One day as I was skipping through Twitterville I saw something odd. It said:
RT if you’ve said ‘One Direction’ today!
That wasn’t the odd thing – weird declarations from superfans are the white noise of Twitter. But how about this for a reply…
‘I didn’t just say it, I tattooed it on my heart.’ [with pic].
I feel a short silence is required here. These sentences will represent that.
Superfans intimidate me, in the same way a pack of jumpy, stabby baboons would. It’s weird that the desperation to know or emulate someone they’ve never met, becomes part of their very identity.
To relate, please refer to the One Direction documentary aired on ITV2 a while ago. According to the footage, the body-crippling symptoms of Superfandom are as follows :- a phrase similar to ‘He breathed on me!’ is accompanied by hand- flapping and screaming, then hyperventilating, and concludes with a sobbing, face-holding comedown. Irrational anger at events outside of their control is also common. This is proven by the reaction to their most recent irritant, Caroline Flack, who at a ripened 32 years of age has started seeing 17-year-old band member, Harry Styles. You cradle-snatcher, Caroline! And by that I mean robbing the innocence of the poor girls now caught up in narcotics abuse. Scorned 1D fan = angry, drug-induced hair-flicking to That’s What Makes You Beautiful; there is no middle ground.
But let’s give superfans some slack. They may have turned Twitter into a virtual mental institution, but everyone can appreciate talent. Lady Gaga is obviously really good at what she does, whatever your opinion on using bacon as a shoe. But really… any big-eyed, clawing, teacup-carrying fan of Gaga surely deserves the name Little Monster. I mean, Lady Gaga is only cool because she’s Lady Gaga. You can’t just copy her and think people will find you sane – just look at that Kitty from the X Factor, if you can stomach it.
And big stars of today don’t exactly help by allowing their fans to conform under their own umbrella term. If you refer to yourself as – it pains me to say – a One Directioner, Belieber, Little Monster, Heartbeat or JLSter (come on, that one’s lazy), then you will find it standard practise to integrate superfan worship into your daily routine. The line between healthy and wrong has started to fuzz, or sadly, is no longer visible to you.
When Justin Bieber tweets, you panic and try to find something clever to tweet so he’ll notice you! #itsabelieberthing
Ah , ain’t it the truth? No. The funny thing about ‘Beliebers’ is the hashtag #itsabelieberthing . This seems to be the get-out clause used to excuse any extreme content of the tweet.
So, for instance; ‘When your blow-up Justin doll pops after you’ve mounted it!’- is deemed completely acceptable when followed with ‘#itsabelieberthing’. ‘Feeling so close to Justin when you’ve carved his name in your thigh!’ – not weird because – ‘#itsabelieberthing’. The hashtag says ‘Everyone does it!’ Sort of like a game of I Have Never, when you expect everyone to drink, and no one does.
Caroline Flack should give thanks that her beef ain’t with Beliebers. When JB allegedly handed over his virginity to some average Joanne in a toilet, the lucky lady actually received death threats from his cult following. They wanted this girl DEAD, such were the shards of their jealous, shattered hearts.
But the Bieb knows this; the Bieb is sly. He likes to dangle split-ended hairs of hope to each slumbering pre-teen. His new perfume (for girls) is called Someday – a name that has to be whispered. On occasion he ‘Follows Back’ on Twitter, and for the entire day that Belieber is seen by the others as a Messiah. ‘CONGRATS! Justin followed you!!!’ they tweet, as if by contacting ‘the chosen one’ they too may touch glory, and Someday-scented flower petals will rain on them all. Meanwhile, Justin smiles from the television screen with that glint in his eye that says ‘Someday, Jen/Katie/Amy /Natalie/Lisa – someday.’
Poor superfans are just puppets played by the very industry they feed. And how can we expect emancipation, in a culture where they can tweet their love to an A-lister, and have all their dreams realised in a single ‘Thnx xx’ ?
History has taught us that the human race is easily enchanted. We’ve all gulped hard on our… admiration for certain people. When Take That split up, fans lay down in the road, collapsing at the thought of a life without a chubs Gary Barlow in denim dungers. Seriously. And when Paul McCartney was hot (yeah, apparently), the media created ‘Beatlemania’, because a name was needed to define girls in bat-winged glasses having spontaneous orgasms during ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’, and fake-fainting in order to be carried over barrier fences.
And these days, it’s completely natural to type RYANGOSLING into every possible search bar; maybe even to fave a few (forty-three) vids on Youtube. Isn’t it? But it would serve others to remember, superfans do not a superman make. Celebs are regular people, talented or (largely) untalented; all of which got lucky once.
So don’t think writing ‘#itsagoslingthing’ to excuse your extreme antics is acceptable. Because the ‘I wrote you every day for a year!’ line won’t have the same effect when it’s true, and you’re yelling it at Ryan’s house from his security fence as you fight off the effects of a tranquilizer dart.