Stanning on the Sidelines
As a teenager growing up in the 2010s, one thing — more like five people — was on my mind: One Direction.
During these years, most of my time was spent on Twitter, voicing my adoration for the English-Irish pop band. Morning and night, I tweeted my unwavering love and support for all five members. I was a dedicated fan of the One Direction fandom, spending hours on my phone keeping tabs on every fan update account, fearing I would miss out on the latest news. From when the band would arrive in a new city to them donning a new swoon-worthy hairstyle, I had reached a level of fan status where I was an overprotective expert who had extensive knowledge of all things 1D — I was a stan.
What’s the difference between a stan and a fan? Fandom.com defines that the differentiating factor between a stan and a fan “comes down to the obsessive part.” A stan can be viewed as a subgroup under a fan, something I have always visualized it as. However, the term ‘stan’ has been discussed the most between the two. From its origin, criticism, praise, and analysis of parasocial relationships, the conversation surrounding stan culture has lately been a topic of interest as more and more people observe fandoms such as BTS’s ARMY, Taylor Swift’s Swifties, Beyoncé’s Beyhive and more.
Being in the One Direction fandom was a sanctuary during my teenage years. Meeting and communicating with fans online, who shared the same level of dedication as myself, brought immense comfort. Within this community, I found solace in knowing that I wasn't alone in my love for the boyband, and that I could openly express my enthusiasm without fear of judgment or ridicule. I was grateful to this fandom, which gave me immense happiness and new friendships. However, it would be during the COVID-19 lockdown that I realized the place where I once found solace as a teenager now felt brain-numbing and caused so much anxiety for me to the point that my emotional tank would run empty.
The hours I spent online as a teenager, endlessly tweeting and retweeting anything related to One Direction, gave me dopamine. Now, spending more than five minutes created this pressure in my head, one that would expand and desperately want to explode. I was acutely aware that this unsettling feeling wasn’t from a typical headache but from scrolling through my timeline on Twitter, reading stan tweets about all five members of One Direction, mainly Harry Styles, whose fandom I was now a part of.
Part of me struggled to figure out how to tackle the constant anxiety I felt when I went online. But day in and day out, as I read tweets of Harry Styles fans fighting with each other or judging other fans for not voicing the same amount of support or opinion, it left me confused and emotionally exhausted.
A silent and invisible peer pressure can be traced in fan culture, but ultimately it is stan culture, primarily if the fandom you belong to supports a musical artist. To buy merch as soon as it drops, to see them on tour, to know every lyric — the list goes on and on — and this pressure then turns into a ‘Who is the real fan?’ type of test. And from being in the Harry Styles fandom and observing others, it’s no surprise that this peer pressure stems from the fans and is, sadly, expected. But when a fandom begins to feel like a heavy cloak draped over you, mentally weighing you down every day, it’s a sign that something isn’t right.
I knew digesting the content and commentary I was reading on Harry Styles stan Twitter wasn’t good for my mental health; if anything, it was damaging. It wasn’t until one day, after spending a few minutes online and feeling miserable, that I decided something needed to change and that a boundary needed to be set for my mental health.
Setting healthy boundaries is beneficial for one’s overall mental health. The National Alliance on Mental Illness shares that setting boundaries allows one to conserve emotional energy, gain independence and self-esteem, and develop better relationships.
When we set boundaries, we put them in place for our relationships with friends and family. However, this could also be applied to a fandom. For myself, setting boundaries was essential. I knew the racing in my chest and the dark cloud above my head weren’t healthy. I needed to draw a line between myself and the fandom I belonged to because I would continue to feel mentally unwell if I didn't.
This line that I had to create meant unfollowing fans from my One Direction and my current Harry Styles fandom days. I reduced the number of people I followed from one thousand to three hundred, creating a complete timeline cleanse. After doing this and spending a couple of days off of Twitter, when I logged back on, I no longer felt the anxiety I once did. The back-and-forth fighting between fans I had read about in the past was now gone. And if I did stumble across that type of content from retweets, I was now mentally strong to handle it. Drawing that line between myself and the fandom I belonged to gave me control. It allowed me to no longer feel mentally drained. My mental state felt healthier and better; I was mentally at ease.
For weeks, I debated setting this boundary. In the back of my mind, I fought and wondered if establishing a boundary between myself and the fandom I was in would compromise my identity as a stan, but as I learned, the outcome was rewarding.
I still consider myself a part of the Harry Styles fandom, among many others. Only this time, I'm putting myself first instead of the artist. I’m no longer succumbing to the peer pressure that I once felt and worrying if I’m even enough of a fan. Instead of being front row at the barricade, I’m stanning on the sidelines, enjoying the artists and their work from afar, and reminding myself to put my mental health first. ♦