The Church of Trisha Paytas
I Went to Trish's Eras Tour and Left a Believer
On Sunday, I went to the sold-out Trisha Paytas: Eras of Trish tour at the Greek Theatre.
To my surprise, no one was there to point and laugh.
Instead, it felt like church. A congregation in Juicy Couture tracksuits and rhinestones, clutching their iPhones like rosaries.
In front of me, three friends dressed as Troy Bolton, a nod to Trisha’s 2019 drag video. Next to them, a man in a padded GG bra and a hot-pink rhinestone minidress.
We weren’t just here for a show.
We came to be saved.
I first found Trisha’s YouTube channel in middle school.
In seventh grade, I didn’t know how to make friends. I hated my body. Most days, I ate lunch alone in the single-stall bathroom with the fan on so no one could hear me, and watched Trisha on my iPod Touch.
She wept on her kitchen floor, whispered confessions into her vlog camera about her time as a stripper, pretended to be a Starbucks barista, and consumed 10,000 calories of Cheesecake Factory fettucine alfredo.
She never pretended to be okay.
And for the first time, I felt like I didn’t have to either.
Around that age, I learned the worst thing you can be called as a girl is a fat slut.
Over the years, I’ve been called both by strangers and by people I loved.
And judging by the quiet tenderness in the crowd at the Greek, I wasn’t the only one.
Trisha’s gospel is simple: there is life after humiliation.
She walked onstage in a feathered rhinestone onesie that sparkled like armor.
“I’m the fattest I’ve ever been,” she said.
“And I’ve never been happier.”
This is a woman who once sat on the kitchen floor and tearfully declared, “I am a chicken nugget.”
Who uploaded a vlog titled “Liposuction Recovery: Graphic Warning” and showed every bruise.
Who live-streamed herself sobbing in a pink Versace robe after being ghosted, then uploaded five more videos analyzing what went wrong.
And in the age of Ozempic, TikTok therapy speak, and trad wives, she proclaimed:
“You’re telling me there’s a shot… that makes you SKINNY?! Three years ago I would've sold my soul for that. Now? I don’t even want it. Like, who cares.”
She opened with Bet On It from High School Musical, dressed as Zac Efron.
She performed tracks from her most iconic eras: Chicken Fingers and Lipo. I Love You, Jesus. Sad Boy 2005.
Then the music stopped. And she started talking.
About being 5150’d.
About doing meth.
About waking up every day wanting to die.
About losing brand deals, boyfriends, and her mind.
About dating two men who overdosed within weeks of each other.
She talked about being diagnosed with borderline personality disorder.
About being told she’d never be stable.
Never be loved.
And then she talked about her husband, Moses, the man who loved her anyway.
After she performed her original song, Lullaby, for their daughters, Malibu Barbie and Elvis, she and Moses did the gender reveal for their third child live onstage.
She cried.
“I didn’t think anyone would ever love me,” she said.
“And now I love me.”
Tears slid down my face.
Everyone deserves a love like that.
But more than that, everyone deserves to be themselves.
The world can be so cruel.
But that night, Trisha wasn’t a joke.
She was a prophet in stripper heels.
Arms outstretched. Rhinestones blazing. Ready to be nailed to the cross.
A woman who’d been publicly ridiculed, relentlessly dissected, and still chose to stand in front of us, defiantly alive.
I’ve never seen a crowd lose their minds like they did on Sunday. I’ve seen the Rolling Stones in concert three times, and Trish made Mick Jagger look like a mall Santa.
At the very end of the show, she played a video from 2012.
She starts:
“One day, each and every one of us will cease to exist on this earth.
And hopefully, our souls will be up in heaven.”“If there is one message I want to leave as my legacy, it’s this:
to love one another. To not have hate in this world.”
She then sang This Friendly World by Fabian while a montage played behind her: old YouTube clips, her wedding, her daughters’ births.
And her closing message:
“Go out there and spread the love. Keep on smiling. And have a wonderful life—because you deserve it.”
Trisha Paytas is what I spent my entire girlhood trying not to become: too loud, too damaged, too hungry.
And she’s still here.
Not asking for forgiveness.
Not trying to sell us a self-help book or a glow-up routine.
Just… here.
And for that, thank you, Trish, for reminding us that a happy life doesn’t have to be perfect.
God help me, I believe her.
I really do.
I’ve never heard of her but I’m going to look her up now. ❤️