The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
6 — Wednesday, March 16, 2022
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Page Design by Sarah Chung
S T A T E M E N T
What
The first anime that I had ever
seen was “Naruto,” probably the
most popular and entry-level anime
that you could watch. At the time,
8-year-old me obviously did not
know this, and was completely
enraptured by what I was seeing.
Characters were flying across the
screen, hurling knives and throwing
stars at each other before prepping
to pelt their opponents with a
fireball. These attempts would, of
course, be blocked by a huge wall
of sand that was being manipulated
by one of the ninjas. I was put into a
trance watching the fighting unfold;
it was the first time I had ever been
immediately engaged in a television
series. This first encounter with
anime was the beginning of a
long rabbit hole, ending with a
diehard adolescent obsession. After
“Naruto,” I then started watching
more
lighthearted
shows
like
“Fruits Basket” and darker shows
that would scare the hell out of me
like “Higurashi no Naku Koro ni.”
Soon enough, all of my favorite
shows were finished with no plans
for further seasons — but I wanted
more. The search for more fulfilling
anime content commenced, and
surprisingly, I did not have to look
far. I stumbled across a website
called Fanfiction.net that was full
of stories to be read, some of them
acting as prequels to these TV series,
some of them epilogues and some of
them different stories entirely.
It was on this website that I
was introduced to an entirely
new world of nerdy, oftentimes
underrepresented people, writing
stories in the worlds of some of my
favorite books and shows. You had
countless “Harry Potter” stories
(633k of them), even stories about
“Spongebob Squarepants” (2.1k).
But, the one that really stuck with
me was a story called “The Next
Type Of Motion” which was a
prequel to the “Naruto” series. I
read it when I was about 12 years old
and still trying on identities, seeing
which fit best.
There are 80,679 words in that
story, and I read every single one in a
single night. It was 4 a.m. by the time
I had stopped reading, exhausted
but enthralled. The story was
discontinued at Chapter 16, right
when the two primary characters
were sharing one of their first kisses.
I couldn’t help but cry not because
it was over, but because it felt like
I was reading about myself on the
page. Never before had I read a story
featuring such a wholesome and
passionate queer friendship-turned-
romance — it filled my young heart
with hope that who I currently was,
and who I was becoming, was okay.
It wasn’t until I brought my
fanfiction devotion up at my
elementary school that I realized
my classmates did not feel the same.
Furrowed brows were pointed
in my direction at the mention of
reading a fanfiction about an anime.
My classmates would say things
like, “That’s gross! Fanfiction is
filled with porn and tentacles and
pedos, I can’t believe you would read
something like that.”
And,
upon
some
personal
research, I learned that my peers
were not alone in these very harsh
judgments against the medium.
In 2016, Vox journalist Constance
Grady wrote an article called “Why
We’re Terrified of Fanfiction”,
speaking on some people’s distaste
for fandom — an umbrella term
encompassing all “cults” of people
with
self-proclaimed
obsessions
over TV shows, video games, etc.
The article details fears of mob
mentality and cults being formed
around
such
niche
topics
as
“Heaven’s Gate”. But there are other,
more misogynistic reasons for
fandom being so stigmatized.
Research suggests that shame
surrounding fandom culture is
gendered, with male-dominated
fandoms like sports being widely
accepted and female-dominated
fandoms
—
think:
boy
band
obsessions — facing more societal
ridicule. While there have been
efforts to create more equitable
space in fandom for women, there
is still resistance to it. Therefore,
female-driven fandom is labeled as
lesser, gross, futile.
For a while, I was convinced by
my classmates’ disgust for fandom
and turned away from fandom for
fear of being bullied or perceived as
“weird.” My interests throughout
high school and the beginning of
college were still weird, but less
culturally ridiculed than fanfiction.
I would watch “Adventure Time”
with my friends, but I would not
bring up the very niche anime that it
reminded me of.
It wasn’t until I got on TikTok in
2020 that I was thrown back into
the fantastical world of fandom —
and it happened by chance. I was
creating a series of TikToks that
asked people to “make the comment
section look like ___”. For example,
I made one that was: “Make the
comment section look like middle
schoolers pretending to be drunk to
their friends over text.” From what
I could gauge, people really seemed
to enjoy it. The video currently has
471,100 views and 67,800 likes.
It was such a nice feeling to have
a sense of community, even if it was
for a brief, virtual moment. I kept
making more of these videos, and
decided to dive in and embrace my
interest in fanfiction. If it flopped, it
flopped, right? I made another Tik
Tok that challenged my viewers to:
“Make the comment section look
like a Wattpad fanfiction.”
I thought the video was funny
but I didn’t expect it to go viral.
My phone started blowing up in
my pocket and I couldn’t help
but watch in awe as my followers
went from one thousand, to four
thousand, to ten thousand. It felt
like every moment I wasn’t looking
at my phone, I was missing out on
hundreds of people reaching out to
me via my comment section with
funny quips and phrases. The feeling
of being watched by thousands,
sometimes
even
millions,
of
individuals is euphoric and thrilling.
Swarms of comments mused at how
resilient fanfiction authors were,
and oftentimes how it inspired them
to get back into writing.
In an instant, I felt like I was a
child again, taking part in something
bigger than myself. Something only
fanfiction devotees could dream up.
Once I realized that a lot of people
could relate to my fandom interests,
my fanfiction videos exploded. I
started making content about crazy
author’s notes that writers would
add into their stories, or strange
stories written about Ben Shapiro.
I was having a fun time, but more
importantly, I was starting to see
how many other people my age had
been positively impacted by reading
fanfiction.
The little thoughts in my head
about representation in the media
were suddenly right in front of
me, represented by thousands of
other individuals on Tik Tok. It felt
validating to know that there were so
many others like me on the internet.
Comments would flow in talking
about how fanfiction helped people
come out as asexual, transgender,
pansexual. The commenters talked
about how fanfictions about queer
characters in the “Dr Who” universe
helped them feel like they could be
queer, too. Other accounts spoke
about learning English through
fanfiction, and feeling the freedom
to write in a style that they wanted
because of fanfiction. There is a
whole thread on Fanfiction.net with
people discussing how difficult but
gratifying it is to be able to write as
non-native English speakers.
In that moment, all of the
stigmatization I internalized as a
child started to melt away because
I
agreed
with
the
fanfiction
community. Fanfiction contains the
diversity in themes and characters
that
often
what
universities
categorize as ‘actual’ literature does
not.
I remember in my sophomore
year I took my Upper Level Writing
Requirement, and initially was very
excited to start the class. Writing
at that point had been a hobby,
and this was an opportunity to
get feedback on it in an intensive
way. My enthusiasm was quickly
extinguished
when
I
received
my paper back and discovered I
had earned a C-. In office hours,
I expressed my worry about this
grade, and what I was met with was a
critique that my paper was ‘childish.’
While this paper was not fanfiction,
apparently the vocabulary and
structure were reminiscent of it:
According to my professor, I was
an “amateur writer” who needed to
make drastic changes to my style if I
wanted to write “correct” academic
papers.
Needless to say, I did not get good
grades on future papers in that class
thanks to my stubborn nature.
***
In January of 2022, I became
mutuals with a creator named
Berklie
(@icaruspendragon
on
TikTok). Posting content from faking
her death via fanfiction to being a
master of the Omegaverse, Berklie’s
content is hysterically awesome and
incredibly informative.
DRAKE GEORGE
Statement Correspondent
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
Fanfiction
taught me that English
classes couldn’t
Film photos:
An ode to the art or just
for aesthetics?
I can’t seem to scroll through
Instagram without seeing at least
one digital remake of a film photo
taken on a disposable camera. The
distinctly grainy, slightly blue tint is
a constant visual on my social media
feeds. These photos’ popularity
would seem to indicate that they are
of a superior photographic caliber.
But, in reality, they are by no means
high-quality photos. Often in these
photos, some subjects are washed
out while others appear as shadows.
The photos can be blurry; teeth can
be discolored; eyes appear as red
beads.
However, despite these intrinsic
flaws, the recent trend in using
disposable cameras doesn’t seem
to be going anywhere — at least not
anytime soon. They invoke a sense
of nostalgia, letting us romanticize
moments that happened mere days
prior to the film’s development.
They are a romanticization of a
common
photo-taking
practice
from earlier generations.
For decades, people have publicly
idealized “vintage” time periods,
claiming that life was much simpler
“way
back
when.”
Disposable
cameras and film photos are tangible
extensions of this mindset. When
we see film photos, we are reminded
of those our parents showed us from
their twenties: photos from college,
weddings, vacations, baby showers.
Film photos — which were
previously necessities to document
such momentous events — are now
luxuries for us to capture our favorite
fleeting moments, despite their
relatively hefty monetary expense
to users. The Fujifilm and Kodak
disposable cameras, two of the most
popular types, store 27 photos. And,
with each picture taken, there is a
set amount of money lost (about $22
per camera and $0.50 to develop
each shot). Despite the steep costs of
film photography today, disposable
film cameras were a cheap method
of photo-taking throughout the late
20th century. Alternatives such as
digital
point-and-shoot
cameras
were substantially more expensive.
With the rise of digital cameras,
during the mid-1990s, people no
longer needed to assign a price to
each photograph they took. With a
simple SD card, we were given access
to a seemingly infinite number of
potential photos. For the first time
in the history of photography, there
was no marginal cost associated
with taking one more photo. Thus,
photo-taking became a completely
viable opportunity for the typical
middle-class family looking to take
photos to document their travels
and holidays.
But, others believe that the
change
from
film
to
digital
indicated a degradation — or entire
elimination — of the artistry behind
photography. With digital cameras,
there is no more impulse to savor
each opportunity to take a photo nor
a preoccupation with saving spots on
your camera for potential shots. By
rapidly clicking a button, someone
can take the exact same picture of
a sunset at slightly different angles.
Without the feeling of finiteness,
there is no motive to appreciate each
opportunity to take a photo.
So with the emergence of a social
media fad featuring film photos,
perhaps we like the limitation of
film once again — the pressure to
only take a limited number of photos
—… or do we?
Popular photo apps such as Dispo
and Huji Cam attempt to satisfy
our taste for film photography by
mimicking its process. The apps
enable users to take pictures on
their cellphones, wait one day (as
though the photos are actually
developing) and receive digital
photos that appear to have been
taken on film. Though they look
quite different from authentic film
photos, the apps have thousands
of reviews on the Apple App Store.
Many of the positive reviews relate
to the “vintage” feel of the photos,
while many of the negative reviews
pertain to bugs within the software.
Most notable is people’s photos
being deleted from the applications
— an issue that doesn’t arise with the
physical film photos.
Nevertheless, the apps are tapping
into
a
thankful
demographic,
offering a cheaper alternative to
disposable cameras while providing
the same aesthetic as the original
medium. Disposable camera users
channel their will to wait despite
their accessibility to other, instant
options for photo-taking.
Just a few years ago, Fujifilm
Instax cameras made a revival as
modern Polaroid-esque cameras.
In 2016, Fuji sold more than 3.5
times as many Instax cameras as
digital cameras. Evidently, there has
been a trend moving toward analog
photography.
However, the Instax buzz was
quickly diminished following the
uptake of disposable cameras. Thus,
photography trends are constantly
evolving, an evolution that is ever-
changing in medium and preference
thanks to social media. Whatever
photography trends occur outside
of the digital sphere — such as that
of the disposable film cameras — are
still shaped by the digital world, in
the form of social media.
I think film and Polaroid photos
derive their beauty from their
physicality. People can hold these
tangible photos, hang them up as
decor or tuck them away as precious
memories in their home’s sacred
places. And, at face value, the photos’
physical component is the biggest
difference between them and their
digital counterparts. Yet people feel
the need to digitize the physical
photos and publicize them for their
social media followers. In doing this,
users seek to replicate the feelings
of nostalgia and simplicity that we
often associate with film photos and
polaroids.
Some say that disposable cameras
enable them to spontaneously take
pictures whenever they are out
or with friends. But, practically
speaking,
isn’t
it
much
more
spontaneous to bring out your
cellphone — something that is on you
at all times — rather than bringing a
clunky piece of plastic, rolling the
film and then taking the photo?
Some also claim that they
appreciate
the
anticipation
of
waiting for a photo. As Gen Zers, we
have grown up in a digital world. At
the click of a button we have access
to the World Wide Web, enabling us
to connect with whomever, research
an infinite amount of topics and
use virtually any software tool we
want. Sometimes it is nice to take a
step back and revel in the beauty of
anticipation.
With this I can’t help but lean into
my cynicism and conclude that Gen
Zers have taken to film photography
not for wholesome purposes of
“savoring the moment” or relishing
in anticipation as our older relatives
once did. Simply put: We are
reverting to this medium simply for
aesthetic purposes. It looks cool in
real life and, even better, it looks cool
on Instagram.
There
is
absolutely
nothing
wrong with taking photos just for
the aesthetic. When we trivialize
photography by labeling certain
photos as art and others as silly
social media posts, we are no
KAVYA UPPALAPATI
Statement Columnist
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Read more at
MichiganDaily.com