Jun 21, 2022
Through Fanfiction, I Learned the Machinery of My Mind
On the page, I was intact. I was smart and forceful. I had a comeback for every spar.
On the page, I was intact. I was smart and forceful. I had a comeback for every spar.
Fan culture’s veer into the mainstream saw it lose its sense of protection and gain an abundance of entitlement, even cruelty.
As of January 2021, only six of the first twenty-one sweepstakes winners were able to live in their Dream Home for longer than a year.
When I was a kid, the hyperfeminine was considered a failing—but I wanted to both be and be with these beautiful women that I privately gawked at and desired.
The invisible fence that divides highbrow and lowbrow is largely imposed by money, those we admire, and our own social conditioning.
In Q Hayashida’s wild, imaginative artwork, I found the freedom to see beyond my surroundings, all on my own.
As a preteen, I’d absorbed this dynamic—a teen girl dating adult men—as totally normal because it was embedded in the show’s wholesome package.
We Asians were in this thing—racist America—together.
Seeing Nick’s imperfections play out in a way that shows he is not a failure, just human, is exactly what I needed to get me through quarantine.
Priyanka Bose on How Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir Helped Her Overcome Loneliness
Though she lives, some part of Korra—the flame throwing hothead, insistent on taking up space—does not survive.
When I moved to America, I thought I could fashion a new life out of the escape, but a BoJack Horseman character taught me to be patient with setbacks
I’m coming to terms with the fact that—whether it ends in an unfollow or in a blow-up bash in a house in Malibu—sometimes the kindest thing we can give one another is a goodbye.
I remember the day Mom said “stage IV metastatic,” so now I need a show with forty seasons.
When palm trees swing in the soft breeze, I remind myself that my body is not an orchestra, and the trees are not dancing for me.
I didn’t know—or think I knew—any visibly queer women, and watching these fictional women half-existing seemed both comforting and lonely.
At the time, I didn’t know I could be anything but a girl, a quiet Chinese American girl, cute and easy to ignore, but Kurama hinted at other possibilities.
The truth was, for me and as for Fleabag, I wasn’t just looking for a good story to tell my friends. I was looking for something so much harder to grasp: a narrative.
The Roadshow is so kind, so simple, and so pure that you begin to wonder, “Could this even be faked?” When I visited the set in San Diego, I discovered—no, it can’t be faked.
