Being a fangirl is a very integral part of my identity. I can still remember the very first thing I obsessed over: Twilight. I was 7, and the prospect that not only were vampires real, but they also sparkled, was enough to catch me: hook, line, and sinker.
As I grew up, those obsessions changed, and if I named everything I’ve ever fangirled over, this piece would be much longer than one page. What’s stayed the same, though, is how I’ve watched the things I love get pushed through the same exhausting cycle. Cringe because girls like it, then cool once everyone else catches up.
When I was younger, the word “cringe” followed me around like a shadow. It didn’t even matter what I liked; if girls were passionate about it, it was cringe. One of the most prominent examples of this is Justin Bieber, who, for years, served as the internet’s punching bag. With young men posting relentless posts mocking him and wishing something horrible would happen to him, all because his fanbase consisted largely of teenage girls. Meanwhile, boys could spend hours memorizing sports stats or arguing about video games, and somehow that was fine. Girls are mocked for showing enthusiasm because visible emotion is coded as weak, excessive, and embarrassing.
Eventually, the same things that had been deemed cringe became culturally acceptable—but only ironically. People could engage in whatever, and it was okay because it was “ironic”, but if girls expressed a genuine, earnest excitement, they were still just obsessive fangirls. This is because mainstream culture feels safer consuming the emotions of young women only when those emotions are detached or packaged as humor. By turning fandom into a joke, it becomes socially safe for others, usually men, to enjoy it without vulnerability. It highlights a double standard that genuine emotion from young women is “cringe”, while the same interest, repackaged as ironic, is celebrated.
Once enough people start to like something, ironically, it becomes okay to like it in earnest, but it often feels like the original fans who built these spaces were invisible. The once embarrassing excitement became socially acceptable, as long as it wasn’t coming from the people who had loved it from the start. Our culture tends to reward novelty and detachment over sincere engagement. Once the trend is “safe” for a wider audience, media outlets and big corporations profit off of the fans, while the people who made it meaningful in the first place are often ignored and ridiculed. Watching that happen creates a mix of validation and frustration. Validation that the things I loved finally get the recognition they deserve, and frustration that the people who loved them first are still the butt of the joke.
I love being a fangirl. It has taught me a lot about how society treats passion, especially passion from young women. The cycle from cringe to ironic to mainstream approval is never truly about the content itself; instead, it reflects broader social dynamics in which visible emotion and attachment from girls are devalued, while detachment is rewarded. The irony is that the same passion, once sanitized and repackaged, is celebrated as being unique or having taste. Ultimately, it is okay to love things deeply, even if the world thinks it is embarrassing. Be cringe. Our obsessions and our joy are valuable, and they give the things we cherish life and meaning, and one day, the world will catch up.