I turned 24 in May… and in true mid-20’s fashion I’ve never felt more lost, frustrated, or disillusioned.

I’m certain everyone in my age bracket feels the same way. If they don’t, they’re either coming into generational wealth, getting married, having children, or accomplishing all three at once. If you’re reading this and don’t identify with a…

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Time is a circle, the world is too small, and Harry Styles’ hairline is still receding. 

Styles was spotted on Sunday attending the Luton Town vs. Manchester United match outside of London. Fans flocked to social media almost immediately, to either poke fun at his new haircut or, alternatively, point out the similarities in his appearance to Jamie Dornan. Maybe my algorithm is severely damaged. Regardless, Styles may have successfully beat the wig rumors, but that hair … still gives me pause. I digress.

Despite the internet’s field day with Styles’ visit to Kenilworth Road, I wasn’t particularly interested in his presence. I was, however, shocked to see an all-too-familiar, blurry mop of dark hair in front of him. 

Seen in front of Styles is Vampire Weekend frontman Ezra Koenig. The band is back, making the timing of his appearance feel oddly coincidental. The group announced last week their fifth studio album, “Only God is Above Us” is set to release on Friday, April 5th. 

In 2024, Koenig’s name is a throwback to some. For others, myself included, it’s somewhat of a trigger. 

Ten years ago Koenig was a Twitter, now X, celebrity of sorts, tweeting out quippy one-liners and often interacting with fans. I was one of them. At only 14, I was obsessed with the seemingly new and vibrant online fan community that surrounded Vampire Weekend, along with other notable indie bands of the time: Arctic Monkeys, Lorde, The 1975, and others. I made friends, “mutuals,” on X. We’d create group chats and alert each other every time he posted. We’d spam Koenig’s comment section with witty replies in an effort to coax his attention, and fangirl when he did. 

Were we obsessed with him, and the band by extension? Clearly. Unhealthily. Parasocially. 

But it wasn’t uncommon. It still isn’t. The music industry is dependent on the attention obsession of a young female audience, from Beatlemania to Bieber Fever. On Sunday, Koenig was sitting in front of a man who’s living proof of this business model. If Harry Styles never joined One Direction, would he have been able to sell out a historic 15-day residency at Madison Square Garden while touring his THIRD studio album? His fans may say yes, but I dare you logically consider it for a few minutes. 

Fandom sells tickets, fandom generates attention. The close-knit bonds formed by teenage fandom is a beautiful part of girlhood that can’t be broken or replicated. Despite its cringe factor and, at times, genuine insanity, I look back at that period of my young adulthood with so much pride. When you’re young you love something completely without hesitation, embarrassment, or fear of judgment. This is especially true for the people like me who were never the prettiest or most popular in school, who were counting down the days until they could leave their home town, who may have taken this line from the cult classic “Almost Famous” too literally: 

Emphasis on the last part. The music brought us together. For all of its faults, we were a community bonded by a deep connection to music that moved and inspired us. 

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That type of fandom on the internet is a relic of its time— before cancel culture and TikTok trends, before the concept of being “chronically online,” where a digital footprint had no consequence, where crowdsourcing and everyone having an opinion all the time felt exciting and liberating, as opposed to exhausting and isolating. No one was laser-focused on going viral or monetizing their content (a phrase I truly despise). The goal of social media then was to meet like-minded people and connect, share, laugh. Today it’s the polar opposite. But that’s a topic for another day. 

The connections I made on the internet have genuinely led to some of the most fulfilling and endearing friendships I could have dreamed of. We don’t speak every day, but watching the girls I giggled with on X a decade ago turn into successful, intelligent, and genuinely inspiring women is a unique and heartwarming experience. I know if I ever travel to Houston, Chicago, Los Angeles, Seattle, Chapel Hill, even London, I’ll have a place to stay— all because of a band. 

That said, a lot can happen in ten years. We all grew up. I went to college, became a journalist, moved to New York. My friends went to law school, became models, starred in super bowl ads, some became parents, and a lot of us lost touch. 

Rostam Batmanglij (center left, keyboard, guitar) exited the band to embark on his own musical endeavors (which have been insanely successful) in 2016. Chris Tomson (far right, drummer) and Chris Baio (center right, bass) took time off to release their own side projects. It was nice to grow with the band that introduced me to my music preferences. I took pride in being a long-time fan. 

And then everything changed. 

Long-time fans remember when Tavi Gevinson, actress, writer, and founder/editor-in-chief of Rookie Magazine, released the now archived "Infinity Diaries,” a series of essays exploring the concept of “what cannot be articulated; the infinite feelings, colors, sounds, experiences that we do not have words for.” In its first installment, she recounted a series of encounters with an older “man” who was introduced to her by one of “man’s friends”. The descriptions of this older, enigmatic man with an empty, white bedroom and an obsession with antique watches was a bit of a dead giveaway to the trained fan who could read between the lines. Gevinson and Koenig were linked in 2014, when she was 18 and he was 30.

At the time of its release in 2016, the diary entry felt like a peek at the man behind the curtain so many of us had admired from afar— a real life version of a Wattpad story we’d cautiously read at the dinner table. But of course nothing was proven or confirmed. All of us were taking shots in the dark, truly the blind leading the blind. 

Fast forward to 2021, when Gevinson releases an article in The Cut, commenting on the discourse surrounding the end of Britney Spears’ conservatorship, the gross imbalances of power and control in a patriarchy that conflates female sexuality with empowerment, and its devastating consequences. In it she describes her own experience with sexual assault. While she doesn't name her abuser, she describes a toxic and abusive sexual relationship she had with an older man when she was 18. You can connect the dots. 

For the sake of transparency I want to make clear that Ezra Koenig never publicly admitted to or apologized for the abuse he allegedly committed. Gevinson never named him, and in her article addressed the unavoidable online chatter, reactions, defense, and defaming that would come after she went public: 

“The terms that so many stories of sexual assault are forced into, and the demands placed on victims and abusers to look and act in a recognizable way, make the thought of naming my abuser in public seem like something that would only cause me more pain. So does the possibility of any self-appointed vigilantes attempting to do so on my behalf. The notion of monitoring a mob I didn’t ask for sounds exhausting, whether this mob is coming for his head or mine. The awareness that my experience would be transmuted into a fascination with his moral character makes me want to get offline forever. It is easy to imagine a world where audiences’ infatuation with fame takes priority over a survivor’s needs.”

In many ways this prophecy came true. Vampire Weekend’s comment section was quickly closed in 2021 after the article’s release due to an onslaught of angry responses from fans. The immediate reaction to Gevinson’s piece was genuine disappointment and rage from a mostly female audience aimed at a man we’d put on a pedestal, a man with a pristine, impenetrable public image who supposedly supported and uplifted women, received an Ivy League education, who recently became a FATHER. 

Once an internet celebrity, Koenig ghosted his social media platforms almost overnight. Clearly the monitoring mob Gevinson described came for his head. As time passed the silence continued, and with no apology, denial, or genuine reaction, the entire story disappeared into oblivion. The world turned. 

But not for the fans. We were, still are, devastated.

Yes, we were fascinated with his moral character, but how could we not be after following the band for so long? People often repeat the phrase “don’t meet your heroes.” For me, and I imagine for many other fans, it felt like I already did. Gevinson’s article stopped me dead in my tracks. I did not know this man. None of us really did. 

At the time of its release the story felt like a wake-up call. For the first time in my life I realized a celebrity’s public image had nothing to do with their private life. A public image can be genuine– there’s no denying that. But the very nature of an image implies discretion over what version the world should see and what should remain hidden. An image is consumed by the public, interpreted, pined over, and often criticized. An image is idolized, immortal. A person is none of those things. 

In the modern age, we hold artists to a standard of morality reserved for gods, kings, even martyrs. Yes, artists should be held to a higher standard because of their platform, their influence on culture and the people that respect them. But at the end of the day they’re just people. They breathe the same air we do. They get cranky when they haven’t eaten. They wake up hungover on Sunday mornings. They question the acceptable distance for keeping an elevator door open for the stranger jogging towards it. 

People are awkward, selfish, and brutish by nature. That should be expected, regardless of their net worth or occupation.

Re-reading the Infinity Diaries with a developed prefrontal cortex was eye-opening to say the least. No longer a fantasy, in many ways it’s a collection of glaring red flags. Why did we, as a group of young women, desire that? Embrace that? Dream of that? What does that say about the media environment we were raised in? Childhood naïveté can only excuse so much. 

Looking back, why was a grown man replying to teenage girls on X with selfies and oddly flirty lines? There’s no way he didn’t know what he was doing. I see that now, clear as day. What was he thinking? Why did the adults in our lives think it was okay when we showed them his responses, let alone encourage it? 

The ever-evolving discourse on separating art from the artist is nothing new. Koenig’s name is one in a long list of artists whose actions have left a bad taste in listeners’ mouths. This is in no way an excuse for his alleged behavior. It’s representative of a larger, systemic trend of frontmen whose warped sense of fame forced them down a dangerous path of abuse of power. At least five women came forward with sexual assault allegations against Win Butler, lead singer of Arcade Fire, back in 2022. Indie label Burger Records shut down at the height of the pandemic after allegations of sexual misconduct surfaced against a laundry list of bands on their label, including the Growlers and the Buttertones. 

The difference between Butler and Burger Records and the allegations against Koenig is that the latter was never confirmed. With no official confirmation and statements from involved parties, there’s no way a supporting act could drop out of a tour in protest, like Feist did in 2022. Gevinson said it herself. She never wanted a group of “self-appointed vigilantes” defending her or attacking her abuser. As frustrating as it may be that her alleged abuser is rewarded with no controversy by ignoring fans’ calls to respond, I wonder if it’s a better choice to respect Gevinson’s wishes for privacy and support her in other ways. 

Namely, why don’t we start becoming more proactive in the ways we view and interact with artists? It is possible to critique and engage with something at the same time. And it is our responsibility to make sure young women understand that as they navigate today’s much darker, complex world of social media and celebrity worship. I know I learned my lesson much too late.

Whether you choose to listen to Vampire Weekend’s new music, I don’t think it requires judgment. If anything, refusing to interact with the band in an attempt to hold a moral high ground feels useless, if not exhausting. Streaming historically pays artists very little. Their shows will still sell out, they’ll still sell merchandise, and they’ll still attract new fans completely ignorant to the allegations. If the best version of accountability for an alleged abuser we have is the same standard we hold to a Chick-fil-A sandwich, I don’t think we’re doing a good job. 

I’m not encouraging anyone to listen to the new music, and I’m certainly not encouraging anyone to continue supporting the band with the same fervor they had before the allegations. I am saying it’s okay to engage with art you love in your own way, on whatever spectrum you personally deem appropriate.

I have listened to the new music. I hate to say it, but it’s great. The two new singles instantly transported me to the joy I experienced at 14, dancing around my childhood bedroom while reading lyrics on the back of a vinyl sleeve. Despite how complicated my relationship towards this band might be now, I never want to forget that feeling. 

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