Along with 89,000 other people who’d struck it lucky, I was in the crowd for one of Taylor Swift’s June Wembley gigs. I’d expected it to be amazing – I’d rented the Eras tour film the day it came out, gnashing my teeth in frustration that not one of my three registered email addresses had won me the ticket ballot – but I hadn’t expected to feel so safe in a world where we’re constantly on guard.

My ticket was last-minute magic. I’d tweeted out a hopeful plea, and a friend who’d been glued to new ticket sales had one going for £80. While I was temporarily the luckiest person in London, I hadn’t been to a big concert since roughly 2019 and was quite nervous (a thousand blessings on Loop earplugs). I don’t enjoy big crowds. I’m as sensitive to vibes as my dog is to the approach of door-to-door salesmen and I find too much uncertainty in how things will go. Alcohol can turn things sour as quickly as it can make things joyful, and ditto large groups of #lads.

Unlike everyone who’d landed tickets months before, I hadn’t embraced the pre-concert prep beyond dressing myself in so much sparkly clothing I looked like a honeytrap for magpies – and this effort was entirely, wonderfully evident the minute I got off the Tube and saw crowds of Swift fans. The atmosphere was pure joy in a way I haven’t felt since the Olympics bubble of London 2012. The concept of ‘safe spaces’ has been deeply politicised over the past few years, but a Taylor Swift concert is probably the biggest safe space I’ve ever been to. There was an attitude of tolerance and respect, centred by women and queer people, and the clear joy being shared through their children and their friendship groups. In the real world, we are constantly attuned to the vibes of straight men, whether alone or in groups – even in supposedly respected professions. In the world of the Eras tour, I could turn off my antennae altogether.

“Taylor Swift’s Eras show was a safe space – when I left, the bubble burst”