Almost Famous at 25: A Movie, A Song + Journal Entry That Changed Everything

syn devereaux
Sep 28, 2025
14 min read

Almost Famous, Djo, + the Band-Aid Mixtape — How Music Builds a Life + Legacy: As a fan. As a band-aid.

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Nostalgia & the Power of Music=Memory

"We are not groupies. Groupies sleep with rock stars because they want to be near someone famous. We are here because of the music, we inspire the music. We are Band Aids." — Penny Lane

I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve. A deep feeler and overly-sensitive. Being a child of the 90s, it’s hard not to be someone who is deeply nostalgic. Anniversaries, ticket stubs, polaroids, and old art from elementary school fill dozens of shoe boxes in my closet.

The quote, “everything I’ve ever loved has claw marks in it,” comes to mind as I sift through memories and special dates that have come and gone recently. To be honest, it's never easy to let them go. Some memories I can still hold in my hands, while other ephemera slip away like early morning dreams when you don’t catch them quick enough.

My entire life, I've assigned meaning to the seemingly "meaningless." Everything has a place. Everything has a purpose. Everything matters. It always felt important to me to assign meaning because I knew what that felt like.

Looking back to some of my earliest childhood memories as a thirty-something, I can see with such clear vision that this was because I never felt like I knew what my place or purpose was. That I also mattered. Even in adulthood, I struggle with this. But it’s gotten easier over the years, and I hold that inner eight-year-old close when she feels those all-too-familiar feelings.

Almost Famous: Finding Myself in Film

September feels like a big month, both personally and not. Seasons are changing. Things are happening. Here at BAM HQ, we love hard and hold on tight to the things that mean something to us. Almost Famous just celebrated 25 years since debuting at box offices in 2000. That movie— a pinnacle staple now in the pop culture zeitgeist— has been the missing piece not just for us at the band-aid mixtape, but for so many like us.

Admittedly, I think I was in my 20s when I first watched it, but immediately I found myself in it. I saw myself in Penny. In William. All the bandaids themselves. Even Russell Hammond who was trying to find his place in the world. I finally had a piece of media that allowed me to just… live. Breathe. Be true to who I was to my core: a deeply obsessed music nerd. See also: fangirl; bandaid.

I finally felt like my entire existence wasn’t a waste. That maybe, after all, I did fit somewhere in this great cosmic puzzle we call life. I’ve always been a writer— yes. But more so, I have always loved deeply, regardless of if it was a silly boy band, my friends, or my childhood cat— I have always given the same amount of love. All or nothing to the things that mattered to me. Music has been no different.

I’d like to think I’m equal parts Penny and William, with a dash of Sapphire’s fire. Growing up, I spent my life thinking that this was a fault and something to be ashamed of. Always hearing, “why are you so obsessed with xyz?” “why can’t you be normal about anything?” Blah, blah, blah. Watching this film for the first time was like hitting the mute button on years of hearing the same thing.

"They don't even know what it is to be a fan. Y'know? To truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band, so much that it hurts." Sapphire, my girl, you get me. I had never felt so seen, and the truth is— I still do every time I rewatch it.

Music as Solace

As a lifelong fangirl, I’ve spent chunks of my life obsessing over Backstreet Boys, Good Charlotte, Simple Plan, the Jonas Brothers, One Direction, Taylor Swift—the list goes on. Growing up in an abusive household, music was my solace. My safest place. Where I felt understood and seen.

I remember being eight years old, hearing “In The End” by Linkin Park for the first time and feeling understood. It just carried on from there. I’d spend hours up on the roof of my childhood home or deep in the mesquite trees hiding with my little pink iPod nano (or touch) blasting the grittiest guitar imaginable. (Now my hearing pays for it.)

Thank god I had this. I truly believed that music has saved my ass more times than I can count. I would probably be dead in a ditch somewhere, or down a very different path, if it weren’t for music and the communities I’ve been able to be a part of.

The Moment That Changed Everything

A year ago today, I was at a birthday party for someone I didn’t know with a friend and her parents, and little did I know then that it would change my entire life trajectory.

I brought my journal with me— as I always do— and kept staring at this cobalt blue and black balloon arch. Every time I’d look at it, End of Beginning by Djo would play in my head. I couldn’t really understand why until out of nowhere, like a bolt of lightning, an idea so strong hit me:

A “META IDEA” for a music video/fan project. At this point, the song was everywhere. It had already been out for two years and was having its viral moment through social media. It had always been a personal favorite of mine since the album was released. I scribbled violently and messily in my journal, telling my friend and her parents to let me be in my bubble— that I was “cooking.”

They laughed and left me to it. They were all learning my whimsy and madness that would leak out of me in times like this. Ten minutes later, I finished. I closed my journal. That was that. I didn’t really revisit it until January of this year when, just like when I wrote the idea down, something struck me, and I knew I had to do something insane:

Reach out and try to get this off the ground. I swear, I looked into an invisible camera like The Office and said out loud to no one, “That’s it. THAT’S. IT.” And there it was. Something that gave me purpose. Gave me meaning. I knew from the jump it was bigger than me or Djo. The rich layers and how everything was just worked— I knew this would be something the fans would lose their minds over. I know that because I too am a fan. It felt like I really had lightning in a bottle.

And you know what— maybe I did. Still do. I spent the next two months obsessively working on a pitch deck to send to Djo’s team. Making it so airtight that they couldn’t say no. Hindsight tells me that was not only incredibly naive but absolutely insane. My logic though? Why the fuck not? Anything worth doing is going to be challenging, and I believed— still do!— so deeply in this project and what it represented for fans and for Djo.

“But Syn— what does this have to do with Almost Famous turning 25 years old?” Great question, and I promise I’ll get there! At the time of me doing this, I knew one person in the Djo community. I wasn’t dialed in. I wasn’t in any group chat or following any fan accounts. Hell, it wasn’t even until last year that I finally learned and listened to his entire discography. I really was going in blind. Purely feeling-based, and I wasn’t going to let it go.

From Idea to Band-Aid Mixtape

I spent most of February and March tweaking the pitch deck and sending an obnoxious (but respectful!) amount of emails to Djo’s team. I knew I looked cringe, and as my best friend Mavis would say later, “you looked cringe in the face and said, ‘fuck you.’” Yeah, I guess I kinda did. It wasn’t until late March that I finally got an email back. Although it wasn’t the email I had hoped for,

I count my lucky stars for it every day because without it, I wouldn’t have pivoted the idea and met Lauren— my OG co-conspirator in all this. It was about a week of our late-night, four-plus-hour calls that The Band-Aid Mixtape was born.

And thank. FUCKING. God for that.

A Life Woven With Music

Almost Famous has been my favorite movie since I first watched it (still have no idea when that was). So much so, when I lived in California and was making candles, I made an AF line with Penny Lane, Tiny Dancer, + Golden God. They smell like you walked straight into the movie itself.

Maybe one day they’ll be on the BAM website, who knows. My left arm has Tiny Dancer tattooed in delicate ink, and hilariously— I swear on my cats and Harry Styles himself— right as my artist Brian was ready to touch the needle to skin, Tiny Dancer came on shuffle. Completely unplanned, serendipitously so.

It’s safe to say this movie is so woven into my life for so long, it’s hard to know where the line between me and it ends and begins. When I left LA to move to the central coast, my going-away party was Almost Famous-themed. My friend and guitar teacher, Dan, was so kind to offer up his backyard and projector for us to watch. We sang and cried during the Tiny Dancer scene, a bittersweet moment I hold close.

Seeing the movie at Hollywood Forever Cemetery was also a huge highlight for me personally. Watching it in a place where so many rock legends are buried along side just the sheer fact we were in a cemetery is another memory I hold so close. The sense of community that this film continues to bring— and has brought to my life pre-Band-Aid Mixtape— is unbelievably special to me.

Since we officially launched the Band-Aid Mixtape in April, a lot has changed and happened internally and externally. People we thought were close to us left, and that hurt. But we met new people and learned to trust again, both changing us fundamentally as individuals, as friends, and as a “business.”

It hasn’t been easy by any means. We unfortunately saw a side of fandom culture I’ve never experienced before and wish to never again— a putrid pox that still hurts if I allow myself to think about it too long. The experience left me questioning my place in the world. Wondering if my life even matters at the end of the day. If this is what I’m supposed to be doing, etc. I’ve fought imposter syndrome since January— wondering if this was worth doing. If I was good enough. If they’d take me seriously. The online chatter and hate only fueling that fire.

There’s a toxicity in fandom culture that no one talks about. And although part of me wants to air that out— I’m not going to. This isn’t the time or place. But I will say this: this past summer was essential to our growth— for Band-Aid, for me, for Lauren. Lauren and I are closer than ever, and she lives in Australia. There’s not a day that goes by that we don’t talk, and we finally get to meet in a matter of days and get to see the music that brought us together live. I’m already crying about it and she hasn’t even landed.

I think because I love so hard, it’s why this summer broke me so badly. People I trusted with everything that swore to protect me and my “whimsy”— gone. Like that. Siding with the very person they swore to protect me from. All while painting me as a villain in a narrative that simply isn’t true. I am a self proclaimed orphan and my friendships are my family. They’re unbelievably sacred to me. I haven’t been able to wrap my head fully around the drive that people have to be unkind and hurtful, all because they can. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. Or get over it.

But regardless, as much as it’s hurt and taken from me, it’s given me something no one can ever take away from me. It reaffirmed that it hurt because it mattered. It mattered because it's the very blueprint of my emotional DNA.

While there is toxicity, there’s also— on the flip side— the most intense, wholesome love I’ve ever experienced. Some of my closest, most cherished friendships have grown from a shared love of music. Let me name them, because names matter— and they matter to deeply:

Lindsey. Tayler. Jaimi. Cynthia. Rose. Rachel. Mavis. Jaqie. Abbey. Lucia. Margaux. Chell. Neicey. Amy. Amelia. Trisha. Jordan. Sydnee. Shyiel. Paige. Dan. Cassie. Lauren. Taylor. Eli. J + G. Ryan. Cassi. Damon. Zack. Mahsa. Rob. Sarah. Ryan. Taylor. Meghan. And so many more.

My fellow Band-Aids. My music-obsessed community. My fucking people. People I’ve loved and people I’ve lost. My life has been forever changed by these friendships over the past two decades. I wouldn’t be who I am today without these people. It’s as sacred as the blood in my veins.

I’ve watched friends get married. Have babies. Break up. Move cross country. More babies. Half of these people I’ve never met in person— yet these bonds cannot be broken. Some I talk to every day. Some only twice a year. But the love? Always there. End of fucking story.

Community, Gratitude, + Legacy

And of course, I’d be remiss to say that beyond friendships, it’s imperative to include the artists we’ve featured and connected with since launching. I’m a firm believer that music finds you exactly when and where you’re supposed to have it. Some I found through odd corners like my tiktok FYP and others found through other artists I follow. Regardless of how we found them– I am forever grateful to connect and share music that makes me feel with others.

Culli._, Sungaze, Post Animal, Erin LeCount, Cassandra Coleman, Black Jeans— and even transporting back to our middle school selves with Good Charlotte.

And of course— Djo. The song that brought us all together. We have so many more in the pipeline and I feel like in the digital age we’re in now, that list will never end. Praise Digby.

It’s hard to believe a movie can change a person’s life the way Almost Famous has changed mine. It’s hard to believe that an idea— one that hits you so randomly at a birthday party— can change you just as profoundly. Without these two things (and honestly, a whole lot of in-between), I wouldn’t be who I am today, and the Band-Aid Mixtape wouldn’t exist.

I think a large part of why this film sits so incredibly tender in people's hearts is because this is a lived experience. Not just of Cameron— but for the people like him who get it. The same people who have grown up uncool or too obsessed. It’s as much a loose autobiography as it is a handbook for fellow music nerds. We find ourselves in it so deeply because we’re more connected than people think. Music is that connective tissue and with it we’re all able to breathe and be ourselves. Cringe and mess included.

Over the summer while in Chicago at the Room 29 Djo pop-up, I was lucky enough to talk to Djo’s manager, Nick, who sent that initial email in March. I got to talk with him and tell him thank you and what it has meant to Lauren and I that it even happened. It was a direct cause and effect, full circle moment and I am forever blessed for it.

While also at the pop-up, I talked with fans about what being in Chicago to see Djo meant to them— Lolla, the after show at The Salt Shed, the pop-up. I heard stories about what the music meant to people, and after feeling like I was doing everything wrong for two months, I quickly realized this was what it was all about: Community. Love. Friendship. Music. Connection.

That afternoon at the Dark Matter warehouse where the pop-up was held, during some down time, I walked over to Sam Jordan— guitarist in Djo’s band as well as lifelong best friend of Joe himself. Two nights before, I was about two or three people behind barricade, stage left where Sam was. I walked over to talk to him about his epic guitar playing and what being in Chicago that week meant and felt like for everyone. At the end of the day, it wasn’t me, a fan talking to someone famous— no.

Something far more special and religious if you ask me. It was simply two people geeking out (hard!) and sharing what the music that’s brought us all together means to us. He not only knew who we as Bandaid were, but saw us. Me.

I met some of my favorite people and best friends that week. But most importantly: I found myself. A testament to the fact that yeah, maybe I have always been the weird girl that I was in high school. Writing in her journals. Yearning out bus windows. Standing behind a camera for yearbook, archiving the ache and dreaming of moving to New York. Working at a magazine— dreams I’ve long carried since I was a teenager. Now I’m fucking doing it. Sixteen year old me preens inside knowing this is where we end up at 32. We never really grew up and it was never really a phase.

25 Years Later: Still Band-Aids, Still Uncool

After everything that’s happened this summer— the high-highs and low-lows— returning to New York from Chicago and seeing THE cameronbcrowe follow us on Instagram at 1:24am was the highlight of my entire fucking year. So much so, I sent a thirteen minute screeching voice memo to my group chat freaking out,

hyperventilating, stuttering, crying. What greater confirmation— and gift!— to receive during an incredibly hard time when you feel like you’re doing everything wrong. The man that started it all. The Godfather of music journalism. William Miller, IRL. Without him, my life would be drastically different. I truly can’t underscore that enough.

Bandaid is something I wish to never take for granted. The love, community, and sanctity of being a music-obsessed person in this world that often goes misunderstood is my lifeline. My fellow bandaids, the music that ties us all together— it lights something in me that, at a certain point, I was almost positive would flicker out.

We’ve only been around for about five months, but we plan to be here a whole lot longer— building something devotional, something holy, that lasts. A space that brings community, integrity, safety, and belonging to those who have been searching for it, just like we have.

We continue to learn and grow every day, making mistakes and learning as we go. We won’t always get it right, but we’re here— and we’ll keep doing what we do best: screaming, crying, throwing up, snapping shitty, blurry iPhone photos from the pit, and leaning on the people who get us most. We’re here, doing our best, one day at a time with nothing but heart, love and liner notes.

All of it is done with immeasurable love, whimsy, and enough emotion to power the sun. We hope to offer solace to those still searching, and empathy to those who’ve gone without it. There will always be a door open here for anyone looking for belonging, kindness, and connection.

To be here today, one year later from writing that idea down— I never in a million years would have thought this is where I’d be. With all the good, the bad, the ugly— I couldn’t imagine my life any different. As hard and brutal as it’s been with long nights and too many tears, to be here, writing this a year later feels immensely earned.

I don’t think I’ve loved or believed in myself more in my life, all to champion something that means so much to me and now so many others. I think this is what people call “being an artist looks like”. I am proud beyond measure. I know I belong because I’ve fought to be here.

To Music, Whimsy + Pure Chaos

So cheers to chasing your dreams. Cheers to being insane with an idea and running with it until the wheels fall off. Cheers to leaning back on your friends. Cheers to endings. Cheers to beginnings. Cheers to being so unapologetically authentic and yourself. Cheers to being cringe. And you know what else? Cheers to the haters.

Because at the end of the day, Almost Famous taught us 25 years ago— we’re not just fans, we’re Band-Aids. How we care not about the music, but the people behind the music— the audio techs, the engineers, the tour managers, etc— without them, none of this exists. The fucking feeling music evokes so deeply that everyone can connect to. It’s not about clout or access or fame— something that the three of us are all highly allergic to— we’re here to feel. To share. “To truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band, so much that it hurts."

And to be honest, that still fucking means something.

If I’ve learned anything throughout all this, it’s that some things never change. Sometimes you grow into your destiny— weird yearbook girl and all.

Even 25 years later, it’s still all happening and I am finally, finally, fucking home.