I feel like I have a hundred posts to write inspired by Amanda Palmer, or about Amanda Palmer, or in any other way connected to Amanda Palmer. I believe this would probably make me a fangirl, yes? That’s what the post I had in mind was about. Anyway. Somehow I keep letting it get late and I don’t get around to writing down what I wanted to. It’s annoying but all my own fault, of course.
Fangirls. I think they’re quite a hated group, when you think about it – the word conjures up images of throngs of tweens and teenage girls screaming at a poppy, Disney-approved kind of artist, someone with current fashion and mainstream music and songs about love and breakups that sounds like soap bubbles, mostly transparent with just a hint of beautiful rainbow, that float through the air looking pretty – until they eventually pop, which, being as ridiculously fragile as they are, tends to happen sooner rather than later.
At least, that’s what I think of.
Then I remember the fangirls of bands like All Time Low and A Day to Remember, as opposed to the so-called Swifties and Directioners. Those girls who haunt tumblr and I don’t know exactly, obsess over how hot and funny the band members are? I don’t know these people, I’ve never met one in real life. I picture them wearing black leather studded bracelets and black eyeliner, and I suppose that’s what this is about, isn’t it?
The stereotype of a fangirl – one I fit perfectly in some ways, and yet one that also hangs off me like a muumuu on a skinny girl, a massive garment to fill that I can provide but little body for. I don’t know, my metaphors are going extra strange now – it’s late and I have a cat curled up beside me. I should go to sleep, so I will, and I’ll write up a well-thought-out and planned blog post about fangirls and fandoms and fans in general, in my head as I lie waiting for sleep, and without a doubt by morning I’ll have forgotten all but the basic idea.
Let’s try it out, shall we? Good night.