Chappell Roan Threw a Ren Faire for Roanies at the Rose Bowl
There were so many hits to get through that Roan didn’t engage in much between-song chatter until “Coffee,” when she was dandling Shigella on her knee. She professed her love for L.A. in the aftermath of the Palisades and Eaton Canyon fires (“The city has taken care of me and it’s my duty to take care of it”), and, visibly overwhelmed with anger, called out its ongoing terrorization by government goons: “Fuck ICE, forever.” And near the end of the show, she expressed her ongoing commitment to creating an environment where people could dress how they wanted to dress, and “feel free.” (Well, free to do everything but yawn—apparently witnessing someone in the crowd feeling a bit drowsy during closer “Pink Pony Club,” she issued the command “Bitch, don’t yawn!” between power chord slams. Hey, first rule of the club is no sleeping in the club.)
Free expression was certainly the primary goal of the Pasadena crowd, and the people-watching was worth the price of admission. I saw kids in iridescent sequins, elders in riding boots, and at least one guy dressed like the Big Bad Wolf in grandma’s nightgown; I didn’t catch it, but my friend told me she witnessed a group of young women weaving through the crowd, all wearing t-shirts that said I EAT PUSSY. The mermaid theme was popular, with many starfish hair clips, swampy wigs—a dual nod to the mystery green-haired girl of “The Subway,” a song that got one of the biggest cheers of the night—and sexy pirates observed. At one point during the show, I cracked up as an increasing number of pantsless women in tricorn hats with enormous feathers drifted idly into my line of sight, as if lost at sea. And shout out to the person with a reading light and gills taped to their head—I never thought an anglerfish could look so chic.
If you’re wondering what the next concert costuming trend is now that we might be reaching Peak Pink Cowboy Hat, I have your answer: it’s clown. Clowning really is the way of the future, based on how many people I saw in mime face paint and silly bloomers, or outfits that answered the question “What if the Gathering of the Juggalos was also a Renaissance fair?” (Though technically the Gathering of the Juggalo might already be a Renaissance fair.) I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a concert crowd have more fun with their outfits, and that’s all thanks to the baked-in theatrical extravagance of the Chappell Roan experience. After all, this is a woman whose creative director listed “creature design” and “creature fabrication” in their show credits. Creating a space in which people actively aspire to get kinda weird with it is just as impressive as creating a perfect pop album, and the Pink Pony Club has a generous door policy—as long as you’re cool with partying with a 10 million-year-old dragon baby.
