Tegan and Sara, Thanks for the Community
“Happy Pride,” I whisper to myself in my bathroom mirror while fluffing my hair. I adjust my earrings which prominently feature each shade of the lesbian flag and tuck my t-shirt decorated with screen-printed carbineers and lavender buds into my jeans. I check my purse for the essentials: wallet, keys, fully-charged phone, and concert earplugs. I double-check my purse. I triple-check one more time before I walk out the door and down the street with a slightly elevated heartbeat. I look around me, trying to clock any other visibly queer people. I play the new game I crafted in my head to guess which people walking in the vicinity of the concert hall were going to the same concert as me. My apartment is a quick walk from the venue, and before long, I scan my ticket and strut through the doors. Above me, the marquee proudly advertises tonight’s show: Tegan and Sara.
I consider myself a lover of live music. I fill my Google calendar with concerts to get excited about. Often, a friend or two accompany me to the show. We coordinate outfits, chat in the awkward waiting period between the opening act and the headliner, and debrief the show on the journey home. My friends and I are blessed with similar music tastes, so until this show, I have never attended a concert solo. However, an old roommate and I fell deeply in love with Tegan and Sara’s discography one December while we were some of the only undergrads left on our college campus, waiting to take our last final. We made a pact, while dancing to the Canadian lesbian twin sister musical duo, that we would attend a Tegan and Sara show together if they toured. Unfortunately, when they announced the tour, I realized I would be in St. Louis without my friend. I took the plunge, not wanting to miss out on seeing one of my favorite artists live, and bought a singular concert ticket for myself.
When I walk into the venue, I timidly search for a spot. The opener strums her guitar in a hazy blue spotlight. I arrive at the concert later than I usually would, trying to minimize the time spent standing alone. However, I underestimated the crowd Tegan and Sara would attract. Luckily, I find an empty spot perfect for one person with a pretty fantastic view of the stage. I fumble with my purple concert earplugs and adjust the camera settings on my phone for the best concert videos. After I settle into concert mode, I soak in the crowd.
I know before this concert that queer women make up a large fraction of Tegan and Sara’s fanbase. I also know that the musical duo has been on the scene since the late 1990s, so their fanbase would likely be at least a decade older than me. However, I don’t fully put this information together until I look around.
The two women next to me both sport short hair and masculine fashion as they wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders. They look to be in their 40s, sipping on their beer and laughing while waiting for Tegan and Sara to take the stage. A gaggle of visibly queer women in their late 30s catch up to my right. Butch women make up over half of the audience, and I notice the small interactions between these queer women a generation or two older than me. I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. I didn’t expect to get emotional before the show even started, but I am surrounded by the queer women who came before me at this moment
I sometimes feel timid around lesbian crowds, maybe due to my femme-forward appearance, lack of a long-term girlfriend, or newness to the community itself. From books and media representation, I know that lesbian communities with close bonds have existed. I know that lesbian communities exist outside of my young adult college bubble, but I have never run across them, until the Tegan and Sara concert.
My awkwardness about attending the show solo slowly drifts out of my body. I people-watch instead, noticing the camaraderie and confidence in the queer women around me. This crowd largely disrupts conventional ideas of femininity. They all look so comfortable with friends and partners. I notice how the groups merge as friends notice friends. Maybe every lesbian in the St. Louis area is in this room. And I am a part of this crowd. No one looks at me weird for being alone. I blend in. I am part of this lesbian community.
Tegan and Sara take the stage. I cheer. I dance like no one is watching. I smile wide. I sing along to every word of “Closer.” I want you close, I want you. I want to capture this moment, standing around strangers but feeling so far from alone. ♦