There was a time when liking comics, sci-fi, or computers got you labelled a geek or a nerd. By the early 2000s, that changed. The Matrix, Iron Man, The IT Crowd, The Big Bang Theory—suddenly it was cool to care. Geek culture went global.As scholar Cornel Sandvoss puts it, fandom is the regular, emotionally involved consumption of a story or text. We’re not passive watchers—we’re active participants. Pat Flynn’s “superfan pyramid” places people like me at the top: we spend thousands, travel across the world, and invest absurd amounts of time. I once flew 17 hours from Shanghai to San Francisco just to get Mark Hamill’s autograph. Total cost? Around $5,000. Did I hesitate? Not for a second
That’s the kind of devotion that looks a lot like religion. Fans make pilgrimages to conventions. We treat original cast members like saints. An autograph isn’t just a signature—it’s a totem. And when corporations like Lucasfilm recognise our costuming clubs officially, blurring the line between fan and creator, things get complicated, introducing tension: fandom is both community and commodity. Companies cultivate our passion for profit.
At the same time, fans themselves became “prosumers”, we produce and consume, shaping the very thing we love. In costuming circles, skilled makers like me gain near-celebrity status. But with that status comes responsibility, and sometimes, a darker side: gatekeeping, elitism, and toxicity. When fandom becomes a master identity, boundary policing turns ugly. This is the world I navigate every day. It’s beautiful, messy, and sometimes heartbreaking.
This post is adapted from my doctorate research on the intersection of religiosity and fandom.