We call ourselves “Harries.”  

You’ll see us rolling up to Madison Square Garden, confidently solo and wearing Bob Mackie minidresses we thrifted on our travels. You’ll hear us singing along to old One Direction songs with the crowd at Wembley Stadium, just like the younger women — also “Harries” — who could be our daughters.

You’ll watch us hit “buy” on our Delta flight apps at a moment’s notice, spending $2,000 in a heartbeat (or in our case, a drumbeat) to chase a last-minute concert ticket on a different continent.

Then you’ll wonder: Who are these people?

I’ll tell you. We are 50-something women with prestigious jobs, designer closets, elite academic pedigrees, and the knowledge that it’s possible to find pure, unfiltered joy, connection, and community by touring around the world for Harry Styles shows.

We regret nothing. 

From ‘desperately sad’ to dancing queen

By the time Harry Styles wraps his historic 30-night residency at Madison Square Garden, I will have hit his “Together, Together” tour 37 times.

In fact, I’ll turn 51 right inside the Garden as Harry takes the stage on Halloween.

I’m fully aware this sounds over-the-top, but I promise: This is the opposite of a midlife crisis. It feels like a midlife return to my absolute rawest, most authentic self, backed by decades of survival, grief and therapy.

It began 12 years ago with a one-two punch.

I had my “dream job” as a huge editor at Cosmopolitan magazine. That is, until a gloomy overlord took over my department and made work a living hell for me and my colleagues. (He was later accused of inappropriate and lewd behavior ) 

Then my mom died suddenly, knocking what was left of my fighting spirit right out of me. I was desperately sad and angry, so I moved home to Indianapolis. The cost of living meant I could be closer to my family while staying afloat financially. 

With a little more time on my hands, I began volunteering as a counselor at a grief camp for kids. I learned it’s cool to be vulnerable — even as my loud, ridiculous, authentic self. 

We played a lot of Harry Styles in the bunks.

A Harrie origin story

I hit my first Harry Styles concert in 2021, just as the isolation of the pandemic was lifting.

When the party began, I felt my emotional armor drop, and even though I went to the concert alone, the total strangers around me instantly felt like blood. I felt weightless, totally out of body, yet completely present.

It’s a high I vowed to chase.

The rush of connection and happiness I felt led to my new motto: “Always go to the show — it just might change your life.” I inked the first part on my arm in Los Angeles, making permanent the contract I’d made with myself: Go to every gig possible, and never look back. 

I didn’t know it at the time, but the motto linked me back to my mom and a conversation she’d had with her best friend from college, a woman named Teri.

“When I retire, will you play with me?” Teri had texted my mom, who replied, “Of course, I will.” 

But my mom died before that could happen. 

When Teri texted me that story last month, I understood my resolve to play as much as possible while I can on a new level.

For my mom, that was Jimmy Buffett, word puzzles, and collecting salt and pepper shakers. For me, it’s the Together Together tour, and everything after. 

Getting it together at ‘Together, Together‘

As I started attending Harry Styles shows, I began meeting “my people” — a group of Gen X fans who share my radical commitment to playing with our friends as often as possible. 

Many are recovering “good girls” just like me—eldest daughters and gifted-kid perfectionists with late-in-life ADHD diagnoses. We are often called “overachievers.” We are also called “a lot,” often by men trying to date us. (I got “A Lot™” tattooed on the back of my neck while living in London this summer.)

We are unafraid to commit ourselves to a life of out-loud joy.

For me, that includes being unapologetic about spending tens of thousands of our hard-earned money to construct globe-trotting trips to see rock shows, taking total advantage of being single without kids — a choice that some people pity, but I wear like a badge of honor. 

For 49-year-old California financial executive Betsy Gerber, Harry Styles concerts became a way to combat the corporate treadmill.  “I was struggling with a lot of big things in my life and really wondering if I was just going to let life lead me, or if I could take some control back,” she told The Post.

Gerber booked three back-to-back tickets for shows and never looked back. Joining the fandom, she said, has given her more than new friends. “I really have used Harry as a jumping board to take back control of my own wants and needs.” 

Larissa Lee, 52, a marketing VP in Philadelphia, has seen Harry Styles live over 30 times, vowing that “he is somehow still underrated as a performer” — even though he’s sold nearly 43 million records. “When you add the community that has grown around being a fan of his, it’s really special,” she said. 

Leisa Hill, 53, traveled 10,280 miles from her native Melbourne to Amsterdam for the legendary Together, Together tour. She says the trek was worth it.

“Seeing Harry live gave me something I thought I would never have again: the feeling I had as a teenager, loving music so much and just being so joyful,” she said.

I spotted her incredibly chic outfit and pink hair in the pit in London and was determined to know this bold woman. Luckily Hill felt similarly and by night three, we were fast friends. 

“It’s one of the few things that makes you feel as energetic at 50 as you did at 15,”  said Colleen Henshaw, 50, of Austin, Texas. A longtime global travel advisor, she’s been to seven Harry Styles shows since the tour opened in Amsterdam in May, where we met in person for the first time. 

Now the mother of a teenager, Henshaw appreciates the chance to “dance my ass off with women of all ages.” She told The Post that she leaves the concerts feeling “vibrant and alive.” Meanwhile, by June, Henshaw and her son were staying with me, now dubbed his “Harrie Godmother,” for a weekend in London. That’s how deep fandom connections can run. 

Though we come from all over the globe, 50+ Harries have something major in common:

We are bringing all the versions of ourselves into this life phase—and liking them this time. And we dare you to have as much fun as we’re having. 

This is not a thirsty fan club

Some may assume that a group of mid-life women clamoring to see an extremely handsome, sweaty man running around onstage (occasionally in “slutty little shorts”) would imply something, shall we say, thirsty. 

But this is not a Heated Rivalry message board or a Club Chalamet stalker situation.

The elder fangirls in my orbit have boundaries and self-awareness, and are very adept at avoiding the toxic corners that exist in any fandom. Sure, we love Harry Styles — and yes, he’s sexy and he knows it — but we have no illusions that the man is going to announce onstage that he’s abandoning his reported fiance, Zoe Kravitz, for anyone in the crowd. 

In the fall of 2024, I started as an adjunct professor in the media school at Indiana University in Bloomington, teaching a class I created called “Pop Culture, Storytelling and Media.” 

Nor, it must be said, do we want him to.

We 50-something women love Harry Styles because his music hits us right in the nostalgia bone. Even though he’s only 32, the singer channels our Gen X music legends: Stevie Nicks, Prince, Bowie, Madonna, even Simon & Garfunkel. 

Styles knows our style. His opener lineup boasts ‘90s icons like Shania Twain and Kylie Minogue. Even Radiohead’s Thom Yorke is a card-carrying fan. (Suck on that, music bro exes who used to mansplain “OK Computer.”)

We know good concerts, yes. We also know the ups and downs of life in a different, and deeper, way than most 19-year-olds. When he says “be whoever you’ve always wanted to be in this room tonight” on the podium, we’ve had 30 more years to figure that girl out. 

There’s also a surprising benefit to being a mid-life Harry Styles fan: It’s actually made me hotter. Because I’m rocking on my feet for six hours a night, I’m in the best shape of my adult life. (All the yoga and Pilates and assisted stretching I called “tour prep” really helped, too.)

I delight in creating my looks for each show. I’m back in my most creative sartorial place, thrifting like I did as a teen, and embracing all the unique quirks of my personal style. I’ve also noticed that I’m outwardly kinder to myself and others, and I’ve been more willing to make deep, lasting relationships with new people.

I am in no way embarrassed about my age, but I won’t lie and say it doesn’t give me a boost when people, young and old, are shocked by the number.

My skin is aglow all the time. My friends wonder if I’m “Benjamin Buttoning.” I know I look good — and unlike some of the younger me’s I’ve been before, I’m not afraid to say that out loud. You can tell when the energy you’re radiating is attractive to people, and certainly not just in a physical or romantic sense. 

Healing out loud

In between Harry Styles concerts, I began moving closer to a new purpose: Connecting joy through generations, and actually getting paid for it.

It has been one of the most fulfilling jobs of my entire career, and I know for certain that the cross-generational connections I made at Harry Styles concerts gave me the confidence to step into a role I’d never even imagined for myself. 

Oh, and my mom? She was a middle school teacher. 

Meanwhile, as the cracks in my heart filled up with new memories and dreams, I realized something terrifying: My mom died at 65 — just 15 years from where I am now. 

“I hope nights like tonight remind you that it’s so much bigger than me,” Harry said on stage Saturday night. “It’s so much bigger than any musician you like or music you enjoy listening to. When you look around these rooms, I hope you remember that it is more than just a concert. It’s about connecting with people, with your friends, with strangers, singing with your friends and strangers. Sweating with them, singing with them, dancing with them. It’s truly special. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of it with you.” 

The acknowledgement that we were all alone, together, made me weep. 

Being a hardcore Harrie is not without sacrifices. I’ve missed time with friends and family. I’ve gotten side-eyes from people who find me unserious or even embarrassing. And yes, there are the costs, which equal a year of Indiana mortgage payments. But as we like to say, “Money is fake. Harry Styles is forever.” 

Or at least until I stop dancing.