Written by Yassmin Elmouzaieg
For fans of Gracie Abrams, the O2 Arena in London wasn’t just a concert venue but a second home for a night, a place where after months of anticipation and, in some cases, extreme dedication finally paid off.
For me, that dedication meant camping outside the venue from 3 a.m., braving the early morning chill and a slow-moving day, all for the chance to stand as close as possible to an artist whose music had become a personal soundtrack for me since I was 17. When the doors finally opened at 6:30 p.m., security ushered us inside, and suddenly, the exhaustion turned into adrenaline.
Before the main event, the venue radiated with a curated pre-show playlist that read like a love letter to modern pop girlies including: Lorde, Clairo, Olivia Rodrigo, and, of course, Taylor Swift, whose influence on Abrams is undeniable. It set the tone perfectly with soft indie-pop instrumentals, and melodies that felt like diary pages coming to life; catering to the teenage audience.
One thing was impossible to ignore: the bows. Everywhere. A sea of pastel pinks and creams, perched on heads, tied into braids, clipped onto backpacks. It was the defining symbol of the night, much like Swifties with their friendship bracelets. I had my own bow nestled into my hair, and as I looked around, it was clear I wasn’t alone in this small but symbolic act of fan devotion.
As anticipation reached its peak, the final song of the pre-show playlist played: “We Can’t Be Friends (Wait For Your Love).” The moment the lyrics “Me and my friends, we sit in silence” rang out across the arena, the lights instantly cut to black. A ripple of screams filled the space, an audible surge of excitement as the O2 Arena was swallowed by darkness. Then, just as quickly, the stage glowed faintly, and Gracie Abrams stepped into view.
Opener Dora Jar took the stage with an energy that instantly won over the crowd. Her set was a masterclass in quirky charisma and unfiltered passion, with her voice floating between ethereal and raw. Dora made sure to leave her mark and not just with her set, but literally. At one point, she ran to the front of the crowd, hurling signed posters like confetti. The chaos was exhilarating, hands flying in the air, and somehow, I managed to catch one. That moment alone felt like a win before Gracie even stepped on stage.
When Gracie Abrams finally emerged, dressed in a shimmering, delicate gown as the crowd erupted. She opened with “Felt Good About You,” standing behind a massive metal grid that doubled as a screen, casting silhouettes of her movements. The simplicity of the set design underscored the intimacy of the night with no elaborate props, no overwhelming visuals, just Gracie, her music, and a sea of fans who knew every word.
Her setlist switched between the deeply personal and pop. During “21,” she turned back toward the audience as she ascended a platform, pausing for a second as if absorbing the weight of the moment. It was cinematic, electric, and deeply human as we screamed sorry back.
A standout moment came when she kneeled at the edge of the stage during “I Miss You, I’m Sorry,” singing directly to fans in the front row. In those few minutes, it felt less like an arena show and more like a confessional shared between friends. She carried that same vulnerability into Risk, a song that radiated with nostalgia.
Unlike many artists of her caliber, Abrams doesn’t rely on massive costume changes or bombastic production. What makes her performances unforgettable is her sheer sincerity. Her voice, stronger and more refined than ever, during That’s So True, a song that had the entire arena bouncing, turning heartbreak into catharsis.
As the night neared its end, Abrams treated the crowd to a surprise song: “Right Now,” a fan favorite that hadn’t been on previous setlists. The reaction was immediate — screams of recognition, hands shooting into the air, the kind of moment that makes standing in line for 15+ hours feel like nothing. Everyone surrounding me burst into tears, including me, as I felt deeply connected to the song in that exact moment. But it was her surprise debut of “Death Wish,” an unreleased song about a friend’s narcissistic ex, that truly cemented her as an artist to watch. The crowd, unfamiliar yet fully invested, hung onto every lyric.
She closed with “Close To You,” leaving the night on an unexpected high. It was the kind of ending that felt open-ended, like a bookmark in a novel that still has more pages to go.
As the lights went up, fans clutched their signed posters, their voices hoarse from screaming, their hearts full. Some lingered, reluctant to leave the space where, for just a few hours, we had been part of something bigger than ourselves. The sea of bows, now slightly askew and tangled from the night’s energy, remained as proof of the unspoken bond between Gracie Abrams and her fans. She didn’t just perform at the O2 but she made it feel like home.
