Still a Belieber: The Love That Never Left

At this point, I’ve accepted it: being a Justin Bieber fan is one of my longest, most committed relationships. It’s survived every era of my life—from middle school delusion to adult taxes—and somehow, it still makes sense. I don’t say that with irony or shame. I say it like someone who’s lived through the full emotional arc of a fandom and come out the other side… still vibing to Runaway Love.

My Belieber journey started like many others: a preteen girl with dial-up internet and an unreasonable amount of feelings. Except I took it one step further. I entered four essay competitions to meet him or go to his premieres. Four. I wrote entire love letters disguised as persuasive writing assignments, pitching my case to strangers on why I deserved to be in the same room as Justin Drew Bieber.

Spoiler: I did not win. My mom also didn’t let me go to concerts growing up, which felt like a personal attack at the time.

By 2020, I was finally old enough, free enough, and had enough internship money to buy my own ticket. I was ready. The world was not. Cue: COVID. Bieber announced his tour, and the universe immediately said, “LOL no.” It felt like fate was actively plotting against me.

But in 2022, my college roommates—true angels among us—gifted me a ticket to see him live. And when he finally walked on stage, I genuinely blacked out for a second. Nine-year-old me was healed.

Loving Justin Bieber isn’t something I outgrew. It evolved—but the core stayed the same. I’m still swooning over blurry selfies, defending him like it’s a thesis paper, and bringing him up in casual conversation like it’s totally normal.

Because the truth is: I’m still a Belieber. Not in a past-tense, “haha, remember?” way—but in a “I would drop everything to be in the pit tomorrow” way. In a “yes, I still think he’s the love of my life” way. In a “he could breathe on a track and I’d call it art” way.

Some things fade with time. This just... never did.