How Fandom Takes Over Your Thought Process
Fandom can really either be the best or worst thing ever, depending on, of course, the nature of the fandom itself. Once you’ve arrived at the point of being a fan of something, its funny how easily it integrates itself into the every day.
(This, of course, depends on how much you like whatever it is you’re a fan of- for instance, I was a devoted Angel watcher, but rarely do I find myself thinking of it or being reminded of it.)
Fandom has become exacerbated since the invention of the internet and places like tumblr, because not only can we freely share our opinions about whatever our chosen fandom obsession is, other people can find them, and either disagree or agree with it. (The fact that the internet has turned anyone who can write a sentence into a critic is another story.) But the sense of community is the thing, because there really is nothing that most people like more than feeling like they belong.
Myself, I try to take it in stride, with both my love of my fandoms and my sense of insecurity always battling it out. My very very recent love of Torchwood has put this in perspective to me. I am a bonafide Torchwood fan, so much so that I just shelled out $10 for a novel that might not even be any good. There are songs that come on iTunes that make me go “Oh damn, that is SUCH a Jack/Ianto song” (“Kissing You” by Des’ree, by the way.)
I feel kind of guilty for being so twee and excited about it, especially since I only started watching it a few weeks ago. Does that make me less of a fan than someone who watched it on the BBC? Most polite people would say “no”, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about it. Either way, I’m surprised how much quickly fell in love with those fictional people, on some silly, over-sexed show about alien hunting. Yes, even Gwen, even Rhys, even the people that show up for once episode. This has happened with almost every television show I’ve watched in my 11 or so years of watching adult programming.
I guess this is what film and television is supposed to do, make you care that you’re watching, and it’s one of the things I constantly struggle with as a screenwriter. Why should anyone care about these people I made up? It is the screenwriter’s dream to make a character as iconic or beloved/hated as say, Indiana Jones or Daniel Plainview. But art is so subjective, that either way, it still goes both ways. Someone will love your characters, someone will hate your characters, and someone will feel a vague indifference of not really caring either way. Is it any way to live, under that kind of scrutiny? Of course it is. If it wasn’t, there wouldn’t be fandom. And most of us wouldn’t be here.
But that threshold for caring about fictional people is such a thing, isn’t it? The way we wish they existed in real life, to rescue us from mundanity. I can never watch an episode of Mad Men without wishing that I knew Peggy Olson and could be friends with her, or at least cull a little of her wisdom. I can never watch an episode of Lost without wishing that there really was a magical island where I could learn about my destiny, my failures and the qualities of heroism. I can never watch an episode of Breaking Bad without wishing that could I tell Jesse Pinkman that his life has more value than whatever Walter White deems it to be. I can never watch an episode of Torchwood without wishing I could love someone with as much bravery as Ianto Jones. And so on and so forth.
Fandom takes time, sometimes more time than we can really spend on it, resulting in bad grades, sleepless nights and some potentially embarrassing fan fiction. Is it worth it? We’ve all heard stories of people falling in love at conventions and having super hero weddings, but those things always seem to happen to other people- never “us.” Would my potential future boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse have to understand and accept my deep and abiding love for gay alien hunting dramas? Who knows, really. Until that time comes, I can only own my fandoms, and the things they teach me.
The point of this little essay probably remains to be seen, but I just think its funny how much I tend to mean it when I say “I love ____” when it comes to a fandom. I mean, I think the Dharma tattoo on my right shoulder probably stands as proof that I have a lot of feelings about television in general.
If you’re still reading this, thanks. I hope there was something good in there, a little nugget that you found relevant. I aim to please.
(This, of course, depends on how much you like whatever it is you’re a fan of- for instance, I was a devoted Angel watcher, but rarely do I find myself thinking of it or being reminded of it.)
Fandom has become exacerbated since the invention of the internet and places like tumblr, because not only can we freely share our opinions about whatever our chosen fandom obsession is, other people can find them, and either disagree or agree with it. (The fact that the internet has turned anyone who can write a sentence into a critic is another story.) But the sense of community is the thing, because there really is nothing that most people like more than feeling like they belong.
Myself, I try to take it in stride, with both my love of my fandoms and my sense of insecurity always battling it out. My very very recent love of Torchwood has put this in perspective to me. I am a bonafide Torchwood fan, so much so that I just shelled out $10 for a novel that might not even be any good. There are songs that come on iTunes that make me go “Oh damn, that is SUCH a Jack/Ianto song” (“Kissing You” by Des’ree, by the way.)
I feel kind of guilty for being so twee and excited about it, especially since I only started watching it a few weeks ago. Does that make me less of a fan than someone who watched it on the BBC? Most polite people would say “no”, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about it. Either way, I’m surprised how much quickly fell in love with those fictional people, on some silly, over-sexed show about alien hunting. Yes, even Gwen, even Rhys, even the people that show up for once episode. This has happened with almost every television show I’ve watched in my 11 or so years of watching adult programming.
I guess this is what film and television is supposed to do, make you care that you’re watching, and it’s one of the things I constantly struggle with as a screenwriter. Why should anyone care about these people I made up? It is the screenwriter’s dream to make a character as iconic or beloved/hated as say, Indiana Jones or Daniel Plainview. But art is so subjective, that either way, it still goes both ways. Someone will love your characters, someone will hate your characters, and someone will feel a vague indifference of not really caring either way. Is it any way to live, under that kind of scrutiny? Of course it is. If it wasn’t, there wouldn’t be fandom. And most of us wouldn’t be here.
But that threshold for caring about fictional people is such a thing, isn’t it? The way we wish they existed in real life, to rescue us from mundanity. I can never watch an episode of Mad Men without wishing that I knew Peggy Olson and could be friends with her, or at least cull a little of her wisdom. I can never watch an episode of Lost without wishing that there really was a magical island where I could learn about my destiny, my failures and the qualities of heroism. I can never watch an episode of Breaking Bad without wishing that could I tell Jesse Pinkman that his life has more value than whatever Walter White deems it to be. I can never watch an episode of Torchwood without wishing I could love someone with as much bravery as Ianto Jones. And so on and so forth.
Fandom takes time, sometimes more time than we can really spend on it, resulting in bad grades, sleepless nights and some potentially embarrassing fan fiction. Is it worth it? We’ve all heard stories of people falling in love at conventions and having super hero weddings, but those things always seem to happen to other people- never “us.” Would my potential future boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse have to understand and accept my deep and abiding love for gay alien hunting dramas? Who knows, really. Until that time comes, I can only own my fandoms, and the things they teach me.
The point of this little essay probably remains to be seen, but I just think its funny how much I tend to mean it when I say “I love ____” when it comes to a fandom. I mean, I think the Dharma tattoo on my right shoulder probably stands as proof that I have a lot of feelings about television in general.
If you’re still reading this, thanks. I hope there was something good in there, a little nugget that you found relevant. I aim to please.