First love, nostalgia and memos from the past
It's a thrill ride.
Inescapable.
That’s the word I’d use to describe how his blue eyes locked into mine, his usual playful smirk overtaken by a vulnerable rawness. As I waited, the noise of the world faded around us. It was just him, me, and the gravity of what might come next.
His voice quavered. “I can’t get you out of my head.”
The anticipation – the build-up of months of waiting for this release – gave way to unfiltered joy. Whatever my expectations had been, this was infinitely better.
“I don’t care what is written in your history,” he continued. “As long as you’re here with me.”
A montage of our future holidays and wedding rushed through my mind. All the hesitation, all the doubt sparked by his cringe past behaviour – like that night he was gyrating with his mates outside in the rain(?!?!) – was gone.
This was it. This was the man I’d marry.
I was 16. He was my first “love”.
And yes, those quotation marks are necessary.
Not only because I'd later learn what love actually was, but because “he” was a Backstreet Boy and this entire "relationship" was a one-sided fantasy fuelled by an overactive, hormone-driven imagination and the inaugural viewing of their latest music video.
It's been more than 20 years since my intense devotion to the Backstreet Boys gave way to the real-life drama of adulting. But, OMG, they’re back again, and they’re all over my social media feed. They pop up between posts on orange-faced authoritarians, Miss Rachel, Australia's housing crisis, daylight kidnappings in the Land of the Free, and creators getting laughs out of ’90s and early 2000s trends.
The group’s surprise entry into my feed was triggered by one of my mum friends, who DM’d reel after reel of the boys – now men ranging in age from 45 to 53 – performing at their Sphere residency in Las Vegas. There, surrounded by 580,000 square feet of LEDs on stage, they’ve brought their Millennium album to life in an immersive show that one reviewer describes as “more than a mere concert, [it’s] a thrill ride”.
It looks EPIC.
I. Want. To. Be. There. I owe it to the idealistic dreamer who still exists somewhere inside me. And if the world weren’t so politically unstable, I’d be on that 17-hour flight, dressed all in white, and scream-shouting the lyrics of my youth with 20,000 other fans.
Who was your teen celeb crush? Let me know in the comments. Promise, I won’t judge.
But this Backstreet Boys renaissance has me wondering, why are all these feelings resurfacing now after so many years? What is it about these reels and listening to their back catalogue that's bringing back all this emotion?
Clinical and counselling psychologist Kerstin Anderson-Ridge tells me this bond is layered. “It’s not just about the music; it’s about who you were when you first loved it. Reconnecting to those songs now is like opening a time capsule. You then remember how it felt to be hopeful, heartbroken, alive. You remember the sleepovers, the posters, the unfiltered joy, and sometimes, especially as adults, we need those moments to feel alive again.”
She adds, “The wave of nostalgia isn’t just sentimental, it’s psychologically grounding. It reminds us that even as life becomes more complex, there was a time when we let ourselves love freely, and that’s worth revisiting.”
If nostalgia is a way to reconnect with the hopefulness of youth, what is the message our past selves are trying to share with our present versions?
As it turns out, the answer lies in the very reason we have those crushes, which Kerstin says “often act like a mirror, not of who we are, but of who we want to be or be with.”
“Sometimes, a crush reveals our own desires, like wanting to be seen, to be cherished, to be bold. Other times, it’s about values. If you’ve always been drawn to artists who use their platform for good, that tells you something about what matters to you.”
When we’re young, she says, “these crushes can give us emotional language before we have the lived experience.” Eve now, “They offer a safe space to explore who we’re becoming, who we admire, and the kind of love or life we hope for.”
Interesting…
Well, as fun as it has been to reconnect with my first “love”, I admit, it has felt a bit frivolous.
“It’s really easy to dismiss fan culture as fluff,” Kerstin tells me, “but for many people, especially during adolescence or difficult life phases, this hope becomes a lifeline.”
One of the most powerful ways this happens is through the music itself, says Kerstin, which helps us explore emotions we might otherwise struggle to connect with.
“Music bypasses our defences. You might not be ready to say, ‘I’m heartbroken’ or ‘I feel lost’, but you’ll scream the lyrics that say it for you. That’s the magic of these emotional companions – they allow you to feel without having to explain.
“You get to sit with feelings you’ve avoided. You feel less alone, and because the connection is safe and one-sided, there’s no risk of judgement or rejection, just resonance.”
Kerstin reassures us: “That imagined friendship or relationship gives you permission to be softer, messier or just more yourself.”
Until the next 3am Huddle,
Lizza x
PS Sharing this because the nighttime, wet-weather gyration needs to be re-experienced by all.
Great read Lizza!
Really enjoyed this read, and subscribed too. For me, it wasn't celebrities but characters in TV shows I found refuge and respite in from a lot of tumultuous teenage angst.
Your essay also made me reflect on that fine line between hopeful, nostalgic daydreaming and love addiction. Look forward to reading more!
I sometimes write similar musings at www.devsingh.substack.com too. 😊