While approaching the George Washington Bridge, I received a text from my friend Lynn in the Shaun Squad group chat. The message declared the imminent arrival of a party. While my heart sank, the robotic voice of the car speakers conveyed Lynn’s words. I responded, voicing my concern about the potential regret of not getting my eyebrows waxed for the night. Lynn confirmed that her text would indeed cause me to feel remorse.
These words triggered a surge of adrenaline that sent my pulse racing. Within an hour, I would come face to face with Shaun Cassidy, my childhood crush. Even with my unruly eyebrows, I couldn’t contain my excitement.
In the late ’70s, Shaun Cassidy became a teen idol through his role in ABC’s “The Hardy Boys” and his hit singles. With feathered hair, satin baseball jackets, and tight pants, he graced the covers of teen magazines and sent adolescent hormones into overdrive. As the son of Shirley Jones and Jack Cassidy, Shaun rose to fame in the musical family, with his half brother David Cassidy preceding him as a teen dream.
Among Shaun’s popular singles, my favorite was “That’s Rock ‘n’ Roll,” a catchy tune centered around a 16-year-old narrator who despised school and glorified rock rebellion. Even in my grade school years, this song resonated with me. Each of Shaun’s albums came with a poster, and my friend Kristin and I would pretend to kiss him, which would often lead to fits of giggles.
However, as I entered my teenage years, my crushes took a more androgynous turn. British bands like Depeche Mode and the Cure, with their teased hair and makeup, captivated me with their subtly subversive masculinity. Real-life boys couldn’t compare. My romantic journey could have been titled “I Was Told There Would Be Eyeliner.”
Then, I discovered Catherine Deneuve’s portrayal of the nightclubbing vampiress Miriam Blaylock in the film “The Hunger.” Kissing Shaun’s poster became kissing a shy Goth girl under a poster of the film hanging in her bedroom. Nevertheless, one never forgets their first crush, and Shaun, with his faunlike appearance, remained the perfect gateway crush.
My second encounter with Shaun came about because of rats. Two years ago, I saw one of his tweets that featured a text from his wife mentioning their “rat problem.” Shaun playfully captioned it, “She is such a romantic.” A former teen idol turned Wife Guy? That was something I had to follow. Four of my friends joined me in following him on Twitter, which birthed the Shaun Squad.
When the New York show of Shaun’s solo performance, “Magic of a Midnight Sky,” was announced, one Squad member, Joy, secured tickets immediately, while Lynn reached out to his tour manager, vowing to arrange a meet-and-greet. I doubted the possibility, but a part of me held onto the fantasy.
As we entered the crowded venue, our hopes of meeting Shaun began to fade. Monica had just gotten a keratin treatment, leaving her hair looking glossy and perfect. Marjorie created her Shaun tank top using iron-on transfer paper and even made “Shaun Squad” friendship bracelets reminiscent of Swifties. We felt disappointed as we sipped our $18 cocktails when suddenly, the tour manager appeared.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said. “But we have to be quick.”
We bypassed the crowd of women clutching vintage Shaun memorabilia and made our way up an elevator and down a narrow hallway to the dressing room. And there he stood, tall with a mix of blond and gray hair. Gone was the shiny disco-era outfit, replaced by a black button-down and jeans. It was Shaun Freakin’ Cassidy, the object of our affection.
As an extrovert, I’ve approached clerks in convenience stores and asked for their Instagram handles within minutes of meeting them. But on this occasion, I couldn’t summon that boldness. I watched as my fellow Shaun Squad members took their turns. They snapped photos, got autographs, and engaged in conversations. Shaun’s deep voice was a delightful rumble during their interactions.
And then, it was my turn to step forward. I felt bewildered as Shaun opened his arms. What was happening? Were we hugging? We were hugging! It wasn’t a wild embrace. Instead, it was a brief and friendly hug followed by a pat on the back. Yet, that fleeting moment produced enough dopamine to make me feel numb for the rest of the night.
Shaun’s performance was excellent, regardless of any fan bias. It blended songs and stories seamlessly. Given the rampant nature of celebrity culture in the 1970s, it’s a wonder Shaun survived the intense scrutiny of teen stardom. He tactfully shared stories of female fans tearing out his hair and his father joking about renting out Shaun’s childhood bedroom when it seemed his fame would surpass his father’s. He also paid a touching tribute to his late brother David, who passed away at the age of 67 in 2017.
Shaun made it clear that he wasn’t coasting on past success. He successfully transitioned from teen idol to television writer and producer. His cultural impact was significant enough that he even branded his wine “My First Crush.” Writing about an innocent crush as a fangirl can feel silly, as it invites gendered contempt. Female fandom, especially within the Top 40 realm, tends to be dismissed. In contrast, men can passionately discuss Bruce Springsteen chord progressions or Wilco setlists without judgment. Queer fandom often goes unnoticed. However, fandom is not limited by gender or demographics. Every individual’s admiration deserves respect.
One viral video, in particular, comes to mind, capturing a subway car full of New Yorkers unabashedly singing the Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way.” It’s a reminder that we shouldn’t feel pressured to have such mature tastes that we miss out on the joy of things we truly love.
In the punk band Fugazi’s song “Bad Mouth,” Ian MacKaye sang, “You can’t be what you were. So you better start being just what you are.” As a young woman, I embraced those lines as a rallying cry, fueled by a resistance to nostalgia and sentimentality. However, my perspective has shifted since then.
On my drive home from the show, I played “That’s Rock ‘n’ Roll” on repeat. I knew that many of my friends were attending a Cure concert that same night, experiencing their own nostalgia. It reminded me that nostalgia doesn’t have to hinder us; it can serve as a bridge between who we were and who we are now. Through the magic of fandom, we can simultaneously exist in both stages of our lives – the sensible adult and the passionate fan. The sun and the supernova, all it takes is a song to transport us there.
That’s the essence of a crush. That’s nostalgia. That’s rock ‘n’ roll.
Lily Burana, author of “Grace for Amateurs: Field Notes on a Journey Back to Faith” and three other books, beautifully captures the bittersweet and transformative power of fandom.
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