1. Introduction: Toward an onomastics of fan communities
[1.1] For several decades now, academic literature has addressed the functioning of fan communities; however, little has been documented with regards to the subject of their naming. Today, these names—from Potterheads (Harry Potter) to Tolkiendils (J. R. R. Tolkien) to Trekkies (Star Trek)—make up an essential part of how fans present themselves. The aim of this article will therefore be to explore what fandom names say about collective and individual identities, their relationship to cultural industries, and the evolution of these communities in the digital era. This will by no means be an exhaustive examination of this issue, but it will open some new avenues to broadly consider fandom names as a relevant approach for analyzing the symbolic significance of such a self-categorization.
[1.2] In order to illustrate what is at stake with this phenomenon, let's begin with an example. In June 2011, more than a year before the release of The Hunger Games (2012), the first film adapted from the literary saga of the same title, a group of fans caused a commotion when it came to deciding what they wanted to be called. This dystopian literary universe, created by American novelist Suzanne Collins, in which young people are randomly selected to battle to the death in immense arenas, was widely successful even before being adapted for the big screen. Growing expectations and promotion of the film only intensified the enthusiasm. And so, at the beginning of summer 2011, many media outlets began reporting on the yet-to-be-released film and evoked the importance of the phenomenon. That is how the term "Jabberjays" (which in the book refers to a bird used for spying) was coined to refer to Hunger Games fans in an article published June 9, 2011, on E! News's website (note 1). The author of the article is Ted Casablanca who, at the time, was writing an online column dedicated to celebrity gossip titled "The Awful Truth." In the article, he used the term "Jabberjays" to contrast Hunger Games enthusiasts to those of the Twilight saga created by Stephenie Meyer, who had a name already (Twihards).
[1.3] Several fans, on forums, the Wiki of the saga, as well as on Facebook and Twitter, reacted swiftly and negatively to the moniker. On the saga's official Facebook page, producers decided, after having seen the magnitude of the uproar, to act very quickly; on June 10, they opened a debate regarding the subject (note 2). The post in question received more than 800 comments, which contained an array of proposals (Mockingjays, Mockingeeks, The Hunger Gamers, Tributes, and so on). At that point, some decided to take matters into their own hands and established a democratic process to choose a name collectively. Administrators of Down With the Capitol, one of the universe's principal fan websites, decided to take a poll, and it was accompanied by text explaining that not only did they not appreciate the given name, but also they were not particularly "keen on the media as having the final say in what our fandom is called" (HungerGame123 2011). Fans mobilized after the article appeared, and they participated in the poll. The final results showed a majority (36.8 percent) in favor of the name Tributes (which, in the book, refers to those selected to participate in the games); however, the proposed name Mockingjay (another bird, a symbol of resistance to the powers that be) received a high number of votes as well (23.6 percent). So, a second poll was created to decide the name once and for all, and, in the end, it was a rather decisive victory for Tributes, which was officially adopted at the end of June 2011 and continues to this day to be used by fans the world over.
[1.4] This example is representative of the tensions surrounding the topic of naming fan groups and highlights the vast body of actors involved in the process. It contains all the points that will be addressed in this paper to tackle this central question: what role does naming fandoms play in the social construct and existence of these communities?
[1.5] To delve into this topic, I will examine several examples of fandom names and their uses. These examples come from personal research, notably regarding geek culture in France, composed of a large corpus of ethnographic analysis of fan blogs and forums (Peyron 2013). I will also examine the work of other researchers who have studied similar collectives. All media types will be investigated and juxtaposed with this transversal issue, since its true reach can only be found using a comparatist approach. For the purposes of this paper, I have limited the scope to fictional universes (excluding, for example, sports and music) so as not to overextend a spectrum that is already very broad and to possibly overlook not only certain differences between types of fandom that have points in common but also specificities irreducible to comparison. These examples will serve as a foundation for the theoretical analysis of the effect of a group name on how fans of popular media express their feelings of belonging, on their interactions with cultural industries, and on the ways in which they affirm a lifestyle specific to fan cultures.
2. Naming a community to help bring it into existence
[2.1] To come back to the example of Hunger Games, there is an element that both the media and the abovementioned fans have in common. In both cases, it is taken for granted that a human collective can be called a Hunger Games fan community. This is not, however, evident in principle, and it does not seem risky to presume that the people who are included in this collective, and/or those who claim to be, can possess, according to other criteria, very distinct social characteristics. Just loving the saga does not seem sufficient to establish a community and would appear somewhat simplistic for the individuals in question.
[2.2] Here, we encounter a relatively old media studies question involving the use of the notion of public, defined by Gabriel Tarde as "a purely spiritual collectivity, like a dispersion of individuals who are physically separated and whose cohesion is entirely mental" (2014, 7). How could we consider such a fragile and heterogeneous entity as a whole, as a coherent collective? This question is in part answered when, following Tarde and many others, we take into account the reflexivity of any public whose "existence involves a capacity for self-imagination, through the modes of collective representation, and through the validation of belonging" (Dayan 2000, 433, my translation). In the same way, for someone to call him- or herself a fan is not an observation but a reflexive assertion that engages the individual in a certain type of relationship with him- or herself and others as a specific public. Therefore, it is mainly a question of clarifying, through fandom names, what a community is when speaking about a fan community. The thesis posited here, following Daniel Dayan's work, is that it's not a concrete, fixed object clearly identifiable in its physical location but a continual work in progress based on a feeling of belonging, as well as a social imaginary performed by individuals who are ready to identify themselves as a human collective, sometimes heterogeneous, through the accumulation of self-defining elements and a renewed balance of power with other collectives.
[2.3] So, we understand that being considered as a group is probably the least problematic issue for fans in the abovementioned controversy. Hunger Games fans refuse the name the media gave them but do not object to the fact that the media consider them as a whole. One must assume that even a minimal tie (like a name) to the group is necessary for it to come into existence, precisely because it is easy to consider that this community is not actually a community. By being affirmed, this (self-)categorization is therefore not seen as alienating for a group of individuals, even if they are very heterogeneous, since, in said group, they are able to find a confirmation of belonging and therefore a recognition and social validation of their identity.
[2.4] We also understand that, as Dayan (2000) states, any form of validation or proof that this community exists is more than welcome. There must be a continual elaboration of strategies attesting to the fandom's reality; by doing so, it becomes effectively more real. In order to do this, the group must recursively reassess itself to become more than the sum of its individual parts, or as Luc Boltanski (2009, 117) puts it, to be its own institution: an entity that attests to and confirms the social reality of things and groups. According to the author, institutional acts are performative but also fragile, since these entities do not possess a concrete reality and are therefore easily contestable, just like the things they validate. It implies a permanent institutionalization process, and the group's name is to be understood as the intention to fix this process in place. Once the name is decided upon and adopted, it can then be used as a tool of affiliation and recognition for new fans, who strengthen and reinforce the group. It is this entire process—its functioning, its fragilities, its temporality, its impact on both collective and individual identities, seen through an onomastic lens—that is at the heart of the thinking undertaken here.
[2.5] So, I put forward the idea that it is precisely because fans consider themselves a community that they become one: a collective in which belonging is reflexive and asserted. The importance of a name is proportional to the perceived complexity of a group that possesses liminal contours and weak ties. This entails, first and foremost, bringing to the fore the role of sociability in a fan's attitude.
[2.6] Numerous studies have shown over the past twenty-five years that, contrary to a commonly used pathological approach described by Joli Jensen (1992), being a fan is not the sign of an obsessive passion based on fetishistic and repetitious contact with an object. Quite the opposite, this term refers to a large spectrum of activities that goes well beyond the object's boundaries and must be understood as a social practice. As Henry Jenkins writes, if everything starts with a fan's "activity in making meaning and finding pleasure within commercial texts," they "are motivated not simply to absorb the text but to translate it into other types of cultural and social activity" (1992, 209). In other words, fun always falls within the scope of an interpretive community that the fan community forms. This makes it possible to develop a microcosm, beneficial when the other members of the public or friends and family do not understand the individual's taste or do not share the same level of attachment to the object.
[2.7] To consider oneself as belonging to a fandom also falls within the logic of authenticity: it is about being accepted and judged as a true fan by a collective of peers whom the fan considers apt to make such a determination and therefore to be recognized as a true fan through his or her identity. For Christian Le Bart, this mechanism is cyclic: there is differentiation with nonfans, then undifferentiation with those who are considered peers and, finally, redifferentiation within the collective (2004, 285). Therefore, the feeling of belonging is a fundamental step taken by fans to put this cycle in place. The challenge then becomes one of situating the collective in order to carry out the effort of socialization.
[2.8] The first step to belonging is actually knowing what one belongs to, so as to be able to refer to the entity and build what functionalist sociology calls anticipatory socialization to the reference group, thus creating a more effective affiliation. Individuals share not only a passion but also the conviction that what they are passionate about contains strong enough points of interest to produce a common, transversal bond and consequently a community. So, knowing the name chosen by the community and attributing it to oneself is a key moment in the recognition and validation of oneself and of the group as fans. Socially, to have a name is to be.
[2.9] This ontological and performative argument regarding the existence of groups through naming, insisting on the role of the imaginary and reflexivity, is not new. It was aptly formulated by Cornelius Castoriadis when he explained that "every human being defines himself or herself and is defined for others in relation to an 'us.' But this 'us,' this group, this society is first of all a symbol, the insignias of existence that every tribe, every city, every society, has always ascribed to itself. Above all, of course, it is a name" (1987, 87). A name is representative of a group, and it embodies the collective and the image it wishes to portray. As a symbolic communication tool, it brings with it a set of meanings that informs others about the group, starting with the fact that it exists. For someone to call him- or herself a Potterhead is not only affirming that an important part of this person is defined by a passion for the saga created by J. K. Rowling, but it is also attesting that this name places him or her into a collective that is large and active enough to be named.
[2.10] The individual claiming to be part of it performs an act that, by synecdoche, confirms the rest of the group. The fact that the community has a name means that it is possible to deem that it exists. Obviously, that is not enough, but it appears to be a primary condition from which the rest can flow. The use of a fandom name is driven by a two-pronged movement: first, to feel like an accomplished fan by wearing and touting a name that places a person in a community; and second, to attest to the existence of the community by simply affirming affiliation to it. To say, "I am an X-phile" is like saying "I am a fan of The X-Files," but also "I am not the only one." It is continuously placing sociability at the heart of affirmation, thus doing away with, in part, the stigmatization associated with the fan's attitude. The logic is circular: the group exists, the proof being that I am part of it and I can call it by its name, and I am a true fan, the proof being that I am part of the group that has a name.
3. Name as differentiation tool
[3.1] The performative mechanism mentioned above is also a notion of exclusion and definition. As Bruno Latour states, "For every group to be defined, a list of anti-groups is set up as well" (2005, 32). Naming makes it possible to distinguish between those who are and those who are not and makes it so that using the name is a way to stabilize the collective's contours, whose fragility must continually be offset by a reflexive effort of elaboration and definition. The aim of this effort is to organize social issues so as to have an identity marker that works for all the group's members but that is also exclusive to the group.
[3.2] For Tributes, it wasn't simply a matter of affirming that the community existed by selecting a name; it was also a matter of defining it beyond what could be said by the media and industries, which are seen as other. Naming the collective and oneself as a community member creates tension between producer and public and makes it possible to define the contours of the collective by defining what it means to be a fan. This is evoked by Philippe Le Guern in his study of a French fan club for the TV series The Prisoner (1967–68) when he states, "Being a member of the fan club is certainly not enough to be considered part of the in-group, one still has to adhere to the fans' practices and values, to their habitus, through which members form a relatively coherent whole" (2004, 185, my translation). The name is used as a symbol for shared traits and values, and taking on the name is to adhere to them. The necessity of a name can only be concomitant with that of differentiating and defining oneself in the same movement.
[3.3] This is the case, for example, for Bronies, adult fans of the animated series My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic (2010–). Created by Lauren Post, this series depicts the adventures of a unicorn in a fictional universe inhabited by talking equidae. The target audience for the series is clearly young children, and the channels that broadcast the show are a pretty good indication of this (for example, The Hub in the United States). However, on the internet, and on social media in particular, an impressive number of adults very quickly started claiming to be fans of the show and expressed their specific relationship to it. Claire Burdfield call this emergence "the accidental audience of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" (2015). As with other fan communities, Marion Nollet notes that it was the act of giving a name to the fandom that largely contributed to its taking shape: "If the word is the beginning, then by giving it a name, it exists in the eyes of its members" (2012, 8, my translation). This is an important step, since a different audience was originally targeted, and this unexpected appropriation means that there is a collective of viewers who are not visible to producers.
[3.4] In their discussions, for example, Bronies brought to the fore secondary characters who were not very popular with the younger viewership. They also developed a set of rituals and a way of interpreting the series that set them apart from other viewers. This provoked "an underlying tension…with the adult fans, who expected to have a product which corresponded to their expectations even though they were not being targeted" (Nollet 2012, 56, my translation). As with the Hunger Games, it is out of this tension, as well as the relationship between fans, producers, and the general public, that the name emerged. It is not only a validation tool, but it also brings to the table another way to interpret the object. After having gained enough visibility, this alternative set of viewers was brought to the attention of the show's producers, who in turn started to slip into the series references to cult works from fan and geek cultures (Star Wars, Doctor Who, and so on), allowing those who spot them to feel as though they are seeing something that another public would not be able to catch. This is a good illustration of the three-way relationship based on fans' singularization.
[3.5] Here, the name serves a purpose that was already mentioned, that of separating the wheat from the chaff: to be able to distinguish the true fans, those who rightfully take on the name, from the others. On the internet, in fan forums, or on Facebook pages dedicated to popular objects, there are numerous lists that make it possible to decipher whether one is a true fan. These lists say a good deal about the requirements for being considered a legitimate fan. And the title or the way they begin is almost always built on the same model: "You know you are a [fandom name] when/if…" For example, on a Harry Potter fan website, we discover, among other things, that "You know you are a potterhead when…your parents don't understand the pain you felt after you finished watching D[eathly] H[allows] part 2" (Zar_far11 2016). This "when" refers to moments in everyday life where the difference with others is perceived, thus highlighting and showing the reflexivity of the fan's attitude. The common name serves as a sort of aid for these moments in which any true fan would recognize him- or herself.
[3.6] That is how we can, according to Benedict Anderson (1983), consider these human collectives as an imagined community. In his essay on the spread of nationalism, the author underlines the fact that all nations rely on imaginary symbols to forge links to their seldom-experienced origins, which are gradually instituted in the form of a feeling of camaraderie and community, even though no one person can be acquainted with the entirety of his or her fellow citizens. The feeling of being affiliated with a country, with a nation in the modern sense of the term, therefore relies on constructing a consensus around what that nation is (its history, borders, etc.), and on the sharing of certain sacred texts and values that make a transversal belonging possible.
[3.7] This phenomenon can also be likened to religious communities, which have long made it possible to bring together individuals of the same affiliation while drawing the boundaries of acceptable norms and heresy. It is possible to draw a parallel with fan cultures since, on the most basic level, what binds fans together is, above all other things, a text or a group of texts. So, the difference with nationalism and religion is to be found in the institutionalization of links. Without the state or religious institution validating the group's boundaries and the canon of sacred texts, the sense of belonging becomes more fragile and must emanate from the group itself, which relies on the texts to carry out a reflexive effort. Using them as a starting point, individuals can band together and form a collective, an imagined community, and give it a name so as to actualize and solidify potential social links around a shared passion. This is similar to the example of sports fans who, as early as the beginning of the twentieth century, formed fan communities, seeking to have their voices heard, and gave themselves names (generally that of the team). As stated by Dayan, fans "attempt, by displaying certain signs, to convert a statistical reality into an experiential or a community reality" (1992, 19, my translation). This reflexive work of conversion really brings the community into existence, or more precisely, it allows for the sense of belonging to emerge in a context where it is useful to have an influence on the power relationships in order to differentiate oneself, or to present oneself to others in a form of self-typification. The fact that it is "imagined, that it started from anticipation or fiction does not prevent it from transforming into a reality" (Dayan 1987, 182).
[3.8] Fans develop what Dick Hebdige (1979) calls a subcultural style, an expressive and shared form of identity that transforms into a set of integrated and asserted symbols, effectively bringing the group into existence. Like hippies, punks, geeks, goths, and other movements established through an historic process, for each fan community to become a subculture, it must have a name to highlight its transversality of tastes and values.
[3.9] It is entirely possible to see this phenomenon among older fandoms, the ones that forged the mechanisms we know today. Fans of the transmedia universe Star Trek, often associated with very pejorative critiques regarding their obsession and lack of social life, rejected the name Trekkies (used mockingly) in the 1970s and took up a different name, Trekkers, which is devoid of this aura of negative representation (Sconce 2004). This is best summed up in the definition of Trekker found in the collaborative Urban Dictionary: "Yeah, I'm a Star Trek fan, but I'm not a Trekkie, I'm a Trekker. Why? Because it better reflects what being a fan is about" (Marston 2006). Name as self-categorization is simultaneously a component of the group's existence and a way for it to reject what it is not, as well as working on gaining recognition.
[3.10] Naming can also be a way to establish differences between fan groups. For example, being a fan of Middle-earth, the universe created by J. R. R. Tolkien, could take on multiple meanings in a cultural sphere where adaptations from one media type to another are legion. And the name Tolkiendils (made up of a combination of the author's name and the suffix -dil, meaning "friend" in Elvish) was in use for decades before the appearance of Ringers, a name designating fans of the Lord of the Rings films made by Peter Jackson (Shefrin 2004). This differentiation shows that multiple communities do not necessarily confirm the same reality or the same temporality and objects of appropriation. A name is always indicative of a necessity for each group to organize and create its own boundaries.
[3.11] This leads those who identify with the values attached to the name and who proudly wear it to reject those who do not correspond to such values. As stated at the beginning of this section, establishing a group by using a name is also going to invite the creation of an antigroup and therefore antifans. Since a fandom does not possess any official power (as would be the case, for example, of a fan club that requires administrative registration), this rejection is above all punctual and symbolic. If the Hunger Games fans examined in the introduction reacted so harshly to the article that had attributed a name to them, it was also because it had drawn a comparison with Twilight fans, who are often associated with hysterical behavior, a caricature of teenage femininity (Busse 2013, 73). And even within a fandom, defining exactly what the name encompasses can be a source of conflict and discussion, leading to what Derek Johnson (2007) calls a "fan-tagonism," particularly pertinent to this theme.
[3.12] This, for example, is the case for Potterheads. Depending on the individual, the elements required to be able to assert this identity are variable and reveal what each one invests in this identity. For some, it involves knowledge and the capacity to mobilize it: "To be able to call yourself a true Potterhead you must be able to have a conversation about the wonderful wizarding world at any time of the day or week" (Hubbell 2015). And for others, reacting to this type of statement, it could simply be a question of showing an appreciation for the saga: "I don't believe that we should categorize ourselves and others like this, because it is basically just making 'true fans' or 'Purebloods' seem like the superior Potterheads…In my opinion, to be a Potterhead…all you have to do is simply enjoy the franchise" (BlameTheNargles 2015). So, what can be seen coming out of these conflicts of definition is a hierarchy linked to the central idea of authenticity: to take on the name is to be a true fan, thereby excluding the fake fan according to criteria that everyone agrees on.
4. An identity chosen for mobilization and self-presentation online
[4.1] Let's come back to the idea of nation used by Anderson. Here, this reference is not simply useful as a comparison: it is asserting a metaphorical territory or people that fans very often describe as their collective. The term fandom itself, a portmanteau combining fan and domain (or kingdom), perfectly expresses this territorial component within an imagined community. More specific names often express the will of a fan community to label itself as a population by using a name that is already affixed to groups within the fictional world. This is the second major type of fandom name, the first being a play on the fictional title. Examples of the first and most widely used type of fandom name can be found in groups for series like Glee (2009–15: Gleeks), long-time multimedia fandoms surrounding Sherlock Holmes (Sherlockians), or video games like Minecraft (Markus Persson/Mojang, 2009–: Minecrafters). However, when the title does not easily lend itself to wordplay or a catchy add-on, the second type often comes into the picture (note 3). So, using the example of Hunger Games, the term "Tributes" designates fans but also categorizes a population within the fictional diegesis.
[4.2] A comparison with an actual nation, however, quickly exposes its limits since, as we've seen, it has to do with a chosen collective identity, adopted and not ascribed. In this sense, fans embody a more general social condition of contemporary societies, a new form of individualism and self-construction that includes first and foremost an emplotment of the path taken, and "in this framework, personal identity becomes the result of a reflexive project" (Allard 2005, my translation). This tendency that some researchers call second, or reflexive, modernity (Beck 1992) does not push to eliminate classic forms of identity (gender, religion, family, nation), but to make them more flexible and more scrutinized and to add new forms that have a fluidity and an expressive force of something that stems from a choice. Identity engagement in a fan community addresses a permanent necessity of some proof of self, which includes, for example, developing a skill, an expertise, or a keenness in an area that can then be used in exchanges with people who share in and practice the same passion. Fan cultures constitute a typical example of "a passage, in our societies, from a prescribed identity to a chosen identity" (Le Bart 2004, 284, my translation). The entire process of adopting a name and the importance of asserting it is to be linked to this passage, and it embodies the reflexive dimension of identity, of which fandoms are but one example.
[4.3] This is all the more true in the era of what Paul Booth calls digital fandom, where these imagined communities become virtual communities, emerging from interactions (for the most part written) between fans in digital environments that they have adapted to their activities. As he states, "they literally scribe the community into existence" (2010, 130). The rallying cry and birth certificate of this subcultural collective, of a fan community, is to leave digital traces of its existence, starting with its name. This is what happened for fans of Hunger Games but also for fans of My Little Pony and Harry Potter. It is online that all, or nearly all, came about, since it is a space in which everything is held together by individuals who are committed to maintaining a chosen link, revealing the contemporary evolution of questions concerning identity and how to be a fan.
[4.4] If, as Booth states, the internet is a privileged space for these neo-communities, it is mainly because this medium allows for individuals who, despite being relatively isolated in their passion, are able to construct a sense of belonging. More particularly, meeting under the same banner online (on websites, on forums, and via social networks) and using a transversal tool (a name) give individuals a voice. That is why when a name emerges, it is often connected to a moment where it is felt that some sort of mobilization is necessary. For different reasons, the examples of Bronies and Tributes are perfect embodiments of this. A name does not emerge at any random moment or simply because a critical mass of individuals claims to share in the same passion. This critical mass is indeed necessary, but without a triggering element it is not enough to set off a mobilizing reaction. One reason for a name could be to stand out or to create a more balanced relationship with the industry, challenging the asymmetry of the producers' hegemonic position of power.
[4.5] This is the case for Browncoats, fans of the short-lived series Firefly (2002–3) from creator Joss Whedon. In her essay on their mobilization, which came after the series came to a premature end, Tanya R. Cochran notes that the fandom name and its creation are inseparable from the campaign launched on the internet in favor of a follow-up to the science fiction franchise (2008). Again, in this instance, the name refers to a population within the diegesis; the name Browncoats denotes those on the losing side of an interplanetary civil war. A parallel can clearly be drawn between the trauma of the defeat present in the characters and the fans' desire to rally against the network so the series would come back in one form or another (note 4). It appears, for example, in the documentary Done the Impossible (2006), which recounts the Browncoats' mobilization. A fan named Chuck explains that "Browncoats, it's not just, you know, a cute name…that's who we are, we're the people who lost and we're the people who are, you know, brothers in arms." Here, the identification and symbolism of the name play a role in solidifying the bond. It is the struggle and the name Browncoat that, for most fans, established the feeling of being part of a community. Once the group was named and their goals were clearly defined, it was possible to create collective websites and an online petition, set up meetings to buy the DVDs, and show that the community was alive, all of which helped to mediatize the showdown. There is no doubt that, among all these individuals, there exists a great diversity of social situations. However, like a nation banding together to confront a humanitarian disaster or a terrorist attack, the need to be unified is paramount and, to do that, symbolic banners must be used. To be a Firefly fan is to be a Browncoat, but as one fan cited by Cochran states, "A fan can be passive, a Browncoat never is" (2008, 239). There again, the name embodies much more than the community; it also defines their way of being, acting, and their common destiny. Therefore, to assume the name is also to take on the values and attitudes attached to it.
[4.6] The mobilization of the Browncoats, like that of the Tributes, is underpinned by the values of resistance to a totalitarian order attached to the fiction itself. This is also found in the activism of Harry Potter fans, who promote the same values of caring and helping one another present in the saga, and have transformed it into a charity, the Harry Potter Alliance (Bourdaa 2015). From each fan community—according to the content of the work, the social context involved in the creation of a feeling of community, and the type of practices necessary for the group's existence—emerges a reflexive effort of being and acting that could potentially bring the collective closer to other enthusiasts but also differentiate them. Regardless if someone is a Tribute, a Browncoat, or a Whovian, he or she is still a fan, but different paths were taken, and consequently different identities were formed according to the variables involved. The first is a case of making sure that the book-to-film transition goes off without a hitch; the second is about keeping an ephemeral work alive by putting up a fight; and the last is about reconciling fans from across multiple generations with a series that has been going since 1963.
[4.7] This can lead us to think about Marxist theory, which evokes the passage of a class in itself (statistical reality) to becoming a class for itself (reflexive movement) by way of a struggle that brings the group together. The context and issues are obviously different, but new forms of identity and digital media uses can typically lay the groundwork for microagreements and asynchronous mobilizations, giving a voice to individuals who are otherwise invisible to the industries. The internet allows, at little cost, for the construction of a feeling of belonging that solidifies during a struggle. This turning point constitutes what Luc Boltanski and Laurent Thevenot (1991) call a reality test, a moment where the group's reality emerges because it has been confronted with the necessity of becoming coherent in order to achieve a goal, often linked with assertions or with a controversy that has been brought into the public arena. In this sense, the emergence and affirmation of a name in moments of crisis (the canceling of a series, media criticism, massification of a niche phenomenon by its being adapted to a different medium) is explained in that it allows for a collective response to a specific issue. The fan community thus becomes a cooperative and interrelated network driven by a common goal, which goes hand in hand with the work of Matt Hills (2017), who, drawing on the theories of Howard Becker, puts forward the idea of "fan world."
[4.8] Fans' identities, reflexive and asserted, are therefore the embodiment of their expressive and participative activities. It does not simply boil down to moments of crisis, because those pass; it is also about being able to affirm who one is in a space where self-presentation is used as an indicator to other participants in the situation of communication. On Facebook and Twitter and in blogs or forums, a fan must always present him- or herself using a profile or with a short biography, providing a space in which one is identified through the traces that he or she has selected to leave. This (relative) freedom also embodies what has changed in one's relationship to the self and is reflected on the internet.
[4.9] On a personal profile, one can choose not to divulge certain information and put forward other information judged pertinent. This means that "in this exercise, individuals are confronted with their own identity, and are forced to perceive themselves exteriorly" (Marcotte 2003, my translation). If it allows people to gather in spaces dedicated to their passion (with the help of the territorial metaphor), it is also possible, in this recursive context, to assume the name individually when going online. It is all the more advantageous and efficient to write "I am a Whovian" than "I am a fan of Doctor Who." This is important in the era of hashtags, when identity is transformed into a series of easily identifiable keywords (tags) found using a search engine. Many Twitter profiles, which have to respect a strict limit of characters, function on the principle of listing fandom names. Using a profile to cite names, instead of the works themselves, puts forward the idea that it's the individual who is expressing him- or herself, and that the object only serves as a prop in expressing his or her singularity and belonging: it is about the people, their identity, and their social ties, not only about the TV show, the movie, or the video game. Fans have perfectly mastered how they present themselves online, like this fan on a forum about My Little Pony: "I have been a Bro (Pewdiepie) for 3 years, an Echelon for 5 years, a Potterhead since the first book came out, a Whovian for two years, a Disney fan (and cosplayer) since a very young age too" (Aemilianae 2014). The advantage of names and an online presentation is therefore, as seen here, to simply be able to intersect adherences by bringing out the strong liminality of fandoms, thereby creating a unique configuration that reveals the individual behind the tastes and collective affiliations.
[4.10] Obviously, a name is not the only thing that explains the advent and massification of any given fandom. It is but one tool among many and, even though it may be increasingly common, by no means is it an imperative one. Several cult works do not have names for their fans, and it should be explained why some have a name and others do not. Why Star Trek and not Star Wars? Why do Hannibal (2013–15) fans have a name (Fannibals) and those of Supernatural (2005–) do not? As we have seen, it can be assumed that it has to do, in part, with the fact that the name emerges most often during a moment of tension or when there is a need for a passion to be recognized and legitimized. In the first example, Star Trek's success set in slowly before becoming a massive phenomenon, which can create some turbulence within a group, whereas Star Wars was a huge hit right from the beginning and therefore did not experience any growing pains. Similarly, Supernatural is still on the air, whereas Hannibal was canceled despite intense mobilization. This may help explain things to a certain extent, but only to a certain extent, and so it would be worth exploring these ideas in the future with a case by case study. Also, a name sometimes exists but does not take (some people proposed, for example, Warsians or Warriors for Star Wars, names which never really caught on); each fandom should therefore be examined in order to understand how and why this type of failure occurs. Certain individuals can also consider themselves fans without taking on the fandom name that is widely used. It may be that they do not use it simply because they do not have a lot of contact with other fans, or they may just refuse to use it outright. This does not make them less of a fan, and it would be interesting to look into such a refusal and understand the motivation behind it.
[4.11] The goal here was not to show that a name is imperative for fans to have a sense of belonging; it was simply to show an approach that can reveal a good number of important issues concerning these collectives. It allows us to redefine the notion of fan communities as a collective, based on a common imaginary as well as a determination for self-affirmation, recognition, and subcultural authenticity. As suggested by many authors, if being a fan is not a binary state but a continuum (Bury 2017, 125), then using the fandom name can be seen as one of the steps on this continuum. This study shows us that the name as a category of thought, self-perception, and group perception can play a central role in the reflexive and participative effort of contemporary fandoms. Moreover, it represents an evolution of how one self-constructs in the era of chosen identities and digital tools, which is drastically changing people's relationships not only with their peers but also with the industry. The elements put forward in this paper lead us to consider the onomastics of fan communities as one efficient way to examine these collectives, paving a way for future research on the dynamics of their emergence and social role.