How I became BeyHive

This concert deserves its own text.

The city was ready: cowboy hats and boots sold everywhere, metro stations renamed Beyoncé Station, even a kebab shop near the stadium hung a Welcome Back, B sign. Honestly, Texas probably hasn’t seen this many cowboys at once — London Underground that night looked like a rodeo. The only ones competing with them were people in bald wigs — Pitbull fans, his concert was happening next door.

Beyoncé turned out to be a very patriotic performer. She sang the American anthem, switched through multiple variations of the tricolor, and even displayed the word propaganda on screen several times — for balance. They’ll never take country out of me — she sings, and the whole stadium of cultural appropriation enthusiasts goes wild.

The visuals alone were a separate performance: clips, news headlines like The Problem with Beyoncé (when you take care of self-irony yourself, you leave little room for others), photos of her children, injuries, affirmations, and even memes. Everywhere — her, larger than life, in blood and flesh, building her own monument.

Jokes aside, everyone present was essentially a monarchist, and she — our queen, as my friend Darina put it. Beyhive understood the assignment. Everyone came dressed up. “Thou shalt not worship idols” — but she’s flawless. Every look is calculated, every movement rehearsed. Nothing excessive. A single finger gesture silences the entire stadium; her daughters walking on stage breaks hearts (and wombs). Honestly, she doesn’t even need backup dancers — she holds the entire arena alone. Even the very last row knew every word to every song. She rode a giant phallic golden bull, flew across the stage on a horseshoe, and changed dozens of costumes. She gets to do it all — and it never feels cheap. She’s the most untouchable woman on earth.

A bit more on the Cowboy Carter Tour: we got all the best tracks from the album (it took me a few listens to really get into it), a bit of Crazy in Love classics, and a taste of Renaissance. The product placement of her whiskey and haircare brands was perfectly woven into the set design. Much has been written about the costumes, but I’ll note the custom Burberry — a nice nod to the local designers.

I don’t know anyone who would say she puts on a bad show. I’m officially in the club now. And yes — the Beyoncé hangover is real. Yesterday was pure euphoria; today feels grey, like the serotonin crash after too much celebration.

P.S. We debated whether she sings live or not. I still struggle to believe anyone can dance for 2.5 hours and sing that perfectly — but I’d be happy to be proven wrong.

P.S.2. The Blue Ivy move is still genius. She gets almost as much applause as her mother.