How I Met Taylor Swift When She Was 13 (And She Now Charges Me $10,000 to Say Hi)
By: A Former Friend, Forever Fan (Still Bitter Tho)
Let me take you back. Not just back to 2006, but back to the era of MySpace, Motorola RAZRs, and when the term “influencer” referred to the guy who sold you a pyramid scheme on MSN Messenger.
I was 22 years old and in a random town where cows outnumbered people. For reasons that still escape me (and my therapist), I ended up at a local high school concert. Picture a gymnasium that smelled like Axe body spray and unfulfilled dreams.
And that’s where I saw her.
A Sparkly 13-Year-Old With a Dream and a Badly Tuned Guitar
She had the oversized teeth of a future megastar and the quiet confidence of someone who knew. She wasn’t famous yet, just a lanky teen with a big dream and zero stage presence—unless you count nearly tripping over a microphone cord as performance art.
That night, I did what any emotionally unqualified but financially decent adult would do: I bought her a guitar. A cheap one. $300 at a gas station/music shop hybrid that also sold deer jerky and VHS tapes.
She looked at me with innocent blue eyes and said, “Thanks.” I remember thinking, she’s going to write a song about me one day, probably something mid-tier on her second album. Spoiler: she didn’t.
Fast forward...
Eras Tour in Vancouver: Or How I Got Swifted™
Living in Vancouver now, the hype around Taylor’s Eras Tour was deafening. My phone was blowing up. “You have to go!” “You’re basically her origin story!” “She owes you royalties!” – friends, strangers, Redditors, my Uber driver.
I was pumped. Nostalgic. I dusted off an old Polaroid of 13-year-old Taylor and 22-year-old me awkwardly side-hugging. I even ironed a shirt for the first time since Trudeau’s first term.
Then I tried to buy a ticket.
$10,000 for front row.
Ten. Thousand. Dollars.
For context, here’s what $10,000 could get you:
A down payment on a condo in Winnipeg
Every single item on Tim Hortons’ menu, twice
A used Toyota Corolla with “personality”
I texted Taylor (yes, I still had her number. No, I won’t give it to you, Reddit). I said, “Hey Tay, what gives? Hook a brother up?”
She replied, “No freebies, dear. I don’t do that since high school back in Pennsylvania lol.”
💀
“She Told Me I’m Not Even That Poor”
Now here’s where it gets spicy. I complained, like any true Canadian does—politely, with passive-aggressive emojis.
Her response?
“You can afford it. You’re not some piss-poor guy struggling to buy Kraft Dinner.”
RUDE. Also accurate. But still.
I felt like I’d been unfollowed in real life. This was the girl I once encouraged to keep practicing even though she strummed chords like she was chasing a mosquito. And now? Now she’s Venmo-requesting me five figures for the privilege of being sweated on by her backup dancers.
So what did I do?
The Devil’s Elbow: My $100 Alternative to the Eras Tour
I spent the entire week drinking at The Devil’s Elbow, the cozy whiskey-soaked pub next to Rogers Arena. It’s where dreams go to die and hockey fans go to cry.
Every night, the pub was packed with Swifties who couldn’t get tickets. We had our own “Eras Tour” – each shot representing a different Taylor era:
Tequila Swift – for “Reputation”
Sad Girl Pinot Noir – for “Red”
Gluten-Free IPA – for “Folklore”
Jack Daniels With Glitter Rim – for “1989”
I partied so hard I forgot the lyrics to Love Story. Twice.
“We Still Party, But We Don’t Discount”: The Swift Doctrine
Post-show, by sheer dumb luck (and possibly fate’s guilt trip), I ran into Taylor again. It was backstage-adjacent, in the kind of dim alley where Uber Eats drivers get lost and roadies go to vape.
She recognized me. I think.
She said, “You’re the guy who bought me that awful guitar.”
I nodded. “You’re the girl who now charges more than a kidney for a handshake.”
We both laughed. I think it was laughter. Could’ve been a sneeze.
Then she added, “We still party. But we don’t discount. That’s the Swift Doctrine, baby.”
That’s when I knew.
She hadn’t changed.
She had evolved. Pokémon style. From Country Caterpillar to Stadium Butterfly with a platinum AMEX and zero tolerance for nostalgic guilt trips.
Reddit Weighs In
Naturally, I turned to the wisest council on Earth: Reddit.
Here are some real(ish) quotes from r/TaylorSwift, r/ConcertFails, and r/IAmVeryRich:
“$10K for front row? Bro that’s not a concert ticket, that’s a mid-life crisis.” – u/budgetSwiftie
“She didn’t write You Belong With Me for you, but she definitely wrote Look What You Made Me Do about you.” – u/SpitefulFolklore
“You should’ve held onto that guitar and sold it to Sotheby’s. Missed investment opportunity of the decade.” – u/guitarFlipper42
“This is like Forrest Gump but if Forrest was petty and had access to whiskey.” – u/gumpAfterDark
Moral of the Story: Fame Costs (And So Do Front Row Seats)
Would I do it all over again? Absolutely.
Would I buy the guitar again? Yes. Maybe this time, a Fender.
Would I pay $10K for Taylor Swift tickets? Only if she threw in a songwriting credit and at least one ride on her private jet.
Until then, I’ll be at The Devil’s Elbow, humming All Too Well (10 Minute Version) and handing out free advice to teenagers who look like they might be famous one day.
Epilogue:
She still owes me a drink.
But I’ll settle for a song.
Or at least a 20% discount code for her next merch drop. Swifties, help a friend out