I don’t really remember my first time at a circus. But that’s what the Taylor Swift concert on June 23^rd in Minneapolis felt like.

“Swiftieapolis” was Taylor’s largest concert to date and a small glimpse of what is to come—since she will be performing at European soccer stadiums in 2024.  Attendance at US Bank Stadium, the Minnesota Vikings’ home turf, was over 66000—for two nights running. 97% were women under the age of twenty and 100% of those were dressed as versions of Taylor over the seventeen-year span of her career, and every single one of them received the memo about the importance of their role as backup singers.

I’ve seen all my favourites of my youth: Tom Petty, Chicago, Supertramp, the Eagles, Bonnie Raitt, Steve Miller, Foreigner, Styx, Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. I’ve seen Garth Brooks (who puts on one hell of a show but left me with the feeling he was one measure away from a heart attack). I’ve seen Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, the Who, ACDC, Cher. I’ve seen a number of big Broadway shows: Phantom, Les Mis, Lion King, Hamilton. But Shania Twain is the one that comes closest to Taylor in terms of matching the estrogen level—which is off the charts—in the building.

Was Taylor’s Eras show worth the cost of admission? Absolutely—especially since Randy volunteered to bankroll my/our daughters’ tickets and hotel rooms and drive us ten hours to Minneapolis. Little did he know that Blaire would acquire FOUR tickets and inform him that he was coming too. The “Bank of Dad” T-shirt he wore that night was nothing short of the truth.

I tried to do my homework. I bought Red (Taylor’s Version) and Midnights. I listened to the Apple playlist Blaire made. On June 23^rd, I painted my nails red, stepped into comfortable shoes, and pulled on the “Who is Taylor Swift anyway? Ew.” T-shirt Blaire had bought me, even though I had no idea what it meant.

Still, I was in no way prepared for the spectacle—the three-hour merchandise lines in the parking lot, the migration of young women in glitter and sequins who boarded public transit with us, yelling things like “I love your fit!”, the exchange of homemade friendship bracelets inside the stadium, where the doors opened at 4:30 pm, exactly 3.5 hours before the concert started. Nor was I prepared for the legendary insider info/lore: Taylor makes the journey to the stage in a mop cart; she has this one costume where the sleeves give her trouble, and with a single disarming gesture, she indicates if she’s been successful this time—or not; she wears one of three different T-shirts for Twenty-Two (on June 23^rd, she wore “Who is Taylor Swift anyway? Ew.” I was ecstatic!)  I should mention that most of this would have been lost on me without Robin’s perpetual guidance. (“Stand up, Mom. You don’t want to miss this part.”) I was not prepared for the scale of this concert: the videos, the dancing, the storytelling, the lighting, the pyrotechnics, the staging, the sound, the transitions, the costuming, the 44-song set list. I most definitely was not prepared for the confidence and self-possession of a young woman who moved from one end of a seventy-foot stage to the other while appearing to be having the time of her life.

The burning question is—how does she rally the energy to sing and dance for three hours and seventeen minutes and never appear to be out of breath? And then do it all again the following night? My feet were sore after an hour, but as Randy pointed out, we couldn’t have wiped the smiles off our faces even if we had wanted to. Yes. We also had the time of our lives. Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

If you would like to share any comments or questions about favourite concerts or Taylor, please do so.