Some of the contenders were: "Yes, I am a stalker" and "I'm only psycho for strangers." But I ultimately decided on "my one sided love story" because directly calling myself out for being insane in the title just felt too easy.
We will start from the beginning. Everyone has their celebrity crush, so naturally mine was bound to be a DJ. I stood inches away from an array of celebrities this past summer and didn't bat an eyelash. Put me next to a DJ- someone catch me when I faint.
The level of obsession reached when I discovered this particular DJ has hit me one other time in my life. That was when I was 14 years old and watched the movie Twilight. Robert Pattinson was it for me. I didn't need anyone else in this world as long as I could come home from school everyday and rewatch his performance as Edward Cullen.
The undying love I had for Robert Pattinson was not something I grew into after continuous exposure to People magazine articles and his films. It was an immediate and all-knowing kind of love. No one could ever come close to replacing him. My teenage loyalties would always belong to Rob.
But then I hit 18, and with maturity and some developed brain cells, I moved on. Electronic Dance Music was my new after school addiction, and Rob just couldn't be my end all be all once Twilight was no longer a past-time.
Insert Porter Robinson.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=at3FPJaAwoY
I heard this song on the radio, downloaded it, and listened to pretty much nothing else for weeks (to the dismay of all family members). My brother, also a fanatic, then off handedly mentioned that Porter lived in Chapel Hill, was a year older than me, and was discovered by my-then favorite DJ, Skrillex.
All of this being said, although my obsession for Porter was not immediate, it was more than mildly concerning once fully developed.
The fixation started one day when I was doing homework at Starbucks. A guy walked in wearing leather pants, a pony tail with the sides of his head shaved, and an anime printed shirt. I kept staring at this person because his outfit made him worthy of a few seconds of thought. He clearly wasn't from here, but my main feeling towards him was jealousy. I would wear leather pants all day every day in the winter if I didn't live in Chapel Hill, North Carolina where out-there fashion makes people glance nervously over at you like you are some kind of serial killer.
When I finally caught a glance of his profile, everything clicked and that's when it was over. I furiously googled pictures of him and after confirming that it was indeed Porter Robinson, I immediately mass texted my family members and whichever friends were unlucky enough to be in my recent messages.
Many urged me to talk to him, but I can barely gather the courage to talk to acquaintances, much less someone who is inducing hyperventilation, so that was a no-go.
I think the worst thing about this random sighting was what happened afterwards. I probably spend thousand(s) of dollars a year at Starbucks- the addiction was already out of hand. But suddenly I found myself there whenever I had a free thirty minutes, needed to study, wanted to catch up with someone. I was always there, in a cute outfit, just waiting for Porter's return.
And the problem is, he did return- more than once. Each time he showed up, the freak out would become more intense. My chest would feel like it was about to explode, my face would turn beat red, and I would creepily peer over at him between the texting freakouts I was having to my mom and brother.
The third time it happened, my mother called me and told me to "grow a pair and go talk to him." So I did because my mother can be very intimidating.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi, you're Porter right? I love your music.
He stops, looking incredibly taken aback. (This time he was wearing a skirt over jeans- yes actually.)
Porter: Hey, yeah I am. Sorry that surprised me, no one in Chapel Hill ever recognizes me.
Me: Yeah your outfit kind of gives you away. You aren't blending into fratland too well.
The conversation continued about Chapel Hill's general fratty aura, being townies, and about how he was on his way to Trader Joes. And this is all you need to read to understand how the rest of the conversation went (Start at cheese??):
Shout out to Shand for indulging my desire to talk about him. Since our conversation I have seen him one other time, and that time I thought I was actually going to have a heart attack. The physical anxiety was at an all time high.
So I did what I needed to do, and in August, I impulsively bought a ticket to see him play in NYC. I had no flight, nowhere to stay, and no one to go with. But it was Porter, so I knew I had to be there. While I was unable to make it to the DJ booth this time, we did sneak up to the VIP floor (I recruited Alex and Sam to come with me- but be sure I would have been there by myself if I needed to be).
My undying loyalty to those I don't actually know is truly remarkable. This is especially the case considering how emotionlessly I seem to live the rest of my life. The thought of referencing the real-live "love" word about anyone I have been or will be with on this blog makes me want to run to the nearest toilet and vomit. Three cheers for emotional maturity. Physical affection also makes me uncomfortable- I will only hug my mother out of dire necessity aka after she takes me shopping.
The overall moral of this post is that being fixated on a celebrity is totally fine. Until they live 10 minutes away from you, and you keep running into them at Starbucks, which causes you to start living in Starbucks.
So I hope we have all learned our lesson, and if you need me for any reason- you know where to find me.
Until next time.
-F
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