Lately, I’ve been seeing more and more articles from marketers and business leaders about how to “tap into fandom.” I fear that many of them are missing the point. Fandom isn’t something you switch on. It isn’t a marketing lever. And it doesn’t always have an open door policy. It’s an orbit made up of a tight knit, opinionated, and passionate bunch.
As Superfandom points out, a fandom comes alive when three ingredients collide: critical mass, an emotional spark, and a place to express it. Once that energy builds, the orbit begins. Fans set it in motion. “A place to express it” aka the platform piece is almost always out of the brand’s control. It might be Tumblr, Reddit, Discord, a comment section, or a group text. That’s why the advice to “create a fandom” rings hollow. You don’t create the orbit. You listen to it. You watch it spin.
Fandom does not mean sales or followers. The book Fans reminds us that our brains are wired for groupish connection. Fans exist and gather because they want belonging, shared culture, and the reassurance that what they love matters to someone else too. That’s why they hang out in parking lots before the show. That’s why they spend hours creating memes, fanfic, or TikToks. It’s work and ritual. It’s identity and community.
What brands often miss (again, Superfandom underlines this) is that fan enthusiasm isn’t about the bottom line. It’s about whether it serves something deeply personal: joy, identity, purpose, connection. If those needs aren’t met, no amount of “buzz” or merch or clever campaign will stick.
The real magic happens in the orbit, not the center. When fans build meaning together, they transform the thing they love into something bigger than itself. And in 2025, you need to make sure it’s not a one-way exchange. I believe it has to be a loop. The work of fans needs to feed back into the object of their love, keeping it alive and evolving.
So if you’re the center (aka an artist, a brand, or a business looking to tap into fans) remember: you’re not the orbit. Fans decide whether to circle you, and whether the orbit keeps spinning. Your role is to fuel the motion: respect fan labor, encourage rituals, make space for connection. Because fandom doesn’t just serve you. It serves the people who need each other.
So how do you get fans in the first place, anyway?
If fandom feels like something mysterious that just “happens,” there are patterns worth paying attention to. Like I mentioned above, the simple formula is: critical mass + emotional spark + a place to express it. Without all three, you don’t get liftoff.
So yes…make something worth being a fan of! And get it out there in front of people. From there, the stickiness comes from how people are welcomed in and what they’re allowed to do:
Keep the barrier to entry low. Early fans need activities that are fun and rewarding even before the group scales.
Nurture the firestarters. The first few voices carry outsized influence. Bombard them with attention and encouragement so their energy signals life to others.
Let fans play. Memes, zines, playlists, fanfic? These are not distractions. Do not punish these people or demonize this. Let people take ownership and make it theirs.
Make it a scene, not just a product. One Direction wasn’t just a band. It was an online culture with its own slang, hierarchies, and inside jokes. Their fans idolized but also made jokes/made fun of the brand members.
Fans don’t just appear because you want them to. They gather when love, identity, and culture are allowed to collide. Let them build something together that’s bigger than you.
My Orbit of Huge Fandom framework. Read more about it here.
