They
say you never forget the first time you fall in love; passionately,
head-over-heels, crazy in love. The kind where you get butterflies, and they’re
on your mind all of the time. Becoming obsessed with a band feels a lot like
falling in love. My first kiss — with a guitar player — on a poster in my room,
takes me back to the third grade. While my friends were doing their class
projects on the life cycle of butterflies and the Solar System, I chose to
research Canadian rock band ‘Simple Plan’. They had that rough-and-ready 2005
punk style that I love: low-riding cargo pants, mohawks, and Converse sneakers.
During
what can only be coined as my ‘Simple Plan phase’, I painted my nails black,
which my strict Catholic school teachers saw as the ultimate act of moral sin,
and my parents saw as the first step towards a life behind bars. I also begged
my mum to let me learn the drums or electric guitar, eventually compromising on
classical piano (that’s how compromise works with my mother.) Unlike
a relationship where the other person may need space once in a while, you never
need to worry that you’re smothering a band.
While
the word ‘obsession’ was once used to define an actual mental disorder,
#obsessed now describes an affinity for everything from kale salad to Cara
Delevingne’s eyebrows. As all fellow addicts at Gossip Girl anonymous will confirm, becoming a fangirl almost
always begin in the same way. First you overhear conversations of ‘how great
the show is’, and have your sanity questioned when you admit that you’re not up
to date. Friends recite memorable lines you’ve never heard and force you to
watch 10 minute YouTube montages of the funniest scenes, expecting you laugh
anyway. Without even knowing it, you’re being thrust into the first phase of obsession: ‘the gateway episode’. Like a friend
introducing you to a cute guy at a party, it may be love at first sight,
however it often takes a few dates with your new show before deciding if it’s
really ‘the one’.
So like any high-school peer-pressured courtship,
you give the pilot episode a chance. Soon enough however, you find yourself
immersed in Phase 2: the ‘follow on social media stage’. You dig so far into
their Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook accounts that you’re practically an
archaeologist. In some extreme cases, you surpass the ‘YouTube interview phase’
altogether and arrive straight at the ‘getting arrested for stalking phase’.
Three seasons in your Netflix history later and
you’re engrossed in a fully-fledged romance. Gossip Girl understands you like no one has before. It makes you
laugh, it picks you up at the end of a hard day, and soon enough you’re
daydreaming about breaking the metaphysical barrier and entering the world of
the show. You find yourself thinking ‘that’s such a Serena thing to say’, or
wondering if Blair Waldorf would want you as part of her clique. Welcome to
Phase 3.
You’d think my parents would be thankful that I’m
addicted to Gossip Girl and not sneaking out
in the middle of the night smoking pot,
stealing cars, or doing something drastic where I might end up starring on My Strange Addiction. (There’s nothing
strange about wanting to have my ashes scattered on the steps of the Met where
Serena and Blair hang out, is there?) Instead, they roll their eyes at another
one of my phases, as I try really hard to convince them that I need $4,000 for
the complete collection of headbands worn on the show.
Like all over-protective parents,
my father rarely gives his blessing to the ‘new obsession’ that has been
spending so much time with his daughter. My affinity with Simple Plan was a
budding romance until he threatened to issue a restraining order against
me if I continued one more rendition of ‘Welcome to my Life’. As I grew into my
pre-teen years, dinner-times were overrun by professing my need for concert
tickets, and threatening to go on a hunger strike like Ghandi until I was
allowed to go. All while my father (seated at the head of the table doing
Sudoku in pen) voiced his distaste at his 12-year-old daughter, who was ‘too
young’ to be going to a rock concert, and could wait until she was ‘at least thirty’.
The end of an obsession is a lot like a breakup. In
the heartbreak of the final episode airing, you eat ice-cream straight from the
tub and try to remember what the hell you did before the addiction took over
your life. Other times the honeymoon period simply fizzles out. You realise
you’ve been blowing off your friends, and you’re even starting to second guess
your decision to get a commemorative tattoo. Then one day you’re just watching
the director’s cut on YouTube, and the gaffer is explaining the lighting
techniques used in Season 5 episode 9, when suddenly you realise you have
nothing left to give. That’s how you know you’ve reached Phase 4: falling
out-of-love.
So finally you arrive at
the decision that you need space. Today you’re going to leave your house, maybe
see friends or start reading books again. You smile at the thought of this
newfound freedom. Gossip Girl feels
like a distant memory. You smile. Blair Waldorf would totally want you in her
clique.
And if you’re lucky, a
few ex-obsessions will get a second chance and make it to Phase Five: Fangirl
Reborn! Three words:
Sequel coming soon.
Xx
