On My Mind: Mad for Mayer

Unlike other people, my long-term addiction isn’t displayed in cartons of cigarettes or tall glass bottles empty after consumption. All I have to do is stare at my iTunes library and realize I have a serious problem.

Four studio albums, three live albums, two EPs, and 12 singles.

97 songs in total.

All with cover art displaying the same 6’3” guy with smiling brown eyes and shaggy hair.

Hi, my name is Lauren and I am in love with John Mayer.

Like most addicts, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when the unhealthy obsession started. As long as I can remember, my pulse has beat in time with the Fender Stratocaster solos of my favorite Mayer song, “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.”

Over the years, I’ve defended not only my undying love for his first album Room for Squares, but I also have stood by Mayer as he is scrutinized by the media for his turbulent personal life and his loose lips on Twitter.

I will never be fazed by the controversy surrounding Mayer. I have identified my addiction and the stages in which I sunk into a greater dependency on his music career.

Even so, after 12 years of abusing my wallet by purchasing countless CDs — yes, actual CDs — as well as concert tickets, I just don’t think there is a route of recovery from my fandom.

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Stage One: Experimentation

In the year 2001, six-year-old me bobbed my head to any tunes my mom decided to play in our Honda CR-V. We’d roll the windows down to Tracy Chapman’s “Give Me One Reason” and Carly Simon’s “Let the River Run” on the way to kindergarten.

It wasn’t until a road trip to Minnesota that summer that I first heard Mayer’s smooth vocals flow out of the speakers. 11 hours later, I was singing along to uplifting tracks like “Why Georgia Why” and “No Such Thing.”

I was hooked. From then on, I was unable to abstain from listening to any track featuring Mayer. I constantly craved his new releases.

Stage Two: Regular Use

2006 marked the release of Continuum and a change in Mayer’s style.

I’m not talking about his adjustment from acoustic jams to soulful blues that took place during this period. I’m talking about Mayer’s change in appearance from a clean-cut college boy to a tattoo-clad, deep V-neck wearing musician.

While many ridiculed Mayer’s new long locks and interesting choices of headwear, I was in too deep to be concerned with his style decisions.

At this point in my addiction, I couldn’t hit ‘next’ on my first generation iPod shuffle without hearing a John Mayer song.

Stage Three: Dependency

Addicts are truly dependent when they know their addiction is wrong, but continue to use excessively.

John Mayer has always been the serial dater of the music industry. Let’s just say if he wasn’t rich and famous, my parents would not allow me to go out with Mayer to dinner and a movie.

If I was to list all of the notable women Mayer has been romantically linked to over the years, it would sound as if I was tirelessly reading the phone book.

Contrary to popular belief, no, I do not have pictures of these women pinned to a dart board in my room. He just needs to stay away from blonde and naive country singers who have whined about him in a 6-minute-forty-five-second song.

Mayer’s relationship track record is eerily similar to this aforementioned Grammy Award winning singer, but that’s alright with me. I don’t get jealous of his fleeting romances. I’m convinced his past relationships have failed because he hasn’t met me yet.

Until then I will listen to the sappy melodies on his 2010 album Battle Studies; obviously written about me.

Stage Four: Road to Recovery?

To quote Mayer himself, “I have the obsessiveness of someone who’s a sober, recovering addict displacing his addiction.”

My obsession over the years has shifted as I fell in love with other artists and genres, but my love of John Mayer has never changed.

If Mayer continues to be the talented musician he is, and continues to release best-selling albums, I don’t believe I will ever recover.

I’ve stuck by him for 12 years of his public break-ups, horribly candid comments to the press and messy hair.

If that’s not an addiction, I’m not sure what is.