I know to some this will sound like an old man sitting on his porch rocker screaming at kids to stay off his lawn, but bear with me. There was a time when fandom was quiet. You wrote letters to a studio or comic publisher, waited months for a reply, maybe traded theories at a convention or in the back of a comic book shop. It was slow, sincere, and a little secret — a club for people who really cared.
Now fandom never sleeps. It hums and buzzes at all hours — a 24/7 loop of reaction videos, Reddit skirmishes, and algorithm-fed outrage. Every opinion is broadcast, dissected, and ranked (just like this will be). The question isn’t just what you love anymore — it’s how loudly you can prove it.
Don’t get me wrong. There’s good in volume. Fans have power now. They can resurrect canceled shows, hold studios (and actors) accountable, and turn once-niche passions mainstream. Creators listen, engage, and sometimes even change course because of the noise. For marginalized fans especially, that visibility has meant real inclusion.
But somewhere along the line, connection blurred into competition. The old “I love this show” became “I must defend this show at all cost.” Disagreement became betrayal. The distance between fan and franchise started fading, and in that moment, entitlement took root. Suddenly, fans claimed ownership: They ruined my childhood! It’s not even close to the comic! You’re not a real fan unless…. The joy of loving something quietly turned into the pressure of loving it publicly, constantly, and perfectly.
There used to be a time when fandom was like a campfire — small circles of people swapping stories. Now it’s a stadium with microphones and scoreboards. The intimacy that made it special got swallowed by the need to perform – to broadcast. And the irony? All that noise often drowns out the very thing we’re supposed to be celebrating: joy.
Did you like Rey Palpatine becoming a Jedi and assuming the mantle of Skywalker? You can love that without having to defend it. And if you didn’t like it, you don’t have to defend or feel compelled to broadcast that choice either. Didn’t like the Supergirl movie trailer? Okay, don’t see the movie. Didn’t like Star Trek: Starfleet Academy? Then don’t watch it? You don’t have to scream to the world why you didn’t like a fandom trying to justify your dislike. You’re entitled to your opinion, just as those who liked it are entitled to theirs.
Maybe it’s time to rediscover the quiet — the version of fandom where you can enjoy something without defending it, share without shouting, love without explaining. Where discovery still feels personal and wonder still belongs to you.
Because the loudest fans aren’t always the truest ones. But the loudest fans always get the most attention. Sometimes the best love for a story is the kind that doesn’t trend, doesn’t fight, doesn’t need validation.
The quiet fan still exists. I believe I am one of many. But, you don’t hear from us because we’re just too busy enjoying the thing – not broadcasting about it.
