When I signed on for New Balance’s media trip to the Australian Open, I knew I was in for a once-in-a-lifetime type of adventure. However, I did not anticipate ending up backstage at an Aminé concert with the rapper, his tour crew, the one and only Coco Gauff, and her German tennis player pal, Eva Lys.
Let’s rewind, shall we?
I arrived in Melbourne, Australia at around 10 a.m. that morning after a 30-plus hour journey from New York City. (Many Harry Potter films were re-watched, and an alarming amount of sugar was consumed.) By the time I stepped outside the Melbourne airport and was greeted by a warm breeze and a vibrant, AO 2026-themed Melbourne sign, I already felt like I was lucid dreaming. “Jet lag is a choice,” Taylor Swift once said. I attempted to embrace that ambitious mindset.
First on the agenda: welcome drinks at the New Balance pop-up store at Melbourne Park, a stunning, two-story space with cozy couches and a perfect view of AO crowds buzzing below. As I sipped my mandatory basic-girl rosé, I spotted New Balance ambassadors Aminé and Storm Reid casually strolling in, trailed by photographers. My jaw, unfortunately, forgot to remain professional and hit the floor. After all, I’m a Euphoria stan and several of Aminé’s hits were the stars of my college pre-game playlists. Fangirl first, journalist second… sue me. Before I knew it, I was posing for photos with the rapper and the actress, and showering them with compliments in my jet lag and rosé-induced haze. I shudder at the memory of my deeply astute, “Wow, this is crazy,” observation.
Following a high-energy, very sunny Aminé show at Melbourne Park, our crew grabbed dinner at a trendy Asian fusion restaurant. Someone remarked that it would probably be “way too much” for me to go to the concert after my travels and busy first day in Australia. I was lost. What concert? I’d just attended the concert on the schedule. Evidently, Aminé also had a headline show that day at Forum Melbourne — and since I fully committed to the “yes, and” philosophy, jet lag be damned, I was all in.
An hour or so later, I wound up in the VIP section, bopping to “Spice Girl” and “Vacay” with a drink in hand and a grin plastered on my face. It was maybe five or six songs into the show when I glanced to my left, and there she was. Coco Gauff, in a green T-shirt and light-wash jeans, looking stunning with some light glam and her newly ginger hair down. She was vibing carefree to the music like any other 20-something fan in there. Except, you know, she was about to compete in a Grand Slam and the rest of us most definitely were not. My system did not have the capacity to process such a powerful presence, so I decided I would play it cool and keep my distance. What does one say to the greatest American tennis player in a setting like that? Let me know.
That plan unraveled quickly when an iconic PR girl ushered me backstage after the show with no warning and no time to emotionally prepare. “Imposter Syndrome” takes on a whole new meaning when you find yourself in a room with Aminé, his boys, Coco Gauff, and fellow pro tennis player, Eva Lys. (Later in the week, Coco mentioned in a press conference that Eva is also a Heated Rivalry fan, so I just know we would all be best friends if I, too, were a gifted athlete. Tragically, there is not one agile bone in my body.)
For a few moments, I just stood there, frozen, trying to absorb the movie-esque scene around me without spiraling about how to proceed. Of course, I was swiftly jolted out of my comfort zone when the aforementioned PR girl pulled me into a circle with Coco and Eva. I remember uttering a few cringe words about how I’m a big fan, and it’s an honor, and yada yada. I remember Coco laughing, thanking me, and asking me where I’m from. I remember she was strikingly normal and chill. But mostly, those surreal few minutes are a complete blur, because WTF.
If I could get a redo on my first interaction with Coco, I’d probably take it. But alas, life is deliciously messy and unpredictable, and sometimes, you meet one of the world’s greatest athletes when you’re on day one in a foreign country, running on rosé and a dream.
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A few days later, I was a woman on a mission at Coco’s kit launch Q&A. The early-morning event, complete with a DJ, a manicure station, pastries, and a signature Coco smoothie (11/10), marked the debut of her new custom on-court kit — which, for the first time ever, is available for fans to purchase. The athlete wanted “something that felt powerful yet feminine,” with a marigold and periwinkle palette inspired by the Australian landscape.
Do not fuck up, I advised myself in a mental pep talk ahead of the Q&A. Be normal and professional and likable. Fortunately, this time around, I was well-rested, thoroughly caffeinated, and excited to ask Coco my question about her desire to be seen as more than “just” a tennis player, a sentiment she’s expressed on multiple occasions. The second the moderator opened the floor, my hand shot up, and I spoke confidently into the mic.
“Being a female athlete, people try to put you in a box,” she replied, thoughtfully. “I like to showcase my personality off the court, and I wanna leave an impact. I’d rather be known as more of an impactful person than a great tennis player, but hopefully, I can do both.” Needless to say, Coco is already an enormously impactful, multifaceted public figure, admired for her elite tennis skills as well as her bold style, political advocacy, and philanthropic work.
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On my last full day in Melbourne, I had the privilege of watching her play, and I’d equate the experience to, like, watching da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa. Each powerful backhand was an artistic stroke, composing a winning masterpiece. Coco crushed her first-round opponent, Kamilla Rakhimova (6-2, 6-3), to no one’s surprise. During my time at the AO, I was also incredibly lucky to witness top players Aryna Sabalenka and Carlos Alcaraz in action, plus a random performance from Cody Simpson ahead of their back-to-back matches. “Do you even know who that is?” the Australian press guy next to me asked, as if Cody is some niche local celebrity who didn’t dominate the pages of Tiger Beat circa 2010. “Yes, literally everyone knows who Cody Simpson is,” I assured him.
I regret to report that I’ve officially woken up from the Australian Open fever dream and returned to a particularly unforgiving New York winter. But at least I can look forward to being insufferable and telling this story 500 times.
