the entire stadium in the palm of her hand. I can tell by the chords she’s playing that this song is one that I know well. It almost feels like this song knows me. I first met this song when I was fourteen. The words echo in my head.

Someday I’ll be livin’ in a big ole’ city and all you’re ever gonna be is mean,

Someday I’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me and all you’re ever gonna be is mean,

Why you gotta be so mean?

I was angsty and hated my friends. I was dramatically staring out the window at the landscape passing by like I was in a music video when these lyrics filled my ears for the first time. I listened to it on repeat the whole ride home. The song is three minutes and fifty-eight seconds, and it was a four hour drive. That’s about sixty-one times. By the end of high school it would become the most played song on my phone. I listened to it three thousand and twelve times. And now it would be three thousand and thirteen.

Over the years, I have proved that I will never get tired of listing to any Taylor Swift song. People don’t always believe that. In the beginning of the obsession, my mom was convinced it was just another one of my phases.

“Are you sure that’s what you want for Christmas honey?” My mom looks pained as I pull up the newest piece of merch on taylorswift.com. It’s a door mat that says “I Hope You Like Taylor Swift”.

            “What do you mean?? This is so me.” I say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

            “First of all, you don’t have a house for a door mat, and dad is definitely not going to let you put that outside our front door.”

“I’ll just put it outside my bedroom door. I don’t like when people have dirty shoes on my carpet anyways so it’ll be perfect!” Her eyes would’ve rolled all the way back in her head if they could’ve.

“What are you going to do in five years when you grow out of this Taylor Swift phase? You’re going to have all this stuff you don’t need, please just let me buy you something useful like a Kitchen Aid mixer.”

I didn’t end up with the door mat, but five years later, I am sitting here writing this in the Taylor Swift long sleeve album cover replica seagull sweater that we compromised on.

In a way, as Taylor has aged and changed and grown, I have too. With her. I think I’ve never grown out of her because as time goes on, each of her albums have taught me something. When I was young, Fearless taught me how to dream, it showed me all the magical parts of life, and what was to come. It gave me hope. Years later, when she came out with 1989, I learned how to have fun, embrace my true self and shake off all of the haters. When she went through a bad bitch phase with reputation, I learned how to be strong. It taught me that I don’t have to take shit from anyone, because in the end, you can’t control what people think of you.

As a transition back to the main stage, naturally, Taylor flies over the crowd in the skeleton of a cobra screaming her most aggressive song yet. It was a weird flex, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I knew that the concert was coming to an end, but this time I wasn’t as sad. I mean of course I was sad because I only get to see my best friend every two to three years, but at least tomorrow I didn’t have to go back to Rosary All-girls Catholic high school. I’m okay with leaving this place for now because I know that I no longer need it to escape from my real life. So when Taylor took her last bow while standing on top of a giant functioning water fountain while fireworks erupted over her head. I turned and hugged my best friend. She didn’t even like Taylor Swift before she met me. But she put on the shirt I made her, memorized all the lyrics and scream-sang every song right alongside me. She never asked why because she knew. She had her Taylor Swift in Harry Styles. We all have our Taylor Swifts. And that’s why when some people come to find out my intense admiration of her they respect it. Even if “You Need to Calm Down” is not even close to their cup of tea. I know people think I’m crazy because of all of this. I’m well-known as the Crazy Taylor Swift Girl™ in many different channels of my life. There was a point when some people literally called me T-Swift, because they didn’t know my real name. But I certainly wasn’t going to correct them.

I think sometimes we identify a place as something that never changes even when we do. Like no matter what happens in your own life, this one thing is going to be a constant. But that’s the thing. Whether I’m screaming on the floor of the Staples Center in 2015, dancing with my friends at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena years later, it still feels familiar somehow. The people, the sounds, the music. It’s its own entity. It’s strange though, because this is a place that isn’t able to always be physically there. But I guess I don’t really need that anymore. I go there every time I put my headphones in. Every time I’m in my car. Every time me and my friends say “Alexa, play Taylor Swift” and our narrow living room transforms into a concert venue of its own.

I sit on my bedroom floor with my light-up silicone wristbands still on. I tried not to let the red flashes wake my friends that were sleeping on my floor. The concert took more out of them than me I think. I smile knowing that none of them would’ve been there if it weren’t for my very persuasive personality and their loyalty to our friendship. I hooked my pinkie underneath the band and remembered the day I discovered that place. I mean this place.