Loving Ed Sheeran in My Fabulous Forties

Pop Culture

Loving Ed Sheeran in My Fabulous Forties

Illustration: Akshita Monga/Arré


y name is Priya, I’m 40 plus and I’ve been a Sheerio for two years and three months.

What? It’s not a crime to fancy the same bloke your teenage daughter does, especially when it’s not some ripped, testosterone-dripping, expletive-dropping, spiky-haired pretty face (no offence, Teddy, you have a pretty heart). Also, what’s not to like? The kid sings with his heart on his sleeve, his lyrics are totally comprehensible, the emotion is raw (in a good way), his voice is fabulous, and his personality is so refreshingly tousled and just-rolled-out-of-bed honest. And FYI, I have company. Lots of it. The mommies at the Divide concert were pretty upfront about grooving to the shape of Sheeran. The alpha daddies pretended to wear pained expressions at having to escort their minors, but their hips gave them away. Hips don’t lie, remember pops?