If you’re the resident Swiftie of your household, office, or friend group, the last two weeks have been your time to shine.
Or ‘shimmer’, as the Bejewelled singer herself would say.
Those lucky ones of us who have spent the last 13+ years preordering albums, joining online fan clubs and scream-singing All Too Well in the shower were rewarded for our loyalty with the holy grail of 2023 social currency: an Eras Tour ticket sale access code.
Suddenly my obsessive streaming of Ms Swift has given me a secret weapon instead of just a sad, sentimental disposition.
With thousands of eager fans clamouring to get a glimpse of what’s being mooted as the tour of the decade, the pressure to get those tickets has been unreal.
And in many ways, the access code system has been a real success.
Despite (valid) criticisms that ticket sales should be first come first served as part of an open market, the extraordinary demand for the Eras Tour means that something had to be done to prevent bots and scalpers from scooping up all the tickets in the first minute.
The system is a little complicated, with codes and links galore, but ultimately I see the logic behind it – get the tickets into the hands of fans.
For me the system worked – I was lucky
And for me at least, the system worked. I waited in a 35-minute Ticketmaster queue behind around 15,000 other users, and was able to purchase tickets when I got to the front.
Yes, it was time consuming and yes, they were expensive – around £150 each.
But for a three-hour show by one of the biggest stars ever to make music, I had expected that. I snapped them up and was lauded as the hero of the group chat. Nice!
So I was surprised to see on Twitter that some people were looking at ticket prices upwards of £600 on both Ticketmaster and AXS official sales for the very same show.
My first thought was that Swift must have agreed for the sites to use dynamic pricing – a system where the number of people trying to access the sale drives up ticket prices, much like the way last-minute flights or hotels are priced.
However, it appears that although she approved it for past tours, dynamic pricing wasn’t in play for this sale. Instead, something much more sneaky is to blame for the vertigo-inducing ticket prices.
‘VIP’ packages are heartbreaking rip-off
Six so-called ‘VIP’ packages have been listed at various prices ranging from £222-£662, making up what appears to be around a third of the available tickets.
Some allow early access to the stadium, and all include merch such as prints or souvenir tickets. None secure meet-and-greets or fan interaction.
I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t pay an extra £150 for some prints and the privilege of standing around for longer at an already-long show.
Even with the extras included, the added costs are totally over-the-top and unnecessary.
And for ordinary folk who are already scrimping amid a cost-of-living crisis to afford the face value of a ticket, they’re entirely unattainable.
General sale started at 11am today and there are THIS MANY seats still available for Edinburgh N1 (its like this all the way round the stadium) but every seat is the top VIP ticket…£661 each. How is this allowed?! #TStheErasTour pic.twitter.com/sYNEf71v79
— Em ✨ IS GOING TO ERAS TOUR (@swiftly_camila) July 17, 2023
But the most infuriating part is that this is, essentially, a sanctioned way of doing dynamic pricing.
The prices may not be determined by on-the-spot demand, but this VIP allocation is totally exploiting the general unprecedented demand for tickets.
It’s clear greed from ticket sellers and venues, and an even clearer prioritisation of profit over fans’ experience.
Hearteningly, I’ve seen many Scottish fans simply refuse to pay it, in hopes that a mass refusal will force ticket prices down for fear of leaving empty seats. But that’s a gamble.
And it seems to me that Taylor should be using her platform to ensure that her remaining tickets get into the hands of the thousands of local fans who currently can’t afford them. Swiftly.
Wild swimming is my new personality
So I’ve become one of those people who swims in the sea.
I’ve often flirted with the idea, but I’ve always been stopped by my fear – of jellyfish, and riptides, and perpetually sandy trainers.
And I maintain that we can never be too careful when it comes to the sea.
But last week I decided to give it a go. I packed up my towel and my swimsuit, and drove over the bridge to St Andrews to join an organised swim.
Full of gusto and recent holiday memories of the bath-like Ionian Sea, I plunged right in.
Reader, it was cold. Like, really cold.
But after a few minutes of shuddering and outrageous swearing, I adjusted.
And then I understood what all these dafties who wild swim regularly have been telling me about for years: the bracing cold, the peaceful, endless blue, the wheeling birds, the absolute lack of technology or sense of time passing.
It’s class. I’ve been back three nights this week, and slept better each night than I have in years.
When I told my friend – a fellow swimmer – I was getting into it, she joked: ‘Congratulations, welcome to your new personality.’
I fear she might be right.
