My 'fangirl core bedroom' from high school: *Trying to let it go
*Reluctantly so, barely at all really
While at home for PTO in May, my mom confronted me with a question I didn’t expect to dread.
“Are you going to take the posters down for the guest room?”
First, my mom might read this, and to her, I say hello—don’t worry, I will not say anything bad. I’m just having a moment. Second, I should be transparent about my response:
“You mean my childhood bedroom?” [Note: this is the closest I have to a childhood bedroom because we have lived in this house since I was in high school and “childhood” adds the melodrama and sentimentality I live by].
And then she clarified that “it was time.” And naturally, and somewhat unintentionally, I spiraled. How do we know when it’s time to tear down a collection of posters you’ve been collaging for over a decade? Yes, I’m a 26-year-old woman who no longer lives at home. BUT I am close enough to visit now and then. And when I do visit I feel like I’m transported to a different time and get to revisit slightly different versions of myself that feed my craving for nostalgia.
I’ll admit, I do get where my mom is coming from, and I can picture some portion of the potential readership here thinks this sounds ridiculous. Perhaps it is ridiculous, but there’s some positive connotation buried in the word that I associate with embracing my fan identity. Get a good look at the photo below and I’ll allow you to make your judgments:
This wall did not happen overnight, much like the great artists I admire. It started with a few purchases of Alternative Press in 2015 from my local Barnes & Noble, and then I don’t recall how the idea set in. I can’t say anything particularly inspired me to start plastering posters of pop punk and rock artists making waves from 2014-2017 on my wall. One random day I probably thought the posters in the magazines should have a place to be admired and just went for it. And I definitely never asked for permission, which is something my mom reminded me of when we talked about me needing to consider taking it down.
This isn’t the type of wall that’ll get you praise from an HGTV-enjoyer or a minimalist advocate like my sister, and this wall isn’t for them (sorry not sorry to my sister, and certainly never sorry to HGTV). It’s also not for Tumblr or Pinterest clout; I have only ever posted pictures of this growing monstrosity to my Snapchat/Instagram stories. I did make a quintessential quarantine Instagram post because that was when the wall grew from the midway point to the ceiling, as was inspired by the inevitable boredom. Later, when I moved home after grad school, a couple of random posters were tacked on for the memories: I saw Jennette McCurdy and Please Don’t Destroy at the Goldstein Auditorium, the ATLA and Alice in Wonderland posters were from a local vendor, and even though I’m not a big Swiftie I had to commemorate the Eras Tour experience (I waited over 3 hours in that merch line on behalf of the real Swifties in my family so I deserved this poster).
Things are even more chaotic when you get the full panoramic view:
Everything has a place that is not by design; it’s all happenstance. All of these little knickknacks are just an amalgamation of what I’ve left behind but will never let go. I’m ashamed to say that 80% of my BTS posters do not have sacred wall space and have to stay in the albums… for now. But those BTS posters have seen the likes of Tennessee and upstate New York, decorating my student-living apartments as artwork on display rather than conjuring the idea that they’re staring back at me (you can never make BTS, or having faces of artists I like in general, creepy to me).
Everything I look at makes short anecdotes pop into my head. From the strand of lights that wrap around my room to even the retail tags pinned to my corkboard that are meant to be thrown out. You’re welcome world as I’ve played a small part in keeping actual garbage out of landfills. Yes, actual garbage. See the McDonald’s BTS meal Chili sauce wrapper above the rainbow zebra sticker? Not to mention I don’t like to stick stickers onto things as intended and prefer using pushpins to support the stickers—I never puncture a hole in them either. Why do I do this? Why do I have this instinct to want to protect pieces of paper, cardboard, and plastic?
To find the answers to these questions, I didn’t go down a Google rabbit hole or feel much of an urge to comb through databases. Instead, I allocated time in my therapy session to ask my therapist for their thoughts on why I am uninterested in lifting a finger to try and take one corner of a poster off the wall. Not that there are sides to this situation, but my therapist did somewhat side with me. They have their own fannish love that we immediately connected on in my earlier sessions, so they get where I’m coming from. I even shared a glimpse of this room during the session (thank goodness for DMV coverage) and they were blown away, saying the work put into this self-expression was admirable. They suggested I talk to my mom again, and ask more questions about why it has to come down.
While a part of me did go back to the word “ridiculous” as far as supplying a term to define how if I dragged this out further with my mom that that word would follow me, I agreed that a conversation could be worthwhile. I explained to my mom that while I know it’s not inherently my room anymore, I just like having it as a time capsule, and one day I know that time capsule will have to find its way into boxes and come along with me. My mom could understand that I at least have another year in DC (if my future aspirations follow through) and that coming home to my room is nice, and it’s not like there’ll be guests anytime soon.
This should be the happy ending but I have more to say.
Since being back in DC, I have received fascinating input from various friends. All have said this should never be taken down because it’s like a museum (and in some way, yes, look up “fandom curation” and you get the gist). I did get a parental perspective that was the most insightful: she wanted to change her daughter’s room when she went off to college so that she wouldn’t miss her too much. She took a few posters down from her daughter’s walls but now wishes she kept it up for longer. All of this was to say that as a parent, she realized that you learn more about your kid when they decorate how they want, that even as a kid she put up the most random band and ad posters that expressed a different side to her straight-A accomplishments.
Hearing this reminded me that this poster collaging started when I was a busy high school student trying to maintain good grades and be a decent athlete. High school is full of torment from others and from within. An example I don’t mind sharing is recalling how I was judged for my edgier taste in music by my soccer teammates. Even when I became a co-captain by my senior year, my initial song of choice for the warm-up mix (“Throne” by Bring Me The Horizon) was “supposedly” rejected by the school district because it was too violent. Naturally, I complained about this to a Hot Topic store clerk and they agreed it was a lame decision, that it was a song about persevering—perfect for the “sports vibe” as any Hot Topic store clerk would describe sports. Then when I went back to the drawing board to share a different song, my co-captain who took the reins on making the mix put mine at the end so that it would never play. No one told me that was the case, I just knew. And now as I reflect though this nonsensical—nonacademic—writing style, perhaps my poster wall was an explosion of what I couldn’t express without feeling like it was wrong.
This is what it’s like to be a fan. To constantly feel like it takes up too much of your identity and that there’s something wrong—ridiculous—about expressing that you’re a fan. In previous Substacks, I’ve talked about overcoming the feeling of fannish behavior as a guilty pleasure, but sometimes what’s still difficult to overcome is seeing people still try to tear you—me—down in real-time. So yes, this isn’t just about some posters, and to clarify: my mom is not the one tearing me down (she’s a J-hope bias, and that is self-explanatory).
Dear reader, we’ve arrived at the point where I realize that I am still navigating how to protect my fan identity, and more importantly, configuring how to feel empowered by it. I mostly ignore and move on, but there are times when I want to ask people who stereotype my fannish behavior the following questions: Do you feel good about yourself? Do you have a need to feel like you’re better than someone and just need to take that out on me for so much as pinning a photocard to my corkboard?
And while I am all for the melodrama I’ve delivered in this essay, I don’t want to end on such a low note. I want to go back to my friends who think the wall is a masterpiece. I’ve found cool DC pals and have fun colleagues who love to ask me about fan studies and chat with me about pop culture. I’m in the pursuit of fandom because I know the good it brings is through genuine connection. The more I research fandoms and hit my personal goals in fan studies, the more I know that achieving “fangirl” empowerment isn’t a question, it just takes time and a dash of therapeutic Substack writing.
Now, how I really want to end this essay is by sharing that at the end of the day, if I don’t take down the poster wall, my cat might do it himself. [See the video evidence below. I don’t have the heart to stop him, and I know full well he never adheres to the “no” word.]
Comment below and tell me about your “band posters” equivalent that is staying up on display!