Fandom = Cult

Hey you! Yes, you! The reader, right now, holding this chapter in your hands. I have a question for you. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but: are you in a fandom?

Perhaps you are. Perhaps there’s a video game you cling to, its servers long dead, its community scattered like ashes, yet you remain, a lone sentinel keeping the flame alive. Or maybe there’s a show, a story so vivid, so consuming, that you’ve adorned your walls with its posters, your shelves with its figurines, your heart with its every twist and turn. Or perhaps it’s an artist, a creator, a voice that speaks to you in ways no other can, and you find yourself spending hours, days, years, celebrating their work, defending their honor, basking in their glow.

All of these are possible. You might be in so many fandoms that Santa Claus himself would raise an eyebrow, marveling at how your list of obsessions stretches longer than the naughty list you’re (let’s be honest) probably on.

This was a random thought, a spark that flickered to life in the labyrinth of my mind. Is being in a fandom just a sorry excuse for being in a cult? I know how it sounds. Absurd. Ridiculous. You don’t need to send death threats—I can already feel the weight of your judgment through the page. But hear me out.

Let me paint you a picture. You know Hatsune Miku, don’t you? That ethereal Vocaloid, the digital siren who has captured the hearts of millions. She’s not real, not in the way you or I are, and yet… and yet. You might buy her merchandise, her posters, her figurines. You might dye your hair turquoise, slip into a costume that mirrors hers, and stand before a mirror, pretending, just for a moment, that you are her. You might spend hours online, debating her best songs, her best performances, her best everything. You might even call her a goddess, though she is nothing more than a voice, a collection of ones and zeroes given form by human hands.

And then there are the concerts. Oh, the concerts. A sea of fans, united in their devotion, their eyes fixed on the stage as the lights dim and the music swells. She appears, not in flesh, but in pixels, a hologram glowing with otherworldly light. You cheer. You sing. You lose yourself in the moment, surrounded by others who feel exactly as you do. And when the final note fades, when the screen goes dark, the chant begins.

“Encore! Encore! Encore!...”

The word ripples through the crowd, a spell cast by a thousand voices, a plea to summon her back. And then, as if by magic, she returns. The digital goddess rises once more, her voice echoing through the arena, and you are hers, utterly and completely.

Doesn’t it all sound… familiar? The obsession. The rituals. The chants. In a cult, it might go something like this: “From shadowed depths, we call to Thee, O Ancient One, beyond the sea…” But in a fandom, it’s: “Sekai de ichiban ohime-sama. Sou iu atsukai kokoroete yo ne.”

The words are different, but the fervor is the same. The devotion is the same. The need to belong, to believe in something greater than yourself, is the same.

So I ask you again: is a fandom just a cult in disguise? Or is it something else entirely—a sanctuary, a community, a place where the lost and the lonely can find a home?