I Hate You, Please Stan Me

Fandom writer Monia Ali and Katherine in dialogue about toxic fandom

One of the difficulties in talking about fandom is definitions. There are degrees of fandom, and people who relate to a text in very different ways call themselves fans.

That's why I shouldn't be surprised that "toxic fandom" is a muddled term. It's talked about a lot, but it's rare that I've seen it actually defined. Most recently though, Variety described it as the moment "when fan criticism curdles from good-faith dissatisfaction into a relentlessly negative, often bigoted online campaign against either the project or its stars or creative leaders.”

I have problems with this on multiple levels. Both because it sees fandom as the act of being a fan, which fundamentally misunderstands the term, but also because the piece in general frames bigotry as a defining factor of toxic fandom.

Is the behaviour they describe atrocious? Of course. No person should be targeted in the ways that we frequently see these days. But it is incredibly naive to think that only "actual fans" are participating in these harassment campaigns. There are always anti-fans ready to pounce, opportunistic chaosmongers, and of course, the cottage industry that benefits from escalation, one that is often not driven by fans of whatever property.

It is also intentionally obtuse to suggest that bigotry is a defining marker of toxic fandom, or that abusive behaviour and harassment is only ever driven by it.

For example, there is a long line of music journalists who eschew engaging with certain musical acts or genres because the cost is too high. Many journalists have faced doxxing, harassment, and hostile calls to their employers demanding their termination after their coverage of certain musical acts or communities was deemed inaccurate by their respective fandoms. The backlash isn't necessarily triggered by insulting coverage, either. Simply failing to show sufficient reverence can spark aggressive, long-running pile-ons, too. (A behavior, it should be noted, is present in all fandoms and not often commented upon.)

I myself have been in the firing line of fellow fans because I inadvertently crossed lines I didn’t know had been drawn because being in a fandom community doesn’t spare you from becoming a target if you cross the wrong people. These unwritten rules and invisible boundaries often only become apparent after they've been transgressed.

What makes "toxic fandom" so difficult to confront is that the abuse and harassment often stem from moral convictions. Fans turn on each other, creators, and the objects of their fandom precisely because they are true believers.

When I talk about fandom, I'm talking about communities. These are very loosely defined, with fuzzy borders, where self-definition and individual feelings of belonging form an attachment to a group. But this attachment is varied, uneven, and asymmetrical by default.

These communities vary across online platforms and real-world spaces. TikTok fans are not the same as X fans, who are not the same as Facebook fans, but they all exist under the same umbrella. Sub-fandoms are plentiful, depending on favorite characters or readings of a text, preferred albums (or 'eras'), or relationship combinations. There is an infinite number of possible variations out there, and as soon as people begin producing content of their own and interacting with one another, a fandom is born.

Alan Moore, who also recently wrote about fandom toxicity, is more familiar with this type of fandom.

He defines "healthy fandoms" as “networks of cooperative individuals who quite like the same thing, can chat with others sharing the same pastime and, importantly, provide support for one another in difficult times.” But as he rightly points out, these are not the communities that are courted by businesses, they are not the evangelists (of Jackie Huba's “customer evangelists”) that churn viciously, often cannibalizing thmselves because of the intensity and blind devotion that is required.

They are true believers, and while being a true believer comes with a euphoric high, being at odds with them can be devastating. The consequences are swift—and often severe. Before you know it, the community that you felt you belonged to becomes inaccessible. Walls are erected, the ground shifts under your feet, and the asymmetry of perceived loyalty and unity becomes clear as day.

That is another problem with modern fandom: at the scale we operate in, dissent is inevitable. With millions of fans across global platforms, conflicting viewpoints and interpretations are bound to emerge. The smaller and more siloed they are, the easier the well-being of the community and its members is to sustain.

This means that a healthy fandom can remain under the radar indefinitely.

I make the distinction between healthy fandom and toxic fandom by differentiating between fans and stans.

Stan culture is, by default, toxic. I sometimes refer to communities of stans as standom to differentiate it from fandom, and to emphasize that these two modes are inherently different. Fandom is pro-social, standom is anti-social. Fandom regulates internally, standom attempts to exert control externally. Fandom is capable of ignoring critique because it has nothing to do with their enjoyment of any given text. Standom needs critics to fall in line, to mirror their perspective.

Worse, still, is that stans don't necessarily agree with one another, which means that adherence to one group’s doctrine puts you at odds with another group. This means that beyond targeting the people behind the texts, fandom communities can be eradicated by consistent harassment. For example, Call Me By Your Name was a successful, critically acclaimed film, yet on Tumblr, if you show appreciation for it, you’re probably going to end up with a target on your back.

Exacerbating matters is that stans are the ones sought after by those with money on the line, because if you are on the good side of stans, you're in for some mighty profit. Fans are content to commune by themselves, but stans operate as an extension of the publicity machine. When “fan armies” are sought out, those in charge don’t consider that these armies might one day turn on them. By the time that happens, it’s too late. They’ve been enabled and encouraged to make a ruckus, and it’s only when you’re on the receiving end that you realize the mistake that was made in empowering them.

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Katherine’s note: Monia touches on the issue of being unexpectedly cast out from a community over unspoken rules.

This, of course, creates a unique form of distress. It feels arbitrary, even abusive, but it’s also personal. It breeds uncertainty about both who we are and how we interact with the world around us. To be cast out of your fandom attacks your sense of self twice over: first in your ability to identify with the community that may have helped define you, and second in losing trust in your own judgment.

The resentment that follows is deep—it creates villains. Sometimes these transgressions may feel like ad hoc inventions weaponized against you, specifically. That your community was looking for a reason to cast you out. You may have witnessed other people get away with the same words or behaviors.

There is also something uniquely dehumanizing about not being “allowed” certain parts of your identity. And in some cases, those identities might have isolated you from other parts of yourself or even society. For example, people who are open about particular kinks or political orientations hedge against not being welcome in the mainstream. But where do they go after they’re cast out by their niche?

When I say that we're living in an era of mass BPD tendencies, this is part of what I mean. Intense attachments, fear of abandonment, and black-and-white thinking play out in the very way we organize ourselves.

One day you’re part of a thriving community, the next you’re persona non grata because the cultural winds shifted. The constant threat of being canceled or ostracized creates a hypervigilant society, always watching for signs of impending rejection. On the other hand, our culture of strip-mining our personal lives for content to sell creates connections that are simultaneously deeply intimate and shallow.

Over time, you also become acutely aware that any group might have its own set of invisible or illegible rules that could lead to another painful exclusion.

This collective instability of identity and belonging also manifests in increasingly rigid ideological stances, desperate attempts to prove loyalty, and swift, harsh rejections of those who step out of line.

An attempt to make order of the chaos — a big reason I feel why both fascism and communism are appealing in digital communities. It’s not just that there’s information overload, it’s that the way we treat people feels inherently unstable. We’re all caught in cycles of idealization and devaluation, not just of others but of entire belief systems and communities, searching for stable ground in an environment of constant and unpredictable social upheaval.