Beyoncé and me: How I ended up on stage with Queen Bey herself

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“Beyoncé has requested you,” the crew member told me minutes before I was escorted to the VIP booth, a raised platform on the stage with Queen Bey herself. I didn’t believe it then; I’m not sure if I ever will. How did this happen?

I was supposed to be in the nosebleed section. I almost didn’t even go to the concert. I bought a resold ticket for $302 to go with my mom, who in the end couldn’t make it.

I live right by the Rogers Centre in Toronto, so I’d hoped Beyoncé would open the arena’s retractable roof. But unlike the Ed Sheeran and Khalid concerts I watched for free from my balcony earlier this summer, the Queen didn’t comply on Saturday. “Even if you go alone or sit in the worst seat, who cares?” my mom said over the phone.

And so, there I was for Beyoncé's second show the next night, hearing her tell me she liked my silly T-shirt, smiling directly at me throughout the night. Far too many strokes of serendipity had to occur for me to end up there.

The VIP section to which I was upgraded – the Pure/Honey On-Stage Riser – is no joke. Tickets are valued at more than $4,000, with some selling for upwards of $8,000. People pilgrimage from all over the world for a spot, booking seats months in advance. They’ve been doing this throughout Beyoncé's Renaissance tour, which spent May and June in Europe before kicking off its North American leg in Toronto this past weekend.

These superfans call themselves the BeyHive, and I was watching the show with about 50 of them. I met people who travelled from small towns in Nigeria and Argentina, bigger cities like Washington and Paris, and sat next to a couple who made the short trip from Kitchener, Ont. (The husband bought tickets and booked a hotel nearby for his wife’s birthday – good luck next year, buddy.) We had special cocktails at a dedicated bar, our own private bathrooms, a concierge to escort us around the stadium and an incredible view of the dazzling show, which critics have hailed as one of the best tours in history.

But I kept thinking the whole night: Am I the only one who got upgraded? And if so, why? The more people I talked to, the more elusive the answers became. It seemed everyone in that section had paid good money to be there.

When I first entered the venue, I bought some merch, snacks and a drink at the stands on the second floor. As I was about to head to my spot in the farthest corner of the stadium, all the way in the fifth rung of the nearly 49,000 seats, a crew member approached me.

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He was wearing a Toronto Blue Jays shirt and lanyard. He said he worked for the Rogers Centre. He asked if I was there on my own. I told him I was. We chatted for a bit, and then he took me to a quieter corner. There, as I stood in awe of what was happening, he opened a manila envelope, pulled out a new ticket and swiftly placed a wristband on my arm.

I guess Willy Wonka isn’t the only one handing out golden tickets.

Later, as the lights dimmed before her second act, when Beyoncé, uh, complimented my shirt, another question popped up in my head: Was this upgrade because of what I was wearing?

My outfit really wasn’t that fancy, especially compared to what others were all glitzed out in. It was just a pink bandana tied like a headband, a comfy pair of Nike shorts and sneakers, and a top I’d bought on sale. This was the cleanest shirt on my laundry day, but also felt the most fitting to wear, with the pink, purple and blue bisexual flag colours on the front. After all, Beyoncé's album Renaissance, dedicated to her late uncle Johnny, is all about queer joy.

In an attempt to help me process the whole frenzy, I started digging further, as any Globe journalist would. I reached out to the Rogers Centre, Toronto Blue Jays and Live Nation, which arranged the concert that day.

Andrea Goldstein, vice-president of communications for the Blue Jays, which is owned by Rogers Communications Inc. and plays its home games at the Rogers Centre, was glad I had a great experience. But in a brief statement, Goldstein said her team would pass at the opportunity to provide any comment beyond that. Live Nation did not respond to e-mails or calls.

So, I started looking elsewhere. Surely, such upgrades happen often at large-scale events like this, and maybe they happened to people other than me that night. I tried to find those other lucky ones, perhaps on the opposite side of the stage, where there was another, even smaller VIP booth. Eventually, I landed on the TikTok account of Chantal Babin, a woman I recalled seeing at the concert – I remembered her because of what she was wearing.

How could anyone forget that outfit? It was a near-exact replica that she made of one of Beyoncé's custom-made bodysuits, bejewelled with crystals and strategically placed hand motifs, each decorated with long red nails.

I spammed Babin with comments on a TikTok video she posted, showing off her seat on the Side A Pure/Honey On-Stage Riser. I was seated on Side B. Both of these VIP booths are nods to Beyoncé's song Pure/Honey.

She promptly responded to my messages. Turns out, Babin had been upgraded to her seat much like I was. She was originally supposed to sit quite far back, too. But Babin went to both shows on the weekend, dolled up in hopes of getting scouted. She researched for months, knowing that a few rare upgrades had occurred in Europe. The thousands of BeyHive chat-room and social-media threads she read made her believe that if she dressed the part, she’d get the golden ticket. “It became my mission,” she said.

On Saturday, she kept asking crew members about an upgrade. Nobody budged. Then, Sunday happened.

As she was walking around the stadium in her unique bodysuit, Babin was approached by a woman wearing a Beyoncé lanyard. She first asked Babin not to freak out. Then she said Beyoncé needed to see her outfit. Shortly after, Babin was on stage with Queen Bey winking at her, telling her how much she liked what she was wearing.

Babin’s outfit made several appearances on the gigantic screens, aimed to reach the farthest corners of the arena.

It wasn’t just Babin, though. She went to the concert with a friend, who was upgraded to the VIP booth along with her, contradicting my theory that night about empty solo seats needing to be filled. “My friend’s not even like a big Beyoncé fan. She just tagged along with me. But she left the concert crying,” Babin said.

“This whole thing was like electricity. I’m not sure if I’ll ever live to top an experience like this,” she told me.

Same here, Babin. Same here.