The New Gods Read Their Comment Sections

How the internet revolutionized celebrity culture and transformed fandom into a political force.

June 2015, Helsinki, Finland. At the height of their stratospheric popularity, just months after announcing the departure of founding member Zayn Malik from the immensely popular boy band One Direction and at a concert on the group’s On the Road Again tour, a fan threw what appeared to be a plastic baby doll onto the stage.

With a casual and well-natured remark of “it’s not real!”, Louis Tomlinson tossed the doll back into the crowd — at the time, with no knowledge of just how long the shadow of this offhand statement would live to haunt him into the future.

A few weeks later, when Louis announced that he was expecting a child with then-partner Briana Jungwirth, social media exploded with rampant speculation. Especially loud and difficult to ignore in the cacophony of voices was the Larry fandom (individually, ‘Larries’), an established subset of One Direction fans with the foundational belief that Louis Tomlinson and bandmate Harry Styles have been in a secret homosexual relationship since the group’s inception on The X Factor in 2010 — and a tendency to interpret almost any event as proof of this belief.

The Larries coined this sequence of events Babygate, speculating that the pregnancy was fabricated as a cover for Louis’ supposed secret relationship and that the baby doll incident at the Helsinki concert was a covert message for fans in the know, assuring them that the forthcoming pregnancy news was not real.

To any sane person, this level of conspiracism in connection with the personal life of a relatively minor celebrity sounds detached from reality — and maybe even a little concerning. To the terminally online, this event barely even registers on the scale of absurd behavior that fan communities engage in on a regular basis in the modern age of the internet.

How did we get here?

TELEVISION KILLED THE RADIO STAR

Once upon a time, celebrity fandom was an almost entirely passive endeavor. Celebrities were untouchable, existing only across a screen or beyond a wall of security (think Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, or the Beatles). You saw them only in movies, on television, or at a sporting event from afar. At most, you might be able to run into them if you queued at a meet-and-greet or fan event or camped out by their hotel or studio long enough to catch a glimpse as they entered or returned. Fans already had overwhelming attachments to these celebrities — but they lacked the interactivity, access, and intimacy that would come in the decades after.

Then, in the 1990’s and 2000’s, the landscape shifted thanks to the rising popularity of reality television. Shows like The Real World, Road Rules, Big Brother, The Simple Life, The Hills, and (perhaps most importantly) Keeping Up with the Kardashians robbed fame of its mystique. Celebrities became people, simply living their lives — just like us, only faster and much more glamorous.

Fans began to feel like a fly on the wall in the homes of the rich and famous, enjoying unparalleled access to their daily lives, routines, and personalities. Instead of larger-than-life faces and names devoid of personality, celebrities became three-dimension beings. More than ever, enthusiasts felt like they really knew the objects of their obsession in a true and intimate way.

Gone were the days of waiting hours to catch a singular glimpse of your favorite personality. Now, you could simply turn on the television set and live a day in the life of your favorite celeb. The continuous access to their lives changed the nature of fandom. It was no longer necessary to be talented or charismatic. Instead, by saturating popular culture with your presence, you could become a known quantity: comfortable, established, and familiar — kind of like a friend!

The rise of reality television was a marked step toward intimacy with celebrity figures — but only observational intimacy. True interactivity between celebrities and their fandoms was yet to be achieved — but it was coming soon.

THE DOT COM BUBBLE

The missing piece was, of course, the internet. In the early 2010s, thanks in large part to the already-massive-and-still-swelling online notoriety of One Direction, a new type of celebrity fandom began to emerge. Superfans (or “Stans,” in reference to the 2000 Eminem hit) were collaborating on Twitter to pinpoint the exact geographic locations of their favorite celebrities, speculate about their intimate personal details, attack their perceived enemies, and coordinate streaming, voting, and charting efforts en mass.

The age of the internet brought along with it a level of global interconnectivity that previous generations would have found unthinkable. It turned fandom from something that was mostly passive into something active by nature. Celebrities were suddenly within reach at all time. Even if they never actually interacted with you — for the first time, it was a real possibility that they could!

First, the rise of YouTube and podcasts led to the creation of micro-celebrities on social media that changed the expectations of fan interactions for a generation of young people that grew up with the website as the homepage of their browsers. You could listen to hours-long conversations between Joe Rogan and company — and it felt just like sitting around smoking weed with your own stupid friends. YouTubers like Shane Dawson, Ray William Johnson, and Smosh released weekly videos wherein they spoke directly to the camera from their bedrooms, actively replied to their subscribers’ comments, and overshared personal details in their lives.

Fans were now in constant, apparently reciprocal contact with their favorite celebs. If they tweeted something funny or interesting enough, they might even get reposted or replied to.

Twitter, especially, offered mainline access directly into the minds of celebrities in a way that previously seemed impossible (see Kanye West, Charlie Sheen, Ashton Kutcher, and Alec Baldwin). Twitter’s algorithm rewarded authentic behavior — even when poor or nasty — leading to a system in which the boundary-lacking behavior of such celebrities became normalized.

“[O]nline groups formed around the basis of a parasocial relationship were creating genuine, honest, interactive, and personal relationships and friendships with others — and in so doing, they created their own positive feedback loop. ”

Suddenly, there was significantly more incentive for fans to behave more and more radically in response to celebs’ increasingly common and expected lack of boundaries. If they did something crazy enough to separate themselves from the horde, then they might just be the lucky one to receive the acknowledgment that seemed just out of reach. After all, there was always a chance that Justin Bieber, Lady Gaga, or Ariana Grande might be browsing Twitter at just the right moment and engage with them.

Meanwhile, and somewhat paradoxically, the rising vigor of fandom communities was reflected in the strengthening bonds between the individual members of such communities. Fandoms were planning, organizing and hosting meet-ups wherein members would travel from halfway across the world to spend quality time in fellowship of their fandom. They were missing major life events, alienating friends and family, and spending thousands of dollars to attend concerts with strangers from the internet who were united in their uncompromising love for a celebrity.

In this way, online groups formed around the basis of a parasocial relationship were creating genuine, honest, interactive, and personal relationships and friendships with others — and in so doing, they created their own positive feedback loop. Their drive to attract the attention of their heroes led to that which they were really craving: actual attention from real people who knew who they were.

In the mid-to-late 2010’s, some micro-celebs, like Colleen Ballinger (“Miranda Sings”) and Gabbie Hanna, learned to exploit this process by personally engaging in their own fandom communities, where they enjoyed status approaching godhood. They created subreddits, private chats, and discords in which they became unethically close to their (often underaged) followers and regularly talked about intimate details of their lives — like sexual proclivities, relationship statuses, and interpersonal drama.

But these celebrities weren’t just using their fandoms to stand in for friendships and therapy that might have otherwise been lacking in their lives. They were also getting something more valuable out of this arrangement of foregone boundaries: human weapons. In exchange for exclusive access to the thoughts and attention of their favorite celebrities, these young fans were implicitly required to mobilize in response to the requests of the celebrities they followed.

In response to implications dropped by Ballinger and Hanna, among others, fans learned to carry out harassment campaigns against critics and perceived enemies, “swatting” them or calling their family or employers in the hopes that they would receive recognition from their community.

Illustration by Blake Colquitt

THEN WE NEED A VERSE FOR THE SWIFTIES

Along came Taylor Swift.

Swift puts all previous parasocial fandoms to shame. Building on the framework of what came before, she pours significant effort into building the illusion of a true friendship between herself and her rabid fans. She actively encourages the type of parasocial behavior that celebrities like Louis Tomlinson tried so hard to avoid.

She leaves secret messages behind in almost everything she touches, from songs, to album liners, to instagram posts — and more. By continuing to drop breadcrumbs that fuel fan theories and conspiracies, while carefully avoiding outright confirming them, she fuels the parasocial engine of her fanbase, stoking the flames day after day.

Take, for example, the Gaylor conspiracy — the contention that Swift is a closeted queer woman. Swift has historically used queer-coded aesthetics and wording to promote her songs and albums (including a 2019 tweet which read “ME! Out Now!”) and included lyrics which reference queer signaling (such as “you could hear a hairpin drop” from the 2020 bonus track Right Where You Left Me off the album Evermore).

In 2014, she took things to the next level, hosting private events (so-called “Secret Sessions”) wherein she invited individual fans to her own home for food, homemade baked goods, and a private listening party for her soon-to-be-released album 1989 (she repeated this practice for her later albums Reputation and Lover). By opening her home to a select number of fans — in combination with other practices such as encouraging fans to make and bring along friendship bracelets to her concerts — she broadcasted the impression that her fans actually were her friends, blurring the already fuzzy line between reality and fantasy for her fanbase. And you’d be willing to do just about anything for a good friend, right?

Taylor Swift never makes a controversial political statement. She never makes music that is too challenging, or wears clothes that her followers wouldn’t. She is the ultimate projection screen: her fans see her as a close friend because they see themselves in her. She’s the perfect imaginary friend — a blank canvas who can be whoever you need her to be. Her following has become somewhat of a religious phenomenon: fans cry at the first note of their favorite song from the parking lots outside of her shows, routinely embarrass themselves in their own social circles, and expose themselves to significant liability to get her attention.

And with a following of millions, Swift learned quickly how to weaponize her ‘friends’ — just as YouTubers did in the late 2000’s. She makes casual comments about other celebrities and her followers descend on them with a righteous fervor, falling over themselves to carry out her will with campaigns of harassment, vitriol, threats, and doxxing. They are willing to engage in crazy, illegal, and downright antisocial antics in the hopes that she will recognize them as a superfan — and, perhaps, allow them access to a world just so barely out of reach.

Most of all, Taylor Swift — the ultimate culmination of parasocial entertainment — is nothing if not a capitalist. She exploits fan fervor to sell album variants, price-inflated concert tickets, and low-effort slop-merch — all to tremendous success.

CONCEPTS OF A PLAN

From Taylor and others, the savviest among political elites discovered the lengths to which some celebrities were able to push their fanbases in furtherance of their own goals. They found themselves living in a world in which constant access was no longer negotiable. To win elections, you had to build a modern brand — which entailed continuously living in the public eye and existing in every social media space on the internet.

Then, an actual reality television star ran for president.

Trump was a celebrity that already understood the fandom game. He was comfortable living completely in the public eye with little to no boundaries. Beginning with his television show, The Apprentice, which ran for over ten years, he had already achieved household recognition and familiarity for and with Trump and his brand.

What came next was an even more robust fandom than even that of Taylor Swift, combining the scandalous attention-grabbing culture of 90’s and 2000’s reality television with the drip-feeding machine apparatus of modern social engineering.

His politics are completely vibes-based, leaning heavily on his charisma. He runs a cult of personality, without any actually policy platforms beyond self-enrichment. He has no morals, integrity, or true allegiances — and this is all just part of his brand as a shrewd businessman. If any other politician were to do or say the things Trump does on an average day, their career would have been finished a thousand times over. But not Trump — because, to his followers, Trump isn’t so much a person as he is a character on a TV show.

And his inability to coherently stand for anything actually serves to drive the fervency of his fanbase. Like Taylor Swift, Trump functions as a blank canvas for reactionary conservative social and political thought. His supporters project their own feelings and values onto him.

The religious right is able to pretend that he is a man of god, sent from heaven to destroy the ‘satanic’ left — even though he’s a philandering, lying, cheating, prideful, lecherous, wrathful, greedy rapist. So-called ‘economic conservatives’ are able to pretend that he is a great businessman — even though he’s declared Chapter 11 bankruptcy six times, defaulted on countless loans, committed fraud, and filed false financial statements.

“Like anything else, being a celebrity has become more about being a brand than a person. We don’t even worship people anymore, much less vote for them — just corporations wearing human skin.”

And Trump plays into it by surrounding himself with a coalition of advisors and cabinet members that represent a wide array of cultures, values, and schools of thought — at times parroting the talking points of each of them, but never too explicitly.

His constant, non-stop tweeting (and ‘Truthing’) allows his followers to feel as though they have open and insider access to his thoughts, compounded by his absolute candor (or is it dementia?). On Truth Social, in headlines, on television, or in the Oval Office, he’s always exactly the same guy — one who says and does insane things, in complete detachment from reality. Put simply, his supporters feel like they really know him.

He drops breadcrumbs like Swift does, too, hinting at his support for various conspiracies like QAnon and groups like the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers — all while avoiding outright approval. Just like Swift, he weaponizes his fanbase, using them to carry out his will while distancing himself from their poor behavior (see January 6, 2021). He even shovels his slop-merch the way Swift does, leaning into fan fervor to sell useless and predatory goods and services with his name slapped haphazardly on the side of the box.

Similar to other modern fandoms, Trump supporters travel to meet up for rallies and political speeches like they’re concerts or meet-and-greets. MAGA Republicans exist in a group delusion, having alienated most people in their lives with their obsession. Finding kinship with other Trump supporters — when their personal lives are more than likely devoid of meaningful friendships and familial relationships, in part due to their political beliefs — is even more positive reinforcement that they’re making the right decision, consolidating their fervor and allowing them to double down on their delusional beliefs.

They may not have any family left that wants to talk to them — but hey, they’ll always have their Facebook friends!

WE THE PEOPLE, INC.

Ultimately, the internet has radically reshaped what it means to be a public figure. Success is no longer about achievements, talent, or charisma. It’s just about access and recognizability. Like anything else, being a celebrity has become more about being a brand than a person. We don’t even worship people anymore, much less vote for them — just corporations wearing human skin.

We’re so starved for friendship and genuine human connection that we forgot what it feels like, settling for cheap imitations sold by billionaires who are trying their damnedest to separate us from our hard-earned cash.

Today, Duke Bootee’s words from Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five’s 1982 seminal hit, The Message, remain as resonant as ever:

“My son said, ‘daddy, I don’t wanna go to school

‘Cause the teacher’s a jerk, he must think I’m a fool

And all the kids smoke reefer, I think it’d be cheaper

If I just got a job, learned to be a street sweeper

Or dance to the beat, shuffle my feet

Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps

‘Cause it’s all about money, ain’t a damn thing funny

You got to have a con in this land of milk and honey.’”

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Don’t Be a Sucker is a blog about internet culture and its interactions with politics, law, and society at large. You can visit the Archive to read past entries. Subscribe below to make sure you don’t miss anything — and share this post if you enjoyed it. If you’re feeling particularly generous, consider buying us a coffee. This publication depends entirely on reader support.

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