I’m going to be upfront—I have a deep, long-running connection with the Haim sisters. I’m a year younger than Alana, Jewish, and also grew up in Los Angeles. While they were living in Calabasas and attending LACSA, a performing arts high school, I was living in the Pacific Palisades and living my best theatre kid life at Pali High. Still, I’m probably only a few degrees of separation from them and their friends.
Speaking of, two summers ago, when I was home for a month, my sister and I spotted Este at the J.Crew in Westfield Century City. I stood behind her in line while I bought a pair of hoops—she seemed to be arranging some kind of fitting session. We had barely made it outside the store before stopping to gush over how cool it was to be that close to the eldest Haim sister. My sister wanted to go back in and talk to her, but I didn’t want to bother her. That resolve vanished when we saw Danielle and Alana enter the store.
“We have to go talk to them!” she insisted. Her boldness surprised me, but I followed. The sisters were up front, browsing sweaters. “Congratulations on 10 years of Days Are Gone,” my sister said, catching their attention. They all turned around and responded in sync: “Oh my god, thank you!” I was frozen. “We’re sisters too!” my sister added. “Cute!” they replied.
Then my sister pulled out a name—someone we knew from Jewish summer camp—and directed it at Este. “Oh my god, yes!” she said, and just like that we were chatting. Alana even said she had wanted to go to our camp but their dad was afraid they’d “kiss boys.” We all laughed. “Oh, we did!” I said.
I mentioned that I saw them perform in the rain at Gov Ball 2017. “Wasn’t that such an awesome show?” one of them replied. The whole conversation felt like we’d run into friends at a party. This was during the Women in Music Pt. III era, which I was obsessed with. Their love for Canter’s Deli? Relatable. Their early hits—“Falling,” “Forever,” “The Wire”? Never gets old. I always bring up how underrated their second album Something To Tell You is. Basically, whatever they put out, I’m going to love.
I’ve seen them live whenever I can—whether opening for Lizzo at Radio City or from terrible seats at Madison Square Garden. They were a huge reason I went to Primavera Sound in Barcelona. Yes, the headliners were pop powerhouses, but Haim? They’re the Sanderson Sisters of pop (remember that video with Benito Skinner?).
So of course I signed up for their text subscription service. Monday afternoon, I got a message:
“new york!! HAPPY I QUIT WEEK!!!!! wanted to play you the new album early… you around tomorrow night? RSVP for access to tix. we love youuu!”
My friends make fun of me for texting back fast—but this time it paid off. The next day, I got a text:
“you’re in!!! see you tonight at 8:30PM at Cherry Lane Theater. claim your spot here to confirm
”
I assumed people would line up early to grab the best seats. After work, I headed to the West Village. No line yet, so I killed time in coffee shops, catching up on Love Island. Then at 6:30, another text:
“drinks before?? meet at the Blind Tiger at 8PM! put your drinks on Este’s tab and if you have a ticket for Cherry Lane, let’s walk there together 🙂 SEE U SOOOON”
Wait—what? This felt like a friend texting me. Were they seriously going to be there? I walked to Blind Tiger, whisper-asking strangers “Are you here for Haim?” until I found a group. One girl had already seen them outside the theatre. The venue? The smaller room at Cherry Lane. Capacity: 60. Aside from that J.Crew run-in, I had never been in a room that small with them.
At 8 PM, we nervously ordered drinks. “On Este’s tab?” The bartenders smiled. So it was real. Fans kept trickling in. Around 8:15, we spotted Terence O’Connor—the photographer and creative director behind Brat and all the recent single artwork. I asked him point-blank: “Are they coming?” “Oh yeah,” he confirmed.
At 8:20, cheers erupted. Haim entered the bar like it was all of their birthdays. They hugged people. Took selfies. It was surreal. I chatted briefly with Alana and Este about Primavera. Este and I talked about who we saw after their set. I awkwardly cheers’d Danielle with my empty glass: “I ran out!” “Get more!” she said.
At one point, Este climbed onto the bar and chugged a beer. Iconic.
Then came the best part. Terence led us from the bar to the theatre, blasting “Now I’m In It” from a portable speaker. We walked and sang through the streets of the West Village, turning heads and stopping traffic. By the time we reached the theatre, we were all belting “Relationships” in a circle.
Inside, there were commemorative t-shirts and posters on every seat. I kept saying, “I’m gagged.” The stage glowed with neon I Quit signs. Then I saw it: a drum kit, a bass, a piano off to the side. That’s how I knew—this wasn’t just a listening party. They were going to perform. Live.
One of the most surreal parts of the evening was watching them listen to their own songs with us. They danced, sang along, and laughed with the kind of ease that only comes from making something you love with the people you love. It wasn’t performative—it felt like they were genuinely proud, like we were being invited into their inner world. They mentioned this was the most fun they’ve ever had making an album, and it was obvious.
The entire night—from the surprise text to the singalong walk to the neon-lit theatre—felt more like a celebration than a promo event. It was a moment shared between fans and the band that’s soundtracked so many of our lives. I Quit is the sound of three sisters fully in sync, owning their stories, and having the time of their lives doing it. I’m counting down the days until I get to hear it live.
I Quit is out now.
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