On Going To Concerts Alone

I go to concerts alone. In fact, I would say that it’s become one of my “things.” In the last five or so years, I’ve gone to two concerts with another person and countless on my own. I’ve been in GA pits, in nosebleeds, in bought-at-the-box-office-an-hour-ago seats by myself and at every show, I’ve had the very, very best time.

(P.S. I do value being alone, generally.)

When you’re alone at a concert, you don’t have to worry about someone else’s bag, someone else’s energy levels, someone else’s annoyance at the line for t-shirts or commemorative drinks, their car, their ticket, their judgment of your scream-singing, whether you share the same amount of manic love for the artist performing, what their opinion is on post-concert Ubers versus subway rides, or their general enjoyment. Instead, it’s all about you, in all the great ways music should be. There’s magic in that freedom, that independence. You’re allowed to let everything completely loose—you can fuck up the lyrics, scream so loud you ruin your throat, dance like no one’s watching (because they aren’t), release your inhibitions (and, a la Kelly Clarkson, feel the rain on your skin).

I’ve honestly never felt more euphoric than at a concert by myself.

Sure, sometimes, having a concert buddy can be wild and fun. You become bound to the other person by the magic of a concert. But, dear reader, I raise you this: have you ever tried to enjoy something that the person next to you is only vaguely apathetic about? Or tried to buy two concert tickets at once, on one credit card, and then get someone to Venmo you the price? Sometimes, togetherness is hell.

Next time you have the hankering for some live music, go alone. I promise you, it will be okay. In fact, it might even be the best night of your life.

(And, really, if you’re lonely, you can always make a friend at the show.)