The dedication of some female superfans goes way beyond music. Hannah Ewens explores her passion for Courtney Love
It was a rare, expansive summer in the city – one when your friends were always available, you felt charming, and everyone was attractive. Daisy and I sat outside Itsu and drained cans of JD and coke. We kept bursting into hysterics. Courtney Love was DJing around the corner, but we weren’t invited. And yet, we knew we’d get in. This lucky energy was something we’d recognised about us recently. It couldn’t not happen. I thought for the 10,000th time in my life: what would Courtney do?
There were previous occasions I’d almost met her: in
New York, her striding about in a fur coat like a wildebeest, while I dropped a gobful of Diet Coke on to the pavement. The planned time we – fans – hung back as she launched herself from an especially loathed interview to a waiting car. And when she sat a few feet away, in oil-painting beauty, at an event, and stared vacantly back into my eyes for a moment like I was the help. Blissful.