Given the recent loss of a beloved member of One Direction, we have carefully amended this essay, originally written earlier this month. As fans ourselves, our thoughts are with his loved ones and all those affected.
Thesis: The rise of parasocial relationships in the digital age breeds a complex interplay between admiration, identity, and emotional investment. By analyzing the psychological implications of these one-sided connections, we uncover the empowering and disillusioning effects of our involvement with public figures.
In 2009, I lie between my PB Teen sheets while he sings to me. “That should be me, holdin’ your hand. That should be me, makin you laugh.” He’s right, it should be him.
Justin’s lament is insistent, if not reductive. “This is so wrong, I can’t go on, ‘til you believe that that should be me.”
The spell breaks when my mom calls my name. It’s time to leave for cheer practice. Though I’ve hit pause on my iPod Nano, I am not entirely sober of the disillusion that I have a future as Mrs. Justin Bieber.
Parasocial: defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “a relationship characterized by the one-sided, unreciprocated sense of intimacy felt by a viewer or fan for a well-known or prominent figure (typically a media celebrity), in which the follower or fan comes to feel (falsely) that they know the celebrity as a friend.”
These days, it’s almost impossible not to engage in a parasocial relationship. Most of us have experienced this on some level, never more prevalently than via social media. The internet provides a unique platform through which we can develop deep emotional ties to public figures we’ve never met. We’ll use the materials outlined in our syllabus to break down the psychological implications of this phenomena.
It begins innocently enough: an audience member consumes a piece of art. Perhaps they love it and consume it over and over again; are mused by it. But the audience member is not defined by this art. In her book Monsters, Claire Dederer weighs this experience against the deeper baptism of the fan: “A fan, on the other hand, is a consumer plus, a consumer beyond, a consumer who is also being consumed… She becomes defined by the art. A fan has a special role and bestows upon herself a special status.”
The problem is, Justin Bieber never knew my name. And in the year 2024, neither does Ariana Grande, Jack Schlossberg, or–dare I say it–JK Rowling. They also probably do not care to know my name. To them, you and I have fallen out of a coconut tree. We do not exist in the context of all in which they live!
The Herstory of Parasocialites
The phenomena of parasocial relationships makes more sense when we break down where it began. In a 2010 paper, sociologist John Durham Peters explored how the parasocial phenomenon arose in the era of broadcast journalism. Before this, public speaking consisted of addressing a crowd en masse. Then, for the first time, radio and TV broadcasters seemed to be directly addressing individuals–oftentimes in the shroud of their own home. The sensation was brand new.
Our brains aren’t well designed to handle this sensation of being spoken to directly even as the speaker is actually addressing multitudes. This experience, compounded with our easy access to celebrity biography in the wake of the internet, leads to massive category errors.
Dederer explains this perfectly. “The problem with broadcasting, or with art, is that the flow only occurs in one direction. From the speaker to the receiver; from the artist to the audience. Telepathy, perfect union, is what we seek. Art–unlike broadcasting or the internet–becomes a meaningful stand-in for the union… There is a right relationship there–the relationship takes place on the page or the canvas. Parasocial relationships don’t operate in that way, though. They create a state of confusion in the consumer; a belief in a relationship that exists outside the art.” (Dederer, Monsters)
Unpacking the Fan-tasy
It’s not hard to see how we arrived here, believing we share a kind of telepathy with an artist. They offer a poem, a painting, a dance, and we converse with it. We often take parts of this art and incorporate them into our identities; We join clubs and online channels. I once befriended a girl simply because she was holding my favorite book–a clear signal of shared taste and identity (she and I would later go on to create this very Substack together).
However, one distinction is important: we are not engaging directly with the artist; we are engaging with their product. Yet, deep in the passionate throes of consuming art, it’s easy to believe that we are experiencing some perfect connection with the maker of the art we love. Considering the ethos that make art so compelling, these leaps are not far to make.
Take, for example, Harry Potter. Looking at these books through the lens of finding connection, the Harry Potter series feels almost engineered for one to find belonging. Rowling created a universe with multiple systems that usher us into categories, into places of belonging. First, you divide the muggles from the wizards. Then, the wizards into houses. It feels almost ordained.
“Everyone is chosen. Everyone has a special identity,” Dederer says of Harry Potter, “It speaks to the same drive that makes adults take Myers-Briggs tests, an endless fascination with the parameters of one’s own self-hood–and that fascination is rewarded with the fantastical idea of belonging to an imagined tribe of people (or wizards) who also hew to those same parameters.”
Before the internet, engaging with art typically ended with consumption. Fans had no further means of interacting with the work or the artist, unless sequels or deluxe editions followed. However, the internet revolutionized this by allowing fans to create and share their own content—through forums, fanfiction, and online communities. For the first time, fans could respond to and interact with the art itself. Though J.K. Rowling might not engage with them, other fans did so by leaving comments and building friendships. This sparked a new wave of fan participation.
Twitter-pated
Kaitlyn Tiffany, in Everything I Need I Get from You, interviewed those responsible for the tide of Beatlemania. “While they had found the Beatles ‘sexy,’ and that was certainly part of the allure, many of them had also remembered a feeling of identification: they wanted to be, like the Beatles, free.” One Direction fans, Tiffany found, were able to traverse beyond this identification and into true participation.
While it’s true that an artist’s success relies on consumers, it’s never felt more direct than it does today: streaming numbers, Billboard charts, and Twitter trends all translate to sales. Directioners understood this to an unprecedented degree. They grasped the internet by its helm and wielded its lawlessness.
“They invented new methods for getting what they wanted, which included such methodical and bureaucratic techniques as teaching international acquaintances how to fake American IP addresses and thereby accrue Spotify and YouTube streams that would count on the Billboard charts.” (Tiffany, Everything I Need I Get From You)
Twitter was designed for fans to be in near constant contact. Fans could track their favorite celebrities through their every move. It was a level of intimacy that made it all feel real. In 2010, tech journalists circulated a claim sourced to an unknown Twitter employee that 3 percent of the company’s social servers were employed solely to host activity related to Justin Bieber. “Imagine racks of servers dedicated to delivering [Bieber’s] every word to 5.1 million users.” (Tiffany, Everything I Need I Get From You)
“The number one spot on Billboard’s Social 50 chart… toggled between Bieber and One Direction nearly every week. The rivalry was vicious and exhilarating, like college football except interesting.” - Tiffany, Everything I Need I Get From You
Knowing their power, fans took everything into their own hands–even threats against their beloveds. The hashtag #HarryBeCareful referred to a rumor about an assassination plot against Harry Styles. “Guys please rt this and make the boys security aware because we need to keep our sunshine safe,” one tweet read.
These were teenage girls! On their home computers! With homework due tomorrow! Fueled by Doritos and a dream that five British boy band members needed them, relied on them, maybe even knew them by way of reading their Tweets. Which, perhaps they did see some Tweets, but on a completely impersonal level.
“Because of their role in promoting and financially supporting the artists they love, these fans have maintained a creator’s hand throughout those artists’ careers, treating them as collaborative projects. They take responsibility for every setback and share in the thrill of every success.” (Tiffany, Everything I Need I Get From You)
Celebrities (and the teams who make them) are more aware of this dynamic than ever. Take One Direction’s Night Changes music video, which cleverly played on the parasocial relationship of their fans. The video immerses viewers in romantic dates with each of the band members–the POV ride of our teenage dreams. In the scope of what we’ve discussed, this move feels almost deliberately exploitative of the fans’ dedication.
In other words, art often provides a navigable system for participation and belonging. We all want to feel important, to be needed. While One Direction may owe their success to these data-hacking teenage girls, it isn’t on any personal level. Any contact made was through the impersonal void of the internet’s infinite noise. This relationship is not telepathy, it is not a flow of union, but it looks like a duck, and quacks like one, too.
And so, the dream lives on, tragically undeterred.
Hate Mail: Heavy is the Head
The effects of parasocialism don’t stop at celebrity or admiration. Perhaps even more powerfully, it exists in the darker obsession of hatred, injustice, and moral superiority.
In Yomi Adegoke’s The List, Ola is set to marry the love of her life. As a celebrated journalist, she and her fiance Michael are called “couple goals,” and her followers lovingly wait to watch the wedding festivities unfold on their screens.
This is until Michael’s name ends up on The List, a collection of names responsible for crowdsourced allegations. Usually, Ola would be the first to report on such a list, retweet it all, write article after article. She made a career off of public opinion.
The novel poses a poignant question: “Would you be okay with other crimes being handled via the court of Twitter?” We live in a cultural phenomenon where the public’s opinion is influenced by fleeting trends, turning loyal fans into vocal critics. And, like we covered with the Directioners–social media has a unique ability to rapidly disseminate information, creating an environment ripe for chaos. “She’d see a rumor ruin a life before the facts had been ascertained.” (Adegoke, The List)
Iman Hariri-Kia’s sophomore novel, The Most Famous Girl in the World, follows Rose Aslani, a reporter who feels she is responsible for popularizing Poppy Hastings, a fraudulent socialite grifter. Rose begins to define herself by her role in Poppy’s stardom, expressing “I created Poppy Hastings, and she created me.” This obsession with justice and revenge for a socialite (who she’s never met) leads her on the bounty hunt of the century.
In Rose’s case, her fixation with Poppy warped her personal identity into a dangerous need for retribution. In a society ruled by social media the consequences of these obsessions can spiral out of control, impacting both individuals and broader society.
Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall
On the flip side, our participation isn’t entirely misguided. While we may take it too far, the catalyst is born from something genuine and real.
“Consuming a piece of art is two biographies meeting,” Dederer examines, “the biography of the artist that might disrupt the viewing of the art; the biography of the audience member that might shape the viewing of the art.” For art to do its job—to challenge, evoke, and inspire—it needs to be plucked from its theoretical coconut tree and placed within our own context. That’s what makes art mean anything to us!
The problem comes when fans approach the personas of public figures with certain preconceptions–clinging to the illusion of telepathy–and thus interpret an artist’s actions and identity through a lens of their own.
Dederer notes, “Rage is the emotion of the powerless,” reflecting the frustration felt by fans whose devotion is ultimately powerless. This helplessness manifests in many ways, from the obsessive urge to defend a favorite public figure to the heartbreaking betrayal when those figures don’t live up to expectations.
The idea of belonging to a club–of having been sorted–ties fans together in magical bonds of connection. But “if you are a trans person, or love a trans person, or simply disagree with Rowling’s language, what then to do with that part of [you] that had become intertwined with Harry Potter?” (Dederer, Monsters) When we love an artist, and we identify with them, we can feel betrayed when they become stained. Believing we participated in perfect union with them, we feel shame on their behalf. Or, perhaps we cast them out more brutally in order to sever that connection, ensuring their shame is not ours. Either way, the acts of the artist collapse over our emotions on a scale that is entirely new in the internet era. Maybe the ultimate indication of a parasocial relationship is the keen sting of betrayal.
I don’t believe it’s defeatist to acknowledge that we are not responsible for untangling these contradictions. This morality labyrinth leads nowhere. At the very least, we can stop being creepy toward the artists we love. We can take our obsessions off Twitter. We can leave Ariana and Spongebob alone. We can read Harry Potter or we can not. The way we consume art doesn’t define our morality. We’ll have to find other ways to do that.
Study Questions
At what point does the celebrity willingly dissolve their privacy into the public's insatiable consumption? Is this exposure a Faustian bargain, or an irreversible schism between their private identity and the public's gaping maw?
Does Justin Bieber’s marriage signify the apocalyptic end of our teenage dreams, or can we still find meaning in his romantic anthems while contemplating the futility of our fantasies?
Should it remain illegal to unlawfully obtain a celebrity's birth certificate to find their birth time for astrological charting if you never actually share the document itself? Discuss the ethical implications of privacy and consent.
Identify the primary symptoms of 'Bieber Fever' as observed in fans. Include any notable social interactions or lifestyle changes that may occur in individuals who exhibit this condition.
I must say, I love the way these articles are structured. Really appreciate this course syllabus, very glad I signed up for it!
“The way we consume art doesn’t define our morality. We’ll have to find other ways to do that.” 😮💨 Will be thinking about these study questions!!