I love Chappell Roan. I listen to her new album at least once a day. I bought her vinyl before I had a record player. When I saw that she was playing only five hours from Atlanta, I knew I had to go. But because my fiance was in another state, I asked a friend if he’d do the ten-hour road trip with me. Without listening to her music, he agreed to go.
I drove for the first four hours, almost hitting a squirrel and a bald eagle with my car. But we made it. When we arrived, we stood in line with some very nice gay people dressed on theme in pink and camo to embody the midwest princess. When the gates opened after three hours of waiting, we pushed as close to the stage as we could. My anxiety grew as the faded-out people talking to us would not push forward as the crowd moved in around us.
My hands shook as we waited for another three hours on a field in Charleston, South Carolina, to see someone who at this point could still be a mythical creature. Part of me didn’t believe it was real. Maybe they’d play her songs on the speakers and we’d go home.
But then it happened. The band walked out and started playing the intro to “Feminominom,” the song she always opens with. While the crowd cheered for the pop star to come on stage, she ran out in a huge camo dress, green gloves, and a tiara carefully placed in her voluminous red curls. I clung onto my friend, jumping up and down, uncontrollably shrieking like a fourteen-year-old at a One Direction concert.
With each song I was brought into another world. The warm lights over the crowd as we did the moves to “HOT TO GO!” made me feel a part of something. Watching her kneeling on the ground with her guitarist during “Kink is Karma” felt like a window to a private moment. As she serenaded the wig swinging in the breeze on the mic stand with the lyrics of “Picture You,” I could almost see a woman standing there with the grown-out roots. During the chorus of “Red Wine Supernova,” I was in a sapphic utopia, dancing with all my best friends.
Eight years ago, when I was still in high school, I went to a Sylvan Esso concert. At that point I knew I was queer, but was still trying to pray the feelings away. I remember looking down at her from the balcony, completely enthralled, unable to comprehend how anyone could look at women and not feel something stir in their chest. I was devastated. I read a passage in the Bible that night, hoping that God would take this from me knowing deep down that these feelings would never leave.
I woke up that morning as if someone had hollowed me out. I thought I would never be happy again. That I would hate myself forever. That the burden of being queer would never be lifted from my back.
But when Chappell came back on stage to end her show like she always does with “Pink Pony Club,” a glittery, power-belting, campy extravaganza about choosing yourself, I started to sob.
I knew how far I’d come. I was here and unafraid of who I was. I stood, unashamedly obsessed with this lesbian pop star, proud in my own queerness. I had chosen to heal what others would have me hide. I had chosen to love what I thought I never could. As the crowd danced and shouted the lyrics, I stretched out my shaking hands and felt all that I thought I never would. Pure queer joy.
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Kate DeHaan started Calvin as an engineering major and graduated (’22) with a bachelor’s in writing. She is currently working as an executive assistant for Mercer University’s student affairs. She also writes her own blog (LosingKate.com), practices martial arts, and takes full advantage of her apartment’s pool.
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really like this piece. Chappell’s enormous success alongside her overt, unapolagetic queerness feels super encouraging to me, for exactly the reasons you describe here about yourself.
Thanks so much! She is an icon!