Fandom’s Obsession With Winning Has Made Pop Culture Boring

In the weeks preceding the release of One Battle After Another, the latest film by director Paul Thomas Anderson, the entertainment press headlines were full of speculation over its financial future. How would this big, expensive, and apparently niche film fare with general audiences? Could it ever hope to make back its reported budget of $130 to 175 million? Would Leonardo DiCaprio’s star power be enough to entice hesitant viewers? A lot of column inches were dedicated to the fears of CEOs and profit margins of Warner Bros. Discovery.

This is standard stuff for entertainment reporting, and it’s something I talk about a lot in my own work. What was less expected but increasingly familiar was how many casual film fans online seemed to be obsessing over the grosses. Self-described stans and cineastes were endlessly nitpicking the film’s commercial prospects, adding up numbers and making critical judgments of the work based on that. I know it’s wearyingly commonplace for fans to act as self-appointed marketers for their favourite things, but when did they decide to also become accountants?

It’s not just the grosses either. It feels like every online fan space dedicated to an artist or creator of some kind has fallen into a rabbit hole of predicating and abacus moving. If it’s not the grosses, then they’re poring over Spotify streams, Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic ratings, Letterboxd average scores, and the placements on charts in countries they’d never otherwise think about. Fan Twitter and Instagram accounts post fawning news on how that one singer’s sixth-best song on their second-worst album crossed one million streams worldwide. And all I can think to say in reply is, “Okay? And?”

Everyone likes it when their favourite things do well. It’s satisfying when that filmmaker you love, who has spent years being underappreciated, has their mainstream moment. Even the biggest cynic can find themselves cheering on their idol at an awards ceremony, despite knowing how arbitrary the entire rigmarole is. I know the Oscars aren’t the greatest measure of merit or quality, but I still punched the air in glee when Parasite won Best Picture. Still, such things feel different from the current glut of competitive fandom fervour, one where fans feel the need to put their thumbs on the scales.

It is the new normal for fans to organise streaming parties, playing the latest releases on Spotify over and over again, or keeping Netflix on for hours at a time following a season drop. Instructions are offered on how to optimise the process: turn down the volume and keep specific playlists on a loop; let the show run while you go off and do other things, but make sure to restart it once the finale is completed; bombard the social media accounts of anyone even tangentially involved in the product and demand more. The goal is to amass victory over victory, to become so tired of winning but gain the ability to rub it in your enemies’ faces. Who are your enemies? The fans of other people or stories. Never mind if the actual artists involved did not consent to such a rivalry between those they may or may not know. When your goal is to be number one in every aspect, everyone else must be number two at any cost.

The confusion of quality with data is tedious at best and undoing the point of art at worst. When I see fans furious over a Rotten Tomatoes score or watching the ups and downs of a Letterboxd average like it’s the stock market, I have to wonder what pleasure they get from this. Do they seek confirmation that it’s socially acceptable for them to like a certain film or video game or song? Will their personal attachment to it wither away if the averages don’t level out?

Some fans seem too invested in the desire for their favourite to be The Best. It’s not enough to appreciate the artistry. You have to have the profits to back it up, and as fans, that’s your job: to make them money. Anything that threatens that, like the 6.9 out of 10 album review or just someone tweeting about their personal tastes, is an acceptable enemy to quash. Therein lies the other hook. It’s not just about bolstering someone else’s power: it’s about accruing your own. There are certain fandoms that people just don’t f*ck with because they’re scary to the point of violence. These fans like being seen as bullies, notorious for doxing and harassing anyone who looks at them cock-eyed.

Fandoms are built on shared enthusiasm and the community that can form around a common interest. These spaces can be wonderful, full of creativity and curiosity that offer something safe but challenging for oft-marginalized groups. Not every fandom operates the same way, of course, and many will probably view this piece as a foreign concept. But the oversaturation of this hunt for victory in an unwinnable game has proven to be a potent force in fandom spaces, and by extension, the corporate entities that seek to profit from them.

And make no mistake, this process is just doing the unpaid work of conglomerates that are bleeding artists dry through shady business deals and reduced revenues. When you see a stan brag about going into debt to buy exorbitantly priced concert tickets because dynamic pricing and Live Nation’s crooked monopoly is bleeding the system dry, how can that be seen as a positive? Well, you just tell everyone that it’s a great sign of your favourite’s prowess, that they can demand three months’ rent for the previously cheap seats and people will pay for it.

There’s a certain level of fear in this system that makes some of the fandom numbers game understandable. If your fave is a mid-level artist who is known but not an A-Lister, someone who makes a decent but not spectacular living, it’s easy to want to help them. So many musicians in the 2020s, for example, now lose money on tours and can’t make up the difference through the paltry residuals offered by Spotify. Why not go wild promoting them on your own dime? Maybe your TikTok dance will go viral and your idol will shine? Perhaps those endless Netflix streams will ensure your cult show gets a much-needed renewal? The pressure is exacerbated for artists who are already fighting an uphill climb to recognition. Filmmakers of colour, LGBTQ+ authors, actors who speak out on political issues, stories of happy trans kids just living their lives: sometimes, it feels like the only people rooting them on are their fans. When you’re told that money and attention trump hate, you pour a lot of yourself into this battle, even when we know the fight is fixed.

Corporate interests want you to be overinvested. They need you to make your very self and your fandom the same thing. They’re in the process of creating a system where people work more for less payment, or they can be replaced by creepy AI animations that don’t speak back or demand better. When you view everything as they do, as a ceaseless grind for profit, you end up viewing art as worthless in the same manner. I’m tired of it. Your job isn’t to do any of this. Hell, your hobbies shouldn’t even be your unpaid side-hustle in this way.

We have so few undiluted pleasures in life. Art is meant to be enriching, not a drudgery. When we separate our passions from capitalistic control, we’ll all be richer for it. Your love of that book or film won’t be impacted by a few duff reviews or box office slumps. The real reward is in the appreciation, divorced from expectations and demands. There are few things better than loving a thing and not caring what anyone else thinks about it.