The Taylor Swift blues: What they don’t tell you about going to an Eras concert

Eleven months to go and my best friends and I have just secured the tickets. Two hundred and fifty-four days to go and we’ve decided which era each of us is dressing up as. Three weeks to go and the friendship bracelets have been made. Two days left and we’ve arrived in Edinburgh. One hour to go and we’re in the stadium. One minute to go and the countdown begins… She emerges. The crowd erupts, the screams begin, the dancing starts. Fast forward three and a half hours, and our voices are lost and our minds are blown.

No amount of watching TikTok videos, hearing firsthand accounts or reading critics’ reviews prior to the day could capture how overwhelming it feels to hear 73,000 voices singing from the heart, lyrics only you and your closest friends have sung together before now.

When we’re happy, we put on Taylor Swift. When we go through heartbreak… Swift. When there’s something we simply have to shake off, only Taylor will do. She’s always been there for us. So, to witness other friendship groups spanning generations, young and old, relive those same memories all at the same time, under one roof, was magical. Plus, the 16 outfit changes, the heat of the pyrotechnics and the sheer stamina of Taylor Swift’s voice. By the end of it, we were exhausted.

But then, the following morning, the post-concert blues hit hard. I’ve done Glastonbury, I’ve been to Haim at the O2 and Carly Rae Jepson at Alexandra Palace, I’ve celebrated my 21^st birthday travelling in India, but nothing prepared me for the Taylor Swift Eras Tour, and absolutely nothing prepared me for the comedown.

As a 30-year-old woman, I’m embarrassed to say that I burst into tears the next day. We were halfway through a morning of exploring Edinburgh when I stopped, turned to my friend, hugged her tight and bawled at the realisation that it was all over. I would never again experience that level of sisterhood euphoria, Swiftie togetherness or visual spectacle – or so it felt in that moment.

Fourteen hours earlier, it had been acceptable to scream But Daddy, I Love Him at the top of my lungs, weep solidly throughout the 10-minute version of All Too Well and grin uncontrollably at Taylor gifting her hat to a small girl during 22.

"I started to regret the decision to wear newly purchased cowboy boots." (Image credit: Jenny Turner)

If I were to repeat that rollercoaster of emotions outside of Murrayfield Stadium, it wouldn’t be met with the same understanding or reception – worry and concern spring to mind. I wiped away my tears, reassuring my friends that I was fine now I had let it all out. But I wasn’t; I still felt down.

On the lengthy train ride back to London, surrounded by other deflated-looking fans, I stared longingly at the friendship bracelet on my wrist, which didn’t hold the same expectation as they had on the journey up. The dented pink cowboy hat in front of me suddenly seemed tacky, and when I needed to reapply blister plasters for the third time, I started to regret the decision to wear newly purchased cowboy boots.

“It’s just so sad that we were looking forward to it for so long and now it’s all over,” I exclaimed out loud. “Isn’t it amazing that we got to experience that, though? It’s not sad, it’s joyous!” replied my friend.

She was right. The blisters would heal and I was going to wear my friendship bracelets with pride to work the next day (but let’s be honest, the cowboy hat would remain just as tacky forevermore).

Once the final specks of lingering glitter have been hoovered up, the streets of Edinburgh have been cleared of Swifties and my Lover era costume is gathering dust in the back of the wardrobe, the memory of all those joyful voices will remain.

Was it worth the tears? Put it this way: I would gladly take out a second credit card if it meant I could feel those post-concert blues all over again.

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