moving forward in fandoms
the first installment in "diving deep into stan culture"
when I was sixteen, I begged my mother to wake up early and take my sister and i to the harry styles queue at 7:30 am. we arrived around twenty minutes later in the pouring rain and were given a colored wristband that designated the “section” we would enter in. I can’t remember the color of my wristband, but I knew I was in the “third” section, meaning that hundreds of girls had arrived before me, camping when it wasn’t allowed by the venue (and before camping culture /REALLY/ went crazy).
my mom left my sister and I to sit on the baseball stadium’s floor for the rest of the day, while she sat in her hotel room. she brought us pizza, which we shared with our “camping mates,” and then she left again until it got closer to the show and she jumped back in line with us. she was really smart for that.
once the doors opened, it took a while to make it inside the venue. they had barricades lining the path from the stadium to the theatre, where we walked inside one-by-one like we were superstars. I carried a bouquet of flowers which I had ready in my hands to throw on the stage if I had the chance, and a handwritten letter where I outlined numerous songs that I wanted harry to cover if he had the chance. people were sitting in rows as I walked in, and I ran to the center middle. it didn’t take long to lose my mom and sister, even before the show had started, but luckily they gravitated to the side where it was arguably safer.
in retrospect, the show wasn’t as great as I thought it was when I left. people were passing out left and right and the pit was overcrowded to the point where were sardines packed together. to a teenager with her rose-colored lenses on, the show was the perfect emulation of joy, desire, and just slight annoyance. I ran to my instagram spam account to write an infamous review of the show, where even through my complaints I found a silver lining in the one and only shining pop star, mr. harry styles. the man I created a twitter account for during the peak of one direction, the man I had numerous posters of that were littering my ceilings at 13, and the man that I continue to buy magazines for.
it is fun to be a fangirl.
staying up in the peak of the night to listen to an album release while reacting to your friends on the phone. waking up at 3 am for the sign of the times music video. reading fanfiction every night as a bedtime treat. making friends on twitter.com to fan over ___ with. running to the nearest barnes and nobles to get the latest magazine feature cover. these are memories I know all too well, and not exclusive to just one band or artist.
but nothing feels more isolating than growing out of one of your fangirl phases.
as I sat inside of the forum in November 2021 for harry’s final LA night for love on tour, I felt empty. disappointed. confused.
harry was the man who had brought me almost too much joy for years. he was someone I would find comfort in, someone whose music I would turn to to pump me up on the drive to the SAT testing site, someone who helped me develop strong and lasting friendships through our mutual love.
yet, my two friends and I felt a sense of nostalgia and closure from seeing harry live that night. it wasn’t as special as it might have been to younger me, carrying those flowers at the coca-cola roxy and convinced that harry styles was going to save the world, but it still was a gratifying night nevertheless.
mr. styles has that charisma that makes his shows endearing and memorable.
but I still felt like I had been missing something while I was in the 200s section, singing along to watermelon sugar.
I debriefed with my friend afterwards in my car and we both admitted we were managing this unexpected sorrow. conversations like “did you also feel underwhelmed?” and we both had to figure out why.
this feeling didn’t stop lingering. as I saw harry again for harryween the other night, the same ache sat in my stomach. everyone in the venue seemed to have inside jokes for certain songs that I wasn’t as aware of. people were mindlessly calling him the greatest rockstar ever (he’s not even a rockstar). girls were screaming harry's name and breaking down crying around me. I had to take a step back and think, woah.
as you find yourself growing out of your old love, you feel this slight betrayal to your younger self as you have intrusive judgment towards the people acting as you once did. simultaneously, you find yourself detached. the rose-colored lens are ripped off and you feel almost too aware of everything.
you realize that harry would never had read the letter you threw on stage. that a lot of things are mere performances than authenticity.
i’ve experienced this crash deeply in many fandoms — the infamous rolling stone 5 seconds of summer cover fallout which consequently means that I can’t listen to any songs from their self-titled album without tearing up, my one-year adventure with bts, etc etc — but a huge factor in my realization is aging.
i’m still a huge fangirl, and I think I always will be, and there’s nothing wrong with that no matter your age!!!! what can I say, I enjoy passionately hyperfixating on my interests. but as you grow older, i’ve noticed that you can think a little bit more critically and not consume your interests as blindly. it’s a blessing and a curse (what do you mean harry isn’t perfect???!!!!). this maturity slightly divides and isolates you from other fans, and when complete obsession is all that you equivocate with an artist, it feels like your world is crumbling down.
maybe if I hadn’t loved so passionately from the beginning, the downfall wouldn’t hurt like a twisting knife. maybe the nostalgia wouldn’t cloud my lungs.
falling out of a phase is certainly like coping with a loss. you look back on your good memories and you are appreciative for the utility it granted you at that moment (no matter how cringey it might have been). realizing your old affection has disappeared is earthshaking, but it’s also growth.
I think that realizing this makes my appreciation in the moment almost stronger.
hopefully.
nobody really talks about grieving your old interests, especially as someone so intertwined in stan culture. it’s fascinating how you can move from one fandom to another so quickly and disregard your past one so quickly. not caring about things you used to just naturally happens, but it still feels eerie when it used to be such a huge part of your life. navigating that fallout is something that I still haven’t completely found a solution for, but I think that consciousness is an important first step.
anyways, I have had the worst writers block in inspiration, but after going to harryween, I suddenly had too many thoughts on my own personal experiences with stan culture (which I have unfortunately been apart of for basically half of my life). I'm hoping to write more in a series (:
happy second day of November, by the way. STREAM TWO BADDIES!!!