At 22, I was laser-focused on one mission: seeing Britney Spears perform live in Las Vegas. This wasn’t my first rodeo; I’d witnessed her electrifying energy during both the *Circus* and *Femme Fatale* tours, shelling out over $300 per show for premium seats. But her Planet Hollywood residency in 2014 was a must-see. My cousin Farren and I arrived early, snagging general-admission tickets and camping out for hours. The moment the doors opened, we sprinted to the stage, landing just a few feet away from the pop icon as she belted out “Toxic.” We both agreed: it was the best day of our lives.
My Britney fandom traces back to childhood, specifically to the age of seven when I bought a cassette tape of her debut album, *Baby One More Time*. Growing up in rural Canada, I was immediately smitten with her seductive choreography, cute outfits, and club-ready beats—a stark contrast to anything I’d encountered before. As a Southern girl from Mississippi, I also connected with her roots, feeling a kinship with someone from a small community. I spent weeks practicing my dance moves to “Baby” in our backyard, blasting it from a pink boombox my parents had reluctantly bought me.
My adoration deepened throughout my teenage years. My computer screensaver boasted various Spears images, my wardrobe overflowed with her merch (tees, keychains, posters), and I religiously checked Perez Hilton’s website for the latest paparazzi photos. During her widely publicized public breakdown in 2007, I fiercely defended her while friends and family mocked her mental health. Remember the viral YouTube video, “Leave Britney Alone?” I almost made my own version to post on Facebook. That was *my girl*, and I was ready to fight for her. (To this day, I stand by her iconic, albeit slightly lackluster, “Gimme More” performance at the 2008 VMAs. What other pop star could give you 20% effort and still deliver a performance that resonates years later?)
Now, at 32, a healthy dose of Britney obsession remains. However, a nagging question has begun to surface: am I too old to be a stan? My work Slack icon features a frame from her “Slave 4 U” performance (with the snake) at the 1999 VMAs; my iPhone background, which I use for work, displays a paparazzi shot of Spears sporting a pink tote that reads “Bitchy.” I’ve read her powerful memoir, *The Woman in Me*, twice; I’ve streamed every new song she’s released since her conservatorship ended, including the bizarre yet catchy “Mind Your Business”; and late at night, I occasionally revisit her music videos and performances. Do I need a hobby?
I’m not alone in my adult fandom. Nowadays, virtually every major celebrity boasts a pack of die-hard fans—whether it’s the Beyhive, the Barbz, or the Swifties—and when these groups mobilize to defend their idols, their power can be intimidating. Spears’s “B Army” is a prime example, ready to take on Justin Timberlake at any opportunity. (When he released a song called “Selfish” this year, Spears’s fans caused her 2011 song “Selfish” to climb the charts, ultimately surpassing his.)
Of course, modern fandom can sometimes feel a bit out of control. Rising pop star Chappell Roan recently addressed this, urging her fans to respect her and her loved ones’ personal and professional boundaries. “Predatory behavior (disguised as ‘superfan’ behavior) has become normalized because of the way women who are well-known have been treated in the past,” she wrote on Instagram. “Please do not assume you know a lot about someone’s life, personality, and boundaries because you are familiar with them or their work online.” Her statement struck a chord with me. I’m certainly old enough to understand that celebrities like Chappell and, yes, Britney, are human beings who deserve privacy. It’s embarrassing to objectify them—or, conversely, treat them like gods—when they’re simply doing a job, just like I am.
Asking friends and colleagues if they still stan celebrities as adults and if they feel ashamed of it, like I increasingly do, yielded similar experiences. “Like a lot of 20-something-year-old girls, I get much of my fashion inspiration from Hailey Bieber,” Molly Barnstein, Vogue’s associate manager of audience development, shared. “So much so that a few years ago, I had one of her iconic street-style looks set as my phone background. One afternoon after a Vogue event, I found myself alone in an elevator, and none other than Mrs. Bieber herself walked in. Within one second, my phone lit up, and the light caught her attention. I am 99.9% certain that she clocked herself as the background of my phone, and I am 100% certain that she thought I was a creep.” Other friends, who preferred anonymity, also shared their tales of obsessive fandom. We all know it’s weird, even potentially unhealthy, so why can’t we stop?
To be fair, most of us are perfectly harmless; we aren’t stalking celebrities’ homes or sending them deranged fan letters. (If you are, please seek help.) The most peculiar aspect of our behavior is the immense joy we derive from their art. Is that so bad? Yes, having a Britney shrine in my home (I don’t, okay?) would be excessive, but listening to *Blackout* on my daily commute isn’t a big deal, right? Some people collect cars or spoons or rare sports memorabilia; I simply listen to Britney.
Furthermore, I’ve matured since my early stan years, refusing to engage with paparazzi photos or invasive content about my beloved Princess of Pop. That’s the beauty of aging fandom—your adoration gradually gives way to genuine empathy. Just don’t tell my closet full of Britney tees.
