I’m a fan, you’re a fan, all of us are a fan of some higher being or object that is so much more wonderful than us. We, the masses, are undergoing a massive “fanization,” a process by which we are turning into followers of every brand of pizza, microblog and your staple rock band. I guess there’s just so many of us that it is getting harder and harder to imagine all of us will be big someday. Someone who’s better educated, more widely connected, has a better eye for color and a better ear for notes, and more natural curls in their thicker hair is bound to take that spotlight away from us. Doors of fame closing on all sides, we resign happily to the status of becoming a fan. It’s as if the old fanaticism for religion had disintegrated into a trillion smaller fandoms, each with their own rites, beliefs and sacrifices. And our gods look down at us, and make use of us by convincing us to buy their t-shirts, CDs and listening to their gospels uploaded on facebook. Nah, this is not about commercialization. Such an old cliche concept! After all, we know we wanna buy and we don’t have any problems with that. When did you last see a person feel guilty over buying a DVD of an indie film starring Gael Garcia Bernal, anyway? So it’s not the same commercialization rubbish. It’s just about becoming a fan of a whole shelf of personas and things that have acquired personalities of their own; and becoming content with that, sincerely glad for these things. I don’t know. There’s something sweet and sour in that acceptance.