Fandemonium
Michael Lee
Fandemonium: The Capital of Our Cultural Hell | Kōsaten
San Diego Comic-Con 2019 (SDCC) has come and gone, the celebrity panels have wrapped, the latest trailers have been released, and reaction videos now flood YouTube. Disney has already destroyed its previous high point for annual ticket sales, and it’s only August. Having acquired Marvel and Fox, the company now has a substantial portfolio of media franchises to draw from. But in order to keep printing money—and keep shareholders placated— more movies need to be made, more goods need to be produced. Just how deep is the nerd well?
SDCC is the largest event of the year for all things nerdy, which should be Heaven for geeks everywhere. But with a pro-corporate agenda and active exploitation of fandom, the convention appears to be nothing more than the glittering façade of Hell’s capital.
In John Milton's Paradise Lost the capital of Hell is a gaudy, ostentatious assemblage of art and architecture, attempting to replicate (and surpass) the works found in Heaven, but under the guidance of Mammon—the deity of materialism and greed—the Kingdom that Satan builds is naught but a bastardized version of Heaven. Maarten Delbeke through the work of Roland Mushat Frye explains that the visual language of Hell's capital, Pandemonium, is one of "devilish bad taste, where errors against the rules of classical architecture vie with excessive ornament and material splendor to create a promiscuous architectural monstrosity." Yet despite this, the denizens of Hell marvel at its construction, drawn to its glittering adornments and sheer overwhelming architectural magnitude. Robert Fox explains how it is that Mammon orchestrated the construction of this Temple of Avarice, his unrelenting greed revealing itself in stages.
First, through miserliness—the coveting and hoarding of wealth— Mammon with a 'downward bent' admires the gold pavement of Heaven, desiring it more than anything else. The second stage is that of material industrialism, wherein Mammon desires more than simply wealth, he must also create, taking the materials from the Earth and creating objects from them. Finally, Mammon arrives at prodigality—the stage of excess—constructing Pandemonium with gold and other rare materials, meant to be as showy and magnificent as the great temples of Heaven. If not more so. Acquiring a taste for this prodigal lifestyle, Mammon asserts that he would not under any circumstances consider returning to Heaven, as it is a place governed by law and would surely interfere with his plans to continue his endless production of wealth. He no longer needs Heaven, for he has found something better in the depths of Hell. Fox describes Mammon's situation best, saying: "hell has its hidden light, not the light of glory but the only light that the materialist can invisage." Mammon thrives in Hell, his greed rewarded. He is the perfect example of an unfettered capitalist: covetous, exploitative, and excessive.
Pandemonium, is one of "devilish bad taste, where errors against the rules of classical architecture vie with excessive ornament and material splendor to create a promiscuous architectural monstrosity." Yet despite this, the denizens of Hell marvel at its construction, drawn to its glittering adornments…
All of this preamble brings us to our realm, where Mammon's work lives on, in the capital of our cultural Hell, Fandemonium. The bastardization of Fandom.
In our bottomless cultural abyss, there is a light that only the materialist can see. The gleam of profit draws media companies to the world of Fandom, their hands eagerly rubbing together at the thought of tapping into this market. Their prey is the loyal fanbase, who invests their time [viewership], their labor [fan creation], and their bodies [cosplay] in the name of their chosen fandom that brings them joy and resonates deeply within them. Fandom reaches a spiritual level of worship, and this religious devotion represents the very foundation of Fandom. It is no surprise that Mammon—with his downward bent—would covet this.
Fandom’s Engine
The practices of fan culture have their roots in participatory culture, a blend of cultural production and social exchange that creates a community around a focal point. As technology advanced towards the end of the 20th century, networks of fandom reached ever further, allowing fans to connect via the internet and share their fan fiction, video collections, artwork, and engage in discourse with like-minded individuals across the country, or across the world. Media scholar Henry Jenkins wrote in the 2015 book Participatory Culture in a Networked Era, "with digital culture, more people are making media and sharing what they made with each other. Grassroots and amateur forms of expression gained much greater visibility." And while not everyone must create to be considered a part of fandom, the act of creation is one that gives power directly to the fan, who is empowered to take an existing media property and infuse it with their own personal tastes and style. Those who do not create may participate by reading a fanfic and commenting on it, or complimenting a piece of art created by a fan. Creation leads to more engagement, and a closer relationship to a media property through the act of creation only intensifies the fandom as a whole. It gives fans a sense of intimacy with the property they have chosen as their focus.
There is still consumption, but it is consumption in a space that includes voluntary labor and consumer-driven production. The motive of participants in fandom is not that of capital gain, but that of seeking out a community or tribe to which to belong, and to revel together in the holy light of the anointed media property.
However, the Culture Industry has seen the passion and intensity that drives the engine of Fandom and now covets it. "How do we harness that energy and make a profit off of it?" They ask. The gears in Mammon's head begin to turn. This is part of the endless drive of capitalism; Hardt and Negri in their book Empire describe this drive "toward a kind of imperialism characterized by pillage and theft." In order to sustain this acquisition of new 'constant' capital, it must be matched by the acquisition of new 'variable' capital, in the form of labor power. Which is why tapping into fandom has made so much financial sense to major studios.
The non-capitalist, communal labor of fan fiction & art creation is being channeled towards acts of prosumption, production and consumption that act essentially as free promotional labor for media franchises. Vlogs, reviews on aggregating websites, tweets, and Facebook posts that declare allegiance to a franchise, while still an act of the fan, have been co-opted by the Culture Industry to sell tickets and move goods. Rosa Luxemburg offers a rationalization of this capitalist conquest (in the context of nations) by explaining, "all conquerors pursue the aim of dominating and exploiting the country, but none are interested in robbing the people of their productive forces and in destroying their social organization." In what has been a soft power takeover of fan culture, media companies have positioned themselves to influence fandom and exploit the deep labor pool that exists therein, all the while pandering to fans in an attempt to keep the social organization of a particular fandom placated. If a group becomes disenfranchised, they may stop being fans, and take their unpaid labor elsewhere.
"all conquerors pursue the aim of dominating and exploiting the country, but none are interested in robbing the people of their productive forces and in destroying their social organization." -Rosa Luxemburg
Tapping Into the Market
The Culture Industry creates content that is targeted at the fan demographic, sensing that if this oft-marginalized group is given purchasing power, agency, and objects tailored to their chosen fandom they will exercise that given power to the fullest, performing the work of not only the consumer, but also that of the producer by spreading the word through their formidable networks of communication. However, media companies are not content to simply covet these small, niche groups. They must create more fans.
This is the materialistic industrialism of Mammon, seeking out new ways of turning a profit. He found a "liquid fire" deposit of ore underneath a vast plain in Hell, pouring the molten ore into moulds to be cast. Media companies found a deposit of fans hiding just below the surface of the pop culture landscape, and after extracting them, moulded them into consumers. The work done to create the perpetual consumption of all things nerdy is a two-fold attack, extracting the elements of the fan subculture to then diffuse into the mainstream, as well as simply producing things for consumers to buy.
For part one of that equation, bringing subculture or counterculture into the mainstream is a product of postmodernism's penchant for disrupting grand narratives, leaving instead a fragmented, nichefied culture. This is where Henri Lefevbre's Everyday Life swoops in, a state in which "Capitalism has taken society and reduced it to a homogenous, and yet fragmented, milieu." Under capitalism, and in particular the marriage of late capitalism and postmodernism, specialized fandom no longer exists in opposition to mainstream culture, it has been absorbed into it, whilst retaining only the fleeting traces of being special or unique. However, that imagery of the fan as being counterculture remains strong and coveted by the masses as something to aspire to. This strange confluence of conditions has allowed "the nerd" to emerge from their parents' basement and into the limelight. And with the homogenized pop culture landscape established, entry into fandom becomes substantially easier. Throw social media into this mix, where consumers are encouraged to produce, and you have all the pieces for a fanbase who will generate buzz and dollars in perpetuity.
"Capitalism has taken society and reduced it to a homogenous, and yet fragmented, milieu." -Henri Lefevbre
The second part of the industrialism that drives Mammon, and in this case, the Culture Industry, is simply making goods for the fanbase to consume. The unrelenting number of tie-ins with mega franchises like Game of Thrones and the Marvel Cinematic Universe exist to allow fans to express their fandom outwardly, to not only advertise the franchise, but also the self. It's not just toys anymore, nearly every aspect of your life can be in collaboration with Game of Thrones, from shoes to booze. This is once again, the Lefebvre idea of a 'homogenous, fragmented milieu' wherein everyone likes more or less the same things, but in an individualized fashion. This theme also appears in Guy Debord's Society of the Spectacle, saying "the reigning economic system is a vicious cycle of isolation... the goods that the spectacular system chooses to produce also serve it as weapons for constantly reinforcing the conditions that engender 'lonely crowds.'"
The Temple of (Fan)Doom
With the mechanisms in place to continually reap profit from fandom, it is here that the Culture Industry erects their equally gaudy version of Pandemonium, their turn to prodigality, in the form of the San Diego Comic-Con. On its surface, SDCC resembles Fandom, fans congregate to geek out, participate in cosplay, and are treated as if they belong to a special club—given access to watch exclusive trailers for upcoming projects, and getting to meet their idols in person. However, this is Fandemonium after all, not only is the event utterly chaotic, it is nothing more than idolatry of something that is attempting to pass as Fandom. Mammon's creation attempts to mimic the grandeur of Heaven, but takes the architectural elements that make up these buildings and piles them one on another, the excessive ornamentation producing a building that Kate Wagner could write a thesis about. This mimicry is exactly what SDCC is, taking what it thinks fan activity focuses on, cranking the intensity up to 11, and creating an event dripping in the excesses of capitalist spectacle.
The idea behind prodigality is to lavishly give, and to not take in return, and in appearance, an event like SDCC seems to work in this way. A love letter to fans, rewarding them for their patronage. But the inclusion of fans doesn't necessarily mean that they are given power or that prodigality is practiced altruistically. Mel Stanfill's new book Exploiting Fandom peels back the facade, revealing the inner workings of this supposed charity, saying "Inclusion in inequitable systems does not necessarily challenge inequality, and the media system is notoriously unequal. This requires attention to power. Following Michel Foucault, I argue that power does not only repress; it also produces. This means that making something more possible, more normative, or more common sense is also a form of constraint." We must closely look at the power relations found in a space like the San Diego Comic-Con's venue(s). Who controls the spectacle, how is access granted, what is the relation between producer and consumer? The scales are tipped in favor of the media companies. So while fan practices are more celebrated now, and fans appear to be included and encouraged to participate, the idea that fans have power or any form of control in shaping the franchises they are fans of is a fallacy. Purchasing power may be all that fans have left, which only plays into the hands of media empires working under capitalism.
So Where Are the Fans?
Looking through the schedule at the San Diego Comic-Con, there is no mention of commonly practiced fan activities. Despite there being hundreds of panels, not one looks at fan fiction, and while a staple of most anime conventions is the AMV (anime music video) contest, wherein fans cut together scenes of their favorite show or characters and set the piece to music, you can't find an event like this at SDCC. Looking at the map for the 2018 event, the "Artists Alley" space for fanmade content—the only space where fan creation is allowed—is located at the far end of the exhibit hall, whilst all of the brands that will be present are given prominent labeling on the map and most are given prime locations at the center of the exhibit hall. This stands in stark contrast to the largest fan event in the world, Japan's Comic Market, where the focus for its entire 45-year history has been on fanmade goods, featuring 35,000 self-publishing artists & writers all given equal space to present their wares, with corporate booths kept completely separate, relegated to the outer halls of the sprawling Tokyo Big Sight. Comic Market is the Holy Land for fans, and the language used to describe it reflects this. The term Seichi (聖地) which means “sacred ground” is used by fans to describe Comic Market’s sprawling airplane hanger-sized halls, and that level of near-religious devotion is reflected in the fanmade works on display. Different congregations gather to worship their chosen character or series, sharing their creations not for profit —in fact around 70% of artists lose money—but purely for love. It isn’t about making money, it’s about celebrating media with likeminded folk.
When you remove fan production from Fandom, you're left only with consumption. By eliminating the creative outlet that fans thrive on, participatory culture, as it has been traditionally defined, cannot survive. This is what media franchises aim for here, they want to control how you participate as a fan, and by restricting fans' power to only what purchases you make, and the tweets you post, they turn spaces that could involve fans in meaningful ways, into empty, lifeless places where lonely crowds gather. The glittering palace of Fandemonium stands tall as a temple of avarice, leaving fans in a state of sublime awestruckness. The shiny facade working to mask the capitalist machinations that have created this bastardized version of Fandom.
Michael Lee is the Editor of KOSATEN, and is currently pursuing research on Japanese fandom, with a particular focus on doujinshi and other fan-created media.
