When I found out Lewis Capaldi was performing in New York, I knew I had to be there, the Scottish Beyonce with millions of followers, Lewis has a well-documented fetish for sunglasses and the highlight of my life was getting him to wear a pair of my Blade frames on his Instagram in July.
I bought a ticket to see Lewis perform and cooked-up a scheme to sneak backstage and hand him a bunch of I.N.D.Y frames in person to wear. I am a genius. But how on earth was I going to do that exactly?
I emailed his management telling them I was a big-time business owner who had recently been featured in Vogue — hey, at least that was partly true! — and told them I was also Scottish and would love to hand him some sunglasses backstage at his concert in Brooklyn. I felt so confident they would get back to me — how could they reject someone published in Vogue?! (I.am.fabulous.) Did they get back to me? Absolutely not.
I hate taking no for an answer so it was time for plan B, and plan B was a lot riskier. My roommate works for the number one newspaper in New York as a journalist, which means that bitch gets in everywhere. (I promise she did absolutely not help me with my grammar on this post). I asked to borrow her press pass, which has not only her name on it, but her face and the newspaper she works for. It was a big gamble, especially since the pass warned, “If used unlawfully you can go to jail.” Gulp. I can do this. I have nailed it. It was an insane plan considering I am absolutely not a journalist and can hardly string a sentence together, let alone cover politics or interview people.
I get dressed up and go to the concert alone with this giant press pass on my neck — one name on the press pass and another name on my ticket. Yup, smartest thing I have ever done. Having a press pass around your neck makes you feel pretty important and everyone was looking at me as if I was some VIP when I was actually just a little chancer with a bag full of sunglasses.
I remember my friend said to me, “But Indie, what would you do if you actually got backstage? Imagine they start cheering that the number one newspaper in NYC is here?” I thought to myself, “What a great fucking point, never even thought of that!!” I'd probably walk in, smile awkwardly and leave.
I get myself into journalist mode, whatever that feels like, and bravely march up to the ticket office. I tell them I have been sent by the newspaper to cover a story on Lewis and that I really, really needed to be taken somewhere quiet (backstage,backstage,backstage) I also tell them that I am the only Scottish person in the newspaper office so of course they naturally had to send me! (I know lol).
I also had to introduce myself as my pal. You can bet that’s where my scheme ended. The dorky looking guy, kind of reminded me from the guy who worked in the game shop in Stranger Things, said, “You’re not on the list and unless you can get your boss to call us right now we won't let you in.” Shit. There goes that idea. “Oh gosh my newspaper is so clumsy!” I said. “I can’t believe they forgot to put me on the list!” I had to back out of there, pronto, worried I was about to get my friend fired from her dream job. “Oh, not to worry pal!” I added while also subtly getting the hell out of there.
I got into the concert and decided my next move would be to just throw a pair of sunglasses on stage which missed his face by an inch while he was singing one of his saddest love songs, with teenage girls crying around me. Lewis looks down at them and kicks them away with his feet, I instantly start singing and pretend I am with this group of 16yo girls as I was definitely about to go to jail for nearing knocking out Lewis Capaldi. Anyway, RIP to the Curve Frames which are somewhere in the Brooklyn Steel and RIP to my dignity, god loves a trier though, eh?