Bewitched, Beaded, Bejeweled

As a child growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, I remember beads being a big thing. Friendship bracelets were a big thing in the 90s. They were mostly made with string, and I remember wearing at least one bracelet crocheted into existence. And in the early 2000s, I remember one of my aunts buying beads and making bracelets. You could find people selling beads in malls, in classy-looking stalls, just as you can find them in wet markets.

I still have bracelets from that time in my life. Those days remind me of boleros, flip flops, spaghetti strapped tops, local fashion brands bringing in Mandy Moore for commercials, scented face powder, anklets, and the mortifying ordeal of trying to find out if your crush liked you back.

So when Taylor Swift sang, “So make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it,” it reminded me of my childhood. And I’m sure it struck a chord for her fans too, because that single line birthed a new hobby for Taylor Swift fans around the world.

It’s how I found myself buying beads and string weeks before I was set to go to the Eras Tour, after months of resisting making friendship bracelets. I saw the TikTok videos and thought I would never have enough time to make bracelets that look decent, much less ones that people will want to trade for. So I just kept watching and dithering.

You’re not crafty enough.

You don’t have an eye for these things.

It will look like a child made it.

That’s what I kept telling myself. But the days before my concert date started to creep up, and I dreaded the idea of going empty-handed, of not sharing anything. It felt wrong to not throw myself headfirst into the experience when I was already listening to the set list and trying to figure out what outfit to wear. I felt I was being too blasé for such a huge experience, considering it was the first concert I was going to, for an artist whose work struck a chord in me.

Then two of my friends started making bracelets.

My best friend—who loved arts and crafts and was far more skilled in these things than I was—gave me pointers. Our other friend posted his progress, and his speed made me realize that maybe I can learn fast enough to make enough bracelets. I started with making a Death by a Thousand Cuts-inspired bead ring, with the letters IDK and the colors of the traffic lights.

It did look like a beginner made it. 

At first. 

But in the days leading up to the concert, I felt my confidence grow, and I did start making bracelets that looked better than the first ones I made. It also started taking me less time. I also started experimenting with color palettes to make sure they reflected the albums I wanted to represent.

I ended up making around 30 bracelets and traded them with other fans during the second night of Taylor Swift’s Singapore stop. I found the time, even with school and work in between, to make bracelets. I made them after dinner, while watching one of my comfort TV shows. I made some of them while watching a livestream of Taylor’s concert the night before I was supposed to go. 

I’d dedicated hours to a hobby and in the process, I learned something new. 

It’s been close to two weeks since the concert and a few hours after The Eras Tour movie dropped on Disney+, and I can still remember how happy I was finding fellow fans to trade bracelets with. A little kid no older than 10 gave me a ‘New Shit’ bracelet, which happened to be a phrase from ‘the 1,’ a track from my favorite Taylor Swift album. I made a ‘Fuck the Patriarchy’ one that a dad encouraged his son to take. I felt like I was pouring something good into the space, instead of just taking the good vibes and the excitement. 

I’d gotten bracelets of different colors and sizes from people of different backgrounds, and in that moment, I thought, “This is what fandom is about.”

Generosity.

Having fun.

The willingness to learn something new, not for gain or profit, but to share something with others.

Reaching out to people.

Being kind to strangers. 

Maybe I’m not yet as good as the other fans making bracelets, but I liked it and I was better at it than I thought I would be. I still have packs of beads and strings at home, and all I want is to figure out what to make next. Maybe what other fandoms I can make bracelets for. 

Knowing that I can figure something out and make something with my own hands is a reward far greater than the bracelets I ended up making and giving. It tells me that if I am willing to put the time in to learn something new, I will. Even if all it gets me is to go from 0 (a non-believer in my ability to do a decent job at crafts) to 1 (a person who will make another friendship bracelet). 

It tells me that I can be wrong about the littlest things. Heck, I can even be wrong about myself—and like that.

Having that experience—making the friendship bracelets, sharing them, and sharing the rest of the concert with other people—cemented my belief that fandom can be and should be a force for good.

That it should and does transform us for the better, even as it challenges convention.

That it does encourage us to make room for leisure, for work, for devotion; to become more proactive when it comes to our own learning and transformation; and to expand our own ideas of what we and our communities could be. 

If a single line from a song can get people to take up a new hobby, kickstart a gift economy, and challenge people’s ideas of what they can do and what they would make time for, what other good can we create with the things we love? 

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