How to Overcome Fangirl Fatigue
It’s not a crime to find stan culture draining sometimes.
I created my first Twitter stan account in 2018, dedicated to the Shadowhunters TV show and To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before film. Before that, my fan pages were limited to Tumblr and Wattpad, as most pre-teen girls did. It showed me a whole new side to online fan culture, from live tweeting during episodes, collective streaming parties, and the excitement of quickly connecting with others over our shared interests after a simple comment interaction.
Over the years, I joined and left various fandoms, my mutuals became close friends beyond our favourite artists, and I had hundreds of people globally who understood the fangirl experience in a way that didn’t happen often in real life. However, at that time, I also felt hyper-aware of the increasing exhaustion I felt when logging into my account.
My phone was the first thing I’d reach for in the morning and the last thing I saw at night, scrolling endlessly for hours to catch up on all the music releases or fan speculation I missed when I was asleep. Throughout the day, I’d jump at any notification, feeling as if I needed to see any and all new posts as soon as they dropped. I’d feel heartbroken when an announced tour didn’t include my nearest cities or the presale was sooner than I could afford.
My love for my favourite artists and films was still strong, but the innate need to always be in the know wore me down further than I realised.
My feelings were oddly confirmed by the increasingly toxic direction online fan spaces trended toward.
Silly fan-wars are taken too far, leading to online bullying and doxxing just for not liking another’s favourite artist. Fans are shamed if they can’t attend a tour as if it’s a sign of disloyalty, or shamed for going to too many shows and taking the opportunity away from others. Constructive criticism is seen as treasonous and reason enough to spam with accusations of being a fake fan.
Even brands have caught on, financially exploiting fans with overpriced merchandise and collaborations, knowing that FOMO is often enough for consumers to spend any amount.
Eventually, in 2024, I deactivated most of my fan accounts and in 2025, deleted social media from my phone altogether. What I intended as a short break turned into an acknowledgement of a deep burnout. I was overstimulated, and as humans, we are not meant to be saturated with as much content as we’ve grown accustomed to through the internet.
I lost sight of the fun in fangirling. Plus, with the unstable state of the world, it felt like a disservice to focus on my special interests when there are much larger crises happening around me.
I couldn’t see myself comfortably having a fan account again for a very long time. That is, until I realised that the only rules I needed to follow were what I set for myself. For me, combating fangirl fatigue boiled down to two steps:
- Protecting my space
- Proving nothing
Protecting my space meant intentionally curating my feed rather than following everyone back simply because they followed me first. It meant disengaging from fan-wars, only reporting posts or accounts when needed, because I personally have no authority over what others post to their own pages. It meant limiting my social use to my iPad or laptop, so I don’t trap myself in endless doomscrolling episodes.
Proving nothing meant letting go of any guilt I harboured for not going to a live show or missing a livestream, reminding myself that just because I didn’t buy an exclusive CD didn’t make me any less of a fan. It meant engaging online and streaming when I could, whether that was at midnight or not. It meant no longer defining my support by unspoken rules about levels of contribution.
Once I knew when to stop back and how to decide my own priorities online, it became much easier to navigate fandom spaces on my own terms. It doesn’t drain me out anymore; it fills me up.
My advice: Prioritise your peace first. Recharge. Your fandoms will be waiting for you when you get back.
