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

Design by Amanda Cheug /
/ Page Design by Sarah Chung

Read more at 
MichiganDaily.com