Why I hate fandoms
I am a statistical anomaly. I enjoyed Doctor Who, following the New Who era with Christopher Eccleson (underappreciated) right up to Jodie Whittaker (good actress, bad writing). I also enjoyed Sherlock, with Martin Freeman providing one of the best John Watson portrayals of the previous few decades. I even enjoyed Game of Thrones, but the less said about the final season the better. And tying it all together, I was a massive nerd with the pitted acne complexion of a bombfield.
Yet in all that time, I had never:
Logged into Tumblr;
Written more than one piece of fan fiction.
I know. It’s like finding a vegan who doesn’t like tofu, a carnivore that doesn’t like steak, or a Taylor Swift fan that doesn’t like Country music. Not a zero percent chance, mind, but still small.
Why is that? Because I find uber-fans frightfully annoying.
Now, let me be clear. The vast majority of people in the fandom are fine. I’ve been to Comic Cons in the past (and spoke in them too, which is another story). Most people are generally normal, friendly, and have incredible artistic skills to make their clothing. Some fans take months to design, develop and paint their costumes ahead of Comic Con events, and the results are fantastic. Few things in the world match a conference full of dressed-up Astarions, mushrooms and Homelanders.
But a small (and incredibly vocal) number of fans gatekeep their passions with the fortified protection of Mount Doom. These are the “Umm Actuallys” of the community, where scoring knowledge points means more than embracing new members. These members have an encyclopedic understanding of an area, but absolutely zero persuasion or reasoning skills to communicate their thoughts. The walls of a fandom are low, but its guards smack down anyone who knocks on its doors.
The meta-commentary spoils the show as well. Fandom culture was at its worst during Game of Throne’s peak, when each episode warranted its own review or round of discussions within minutes of its premiere. People happily passed judgment on parts of a whole, without seeing how all the jigsaw pieces slotted together. The memes were funny, but not the overly enthusiastic shutdowns of a show based on its first half an hour. The same goes for long after, too. I do not need a four-hour essay explaining why Hot Pie is critical for Arya’s character development.
Then I watched the entirety of Succession without the online commentary, and it was like turning off the radio while having a conversation. It was quiet, peaceful, and allowed me to be wholly invested in the story.
Fandoms sap out the fun of a good show. The best ones have the door shut, where they can be watched and enjoyed as they are. The meta-commentary around a show by passionate fans can add more weight to a show that doesn’t need it. Shows can be weighted down by unnecessary baggage, pulling threads that do not exist. Let it breathe.
