What I saw inside the Harry Styles mosh pit warmed my heart

Sequins, tears and feathers. That’s what surrounds me in the mosh pit at the Harry Styles concert. I’m 52 years old and somehow I’ve got swept up in the euphoria of the (mainly) teenage girls who all scream and hold their smartphones in the air, poised to document every moment.

My youngest daughter has convinced me to get these standing-room, open-air tickets. “Mum, it’s once in a lifetime. When will we ever see Harry like this? I can’t be far away from him when there’s a chance to be close.”

Jessica Rowe and her daughter at the Harry Styles concert in Sydney.

To get here, the pair of us had followed a never-ending trail of rainbow feathers, my daughter running ahead to join the crowd of pink cowboy hats, boas and sparkly pants alongside watermelon and banana costumes, me struggling to keep up despite wearing my practical sneakers. But my shortness of breath has less to do with running and more to do with the joyful mass of young people. Never did I expect to be moved like this waiting for a concert.

Everyone is damp and sweaty from a recent downpour and, dressed in a waterproof silver foil poncho, I look like a baked potato – the daggy mum amid a sea of jewels and fuchsia. A young woman uses my drinks tray to stop her pink hair dye from running. Others huddle together, stretching their clear ponchos overhead. My daughter scrunches her pink raincoat into her tote and throws herself joyfully into the rain, her face jewels sliding down her cheeks.

I hear snatches of conversation about Harry’s song list, the outfits he’s already worn on tour, who he’ll chat with in the crowd. There are compliments about one another’s ensembles. You know how much I love a chat, so I join in as my daughter rolls her eyes at me!

Although Harry still isn’t on stage, our phones have almost run out of charge capturing all the build-up. But our new pink-haired friend offers her mobile charger so my daughter won’t miss out on recording the concert.

“Don’t you want to just be in the moment, darling?” I ask. “See him, rather than record him?”

“Mum, you don’t get it. He could be right there,” she says, pointing to the corner of the stage. “I need to get that!”

Suddenly the stage lights start flashing, the music starts pumping and everyone around me starts jumping and screaming. I can’t help but join in this frenzied blur. If I thought it was loud before, the volume of screaming now makes my whole body vibrate.

“Harrrrryyyyyyyy, I love you,” I hear my daughter scream. And it’s not just her. Everyone is screaming. Like a meerkat, I try to peer over all the phones lighting up the night sky. OMG! There he is! Harry, shining in a yellow and blue Gucci suit with large silver sequins. Even more eye-catching are his cheeky smile and his swagger as he makes his way across the stage.

Harry strides, struts, spins, then stops and talks to a fan about her cat! She shares her screen-saver photo of Pudding with 85,000 people.

“Hiiiiiii Harry! Hellloooooo!” I’m aware it’s my voice I can hear joining the screams. I wave my hands madly in the air, accidentally banging the top of someone’s phone. My mosh-pit companion doesn’t mind. She laughs with me as we’re caught up in this crazy moment together.

Everyone apart from me knows the words to every song. As they scream, spin and jump with each track, the exhilaration and fun are infectious and I must join in. My baked potato poncho is soon scrunched up with my daughter’s raincoat and the mauve-feathered jacket I’ve been wearing underneath starts looking a little wilted from all the excitement.

Dressed in a waterproof silver foil poncho, Rowe says she looked like a “baked potato”.

Harry strides, struts, spins, then stops and talks to a fan about her cat! She shares her screen-saver photo of Pudding with 85,000 people. Could this man get any better? He’s putting the spotlight on cats! He also helps a young woman come out to her family. Love, acceptance and celebration roar through the stadium. I get it, I see why Harry Styles is so special to so many people. And how he’s created a movement of “Harries”, a term I’ve learnt from my new-found friends.

Once the screaming is over and Harry vanishes into the night, the kindness and joy are still viral as we wait patiently to get onto the platform and then into a crammed train.

A young woman sits on the floor and takes off her muddied white boots. Rifling through her shimmering purse, she pulls out three phone chargers. One has some battery power left; she hands it to my daughter so she can relive precious moments.

I reckon I could call myself a part of the “Harries” if it means belonging to this special sisterhood.

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