Why the cringeworthy term brings me more waves of warm nostalgia than it ever will mortification.
I still remember it clear as day. March 16th 2012. There she is, glowy and glistening under the lights like a rare diamond snatched from the rough and placed, real and attainable, before me as if a delicate security surrounded museum display. As she galavanted from the main stage through the side of the general admission section and towards the B Stage located all the way at the rear end of Vector arena, I was ready. I knew what was about to happen because I’d already watched the tour DVD 15 times before the tour even reached my country. Some would argue I’d single handedly spoiled the events of the night for myself but I would argue straight back that if I hadn’t have already lived the Speak Now tour via digital form I wouldn’t have held Taylor Swifts silky, white glove glad palm for a second paused in time as she graced the adjacent beaming faces and arms gawking to be hugged. The time ticks as if a stopwatch counting down the seconds until my turn is over and then she’s gone and so is this moment.
I’m almost 19 now and the memories of my first ever concert – Taylor Swifts (peak era) Speak Now tour – are as vivid as those of my last. Music remains just as much a leading component in my life, long after my days becoming a tourist to my own city desperately trailing after boy bands or mystical female beings of the musician kind, and as a self reflective female sound enthusiast and writer, descriptions of this fashion tend to automatically group me into a generalised consensus of – beware – the dreaded ‘fangirl’ breed. Being a ‘fangirl’, whatever that definition actually is, is a weird science. Once a fangirl, to some degree always a fangirl: The culture and the taste sticks no matter how long lost your One Direction phase fizzled into oblivion along with the bands own relevancy; no matter how dwindled your efforts falter with an obsession you once convinced yourself to be lifelong and ones personality/interests alter with age and experience. As much as I’ve since moved on, the attachment to pure love for music and the pride which goes hand in hand with being a fan somehow remains firmly rooted and haphazardly conquers, and from just another music fans perception this illustration shouldn’t box me into a stigma which counterparts with immaturity, ignorance and embarrassment.
Standout highkey fangirl phases often morph into embarrassing flashbacks of regret and shame from ghosts of fangirls past, but since maturing in age and mentality and growth prodded me out of many preteen infatuations, the feeling I thrive off of sound has remained just as prominent (although sized down to more humanized of degrees – we all gotta Zayn on em at some point). Despite being a young girl relentlessly sized down to demonised labels along the lines of ‘overbearing’ and ‘immature’ for simply investing energy in something that I so much adored, the actuality of my teen fangirl phase rendered quite the opposite of the stereotypical logic I was brainwashed into believing, acting as a major catalyst in figuring out who I am and what I decide to invest my time and energy into through avenues of trial and error during my coming of age. Only now at nearly 19 have I come to realise just how vital my fangirl phase was for my own growth, the volumes it empowered for me as an impressionable early teen and most significantly how it taught me more about loving myself than the timid, larger than life Taylor Swift enthusiast could ever forecast.
Being a fan of something is a safe space. Whatever it is that you invest your energy into admiring is yours and it can’t be taken away from you (unless it’s One Direction sans Malik but we’ll touch on that sensitive subject later). For the kid being given a hard time in school or dealing with a troubled home life, their favourite CD becomes their outlet: a haven for them to transport to and indulge in that erases reality of real life, or better – resonates with it. Being able to resonate with an artist or musician brings more content than any parent, friend or confidant can provide – seeing someone on a higher pedestal than yourself who’s gone through the same feeling or situation provides a kind of relief that is of it’s own kind. Being a fan in an age where everyone is accessible to a community of people who are also a fan of that same thing is an incredibly powerful tool; A lot of the friendships I made through one sheer mutual similarity without any deliberation became something as that of a sisterhood, and one which helped me build strong bonds with other empowering females globally and apply to real life too.
An equation I could never quite add up when I was younger is why grown-ass men are entitled to getting animated about the sports teams they rep, regularly making a night out of the event of a big game, drinking heavily for the sake of the culture surrounding the sport and even turning emotional over the end outcome (regardless of it being a win or a loss). I was always belittled for my love of bands and musicians and ridiculed for so much as wanting to share the pure feeling of how alive seeing my favourite people in the flesh made me feel, just the same as grown men do when attending a game without having anyone to answer to. At the time it was happening I never fully grasped nor challenged why there was a subconscious in the back of my head telling me to shut up and keep quiet whenever One Direction were brought up in a conversation and why I felt a sheepish tug when a Taylor Swift song would play on the radio and the cool crowd would have their laugh, but a part of me deep beneath all the warmth that it brought me did. Patriarchy planted the seed in my brain from a very young age that certain passions are not equitable to treat with such vigour and that girls are only allowed to be enthusiastic about selected subjects that really ‘matter’, causing me to feel guilt while men paraded around the exact kind of excitement I displayed for something hyper masculine, therefore valid and rewarded.
It was the laughable stigma surrounded with being a fan who just so happens to also be a girl which drove me to feel like I should conceal my love, repress what I knew was important to me and keep it just for myself, which while I didn’t exactly have a problem with – it also didn’t seem fair. The general consensus of having a girl dominated fan base groups together the largely young lady consisted supporters and for some unbeknownst reason links the character of said bands’ followers to the validity of their own street cred, dramatically decreasing their likeliness of ever gaining respect and credibility from a patriarchal based music industry run predominantly by old cis white dudes. But what if there were no ‘fangirls’? What would the state of the music industry in 2016 be?
I’m listening to Zayn’s debut album Mind of Mine which just dropped a month ago, and I still feel an overwhelming motherly instinct/proud sensation with each further listen. I can’t pinpoint whether it’s the fact that I grew up with him as my 1D favourite or if its the years of believing in his potential in the band and finally seeing him flourish, or if it’s just the fact that his album is unmistakably packed with heat – but it’s a tender feeling to know that Zayn can move on from his One Direction phase and still hold onto the same fans who grew up with him and that I can move on from mine and still hold that moment in a cabinet in my heart and continue to appreciate the same members now but in a different way. Growing up past your fangirl phase is something that has to happen, and if you’re still in that phase, know that it will happen – but the unconditioned passion inside you is a trait that prospers long into the rest of your life. The more love and passion we express with exuberance and the more teenage girl stamina and spirit we possess, the closer we are to human utopia (and world peace!).
Header photo illustrated by me
princessloz 