A shift in concert culture turns fans from participants into spectators of celebrity alliances

17 October 2025

Credit : Katja Ogrin/Redferns

In a recent essay in People, the author reflects on how concerts once created moments where the boundary between artist and audience felt porous and how today those moments are increasingly reserved for starring roles, celebrity cameos, and viral content. Back when Christina Aguilera might pull a fan onto the stage mid-song, or Gwen Stefani would end a set by inviting the crowd to dance with her, the ritual was part of the live experience and made fans feel central to the show. Those gestures worked because they were rooted in spontaneity and connection, not optics.

But in the current landscape, these participatory moments have evolved or devolved into performances built around surprise celebrity appearances. Artists now more often invite peers or well-known collaborators onto the stage rather than ordinary concertgoers. Sabrina Carpenter, for example, recently “arrested” Salma Hayek onstage for a bit; Charli XCX has made Gracie Abrams her “Apple girl”; and other artists have leaned into theatrics and curated surprises for maximum shareability. These are not missteps: they are precisely designed for virality, intended to stoke social media buzz more than to reward loyal fans in the audience.

The result is a widening emotional distance between fans and performers. When the highlight of a show becomes watching which celebrity will be wheeled onstage next, the regular fan sitting in the bleachers becomes a bystander to spectacle. The line between fandom and fandom theater begins to blur. As the article argues, the tradeoff is clear: fans invest time, money, emotion, and hope but in some cases, the concert feels less like it’s for them and more like it’s for someone else.

Yet nostalgia for the earlier era persists, and not just among older attendees. Some artists continue to resist the celebrity cameo trend. Dua Lipa wanders into the crowd and takes selfies with fans. Doechii brings a fan onstage to dance. Marcus Mumford has slipped into the rear sections and performed in the nosebleeds. And Taylor Swift, for her Eras Tour, at times defied the cameo expectations by handing a fan her “22” hat instead of inviting a celebrity guest. Those are reminders that the ethos of inclusion is not dead it’s just under pressure.

Part of the shift reflects how platform incentives redirect priorities. Social media rewards surprise, shareable content over sustained audience intimacy. It used to be that a fan being selected mid-concert created joy, inclusion, and word-of-mouth lore. Now, the prioritized moment is “Which famous face showed up tonight?” That shift changes what it feels like to attend live music.

Another factor is ticket economics. As prices balloon and access becomes more competitive, fans entering arenas do so with expectations, hopes, and sometimes frustrations. When the show’s setlist is tight, the lights are bright, and the moments for connection narrow, the decision to burn those few precious minutes on celebrity cameos feels like a calculated sacrifice. The opportunity cost of participation becomes steeper.

The article’s call to action is quiet but clear: bring back moments that feel like they are meant for the fans not for the feed. In a culture where streaming numbers, social metrics, and narrative optics often dominate, allowing real fans to feel seen, rewarded, and believed is itself a form of disruption. Concerts can still be kinetic, grand, theatrical and also vulnerable, generous, and human.

In the end the piece asks: What is the purpose of a live show? Is it to signal status or to share spirit? When the choices skew toward visibility over voice, concertgoers may begin to question whether they are fans or props. But if artists reclaim even a few gestures of inclusion, the magic remains possible.