An Open Letter to Teen Fangirls

I understand.
There’s a sense of shared love, a communion that’s safe and warm and snuggly because not only are you preying on a dream – the dream that the idol will one day turn around and say “I love you, too” – but that dream is shared by thousands, millions, of other girls who cannot be a threat because somehow, in a hidden subconscious that you don’t appreciate, you know that this idol never will turn around and tell you “I love you”.
It’s easier to love these boys who are made to appear nice, to appear safe, so much in opposition to the world you’re about to sting your finger on, the world of WOMANHOOD in which you’ll be screwed over by men, in which you’ll screw them up, too, and I mean that both literally and figuratively.
Yeah.
Dear child – because you are a child and so am I and no I don’t know when it ends – your love for this idol is a protective bubble and that’s all right. Be snug in delusions’ hug. Who knows how long it’ll last?
But some delusions are dangerous.

When you run screaming down the street, heart pounding against your chest as if an African tribe is stumping inside you, a light fills you, a warmth. Everything becomes easier, doesn’t it, because there’s the obsession that makes other things seem unimportant.
Like how old your grandparents are getting, or
How you can’t relate to your best friends anymore, or
How you don’t want to be an elitist gymnast anymore, or
How the violin is starting to bore you, or
How your parents don’t understand, though it happened to them, too, or
How the future stares at you like a big, red lobster, a dragon that’s about to open its giant mouth and swallow you so you can tumble into an acid stomach and singe to death

Dreams are important – Please have them. They will guide your every step.
But get carried away and daydreams become your enemy.
Don’t turn your back on the problems, don’t run away from deciding what you want to do because it’ll only get harder.

I was six when I realized I wanted to be a writer and then
I was fed with the belief that I had to do something useful and
I thought “writer” wasn’t a serious profession, so I wanted to become
A doctor
A medicinal chemicist
A professor in chemistry
A chemical engineer

But I’m a writer.

They told me to be those things, but I’m not. No matter how many times they told me I’d make a good doctor, and no matter how true it might be.
I could do the actions, be
Like Barbie with the 90-degree arms and
A plastic smile
So white
it could never
Be me.

My point?

When I became a fangirl I was confused, body transforming, still a child inside, just wanted to play but nobody wanted to play
No more
Awareness of sexuality gradually painted a different world,
So did the models in the magazines
No wonder I had low self esteem.

Being a fangirl helped me move through, this
Sheer JOY! The screaming, the ENDORPHINS!
Like jumping off a cliff into love
And don’t they say to jump into love as often as
You can
You can do anything, so just remember, as you scream at One Direction, that the image of them that their managers
Agents
Marketers
Have conjured might not be real, and you know this
‘cause you’re smart
But your subconscious is touchy
Moushy
Boochy coochy
And FEELS and might be FOOLED –

When they tell you “YOU DON’T KNOW YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL” you get so happy, because that’s what you want to hear:
In Twilight Edward says “You don’t realize the effect you have on people”
And he’s saying that to YOU and not to Bella.

That’s why it’s all so addicting, we’re desperate for a safe obsession and
Validation.

But Edward isn’t talking to you – he’s talking to a cardboard female with generic traits.
Not meaning that you should not obsess – by all means, go ahead!

But nobody can talk you into self-esteem
Kurt Vonegut said it best: you are exactly who you seem

Compliments are nice, can make your hour or maybe day,
But it won’t make your life
You will
stop expecting me or One Direction to tell you you’re beautiful and
stop the false sense of gratitude
Gratitude unneeded, undesired, UNDESERVED
Just change your attitude
Our words don’t matter, go look in the mirror and sing to yourself:

Baby you light up my world like nobody else
The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed
But when you smile at the ground it aint hard to tell
You don’t know
Oh oh
You don’t know you’re beautiful

If only you saw what I can see
You’ll understand why I want you so desperately
Right now I’m looking at you and I can’t believe
You don’t know
Oh oh
You don’t know you’re beautiful
Oh oh
That’s what makes you beautiful

Improvised dancing is encouraged.

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