Parasocial, But Make It Political

There was a time when parasocial relationships were reserved for teen girls and late-night TV hosts. A fandom phenomenon. A punchline.

Now? I’m not sure what isn’t parasocial anymore.

Deauxmoi posted recently about the wide, chaotic spectrum of what it means to be a Swiftie. From casual listeners to people building shrines, drawing bloodlines, and litigating PR relationships in the comments. The post gently questioned the extreme behavior and how it often veers into something… concerning.

And I thought, Wait. Haven’t we all slipped into the same pattern?

Haven’t we all started living in the comments section?

Because in 2025, it’s not just celebrity culture. It’s everything.

The boundaries between audience and participant, creator and consumer, stranger and soulmate — they’re all leaking.

We used to open Instagram and see photos from people we’d met in real life. Now we open Instagram and see people we’ve never met talk about people we’ll never meet, and still feel like we know them. Their grief, their glow-ups, their skincare routines, their child’s name, their heartbreak playlist. Their dog’s name. Their dog’s personality.

What started as a few parasocial oddities has become the dominant mode of engagement. The connective tissue of culture.

Synthetic, yes. But still sticky.

Pam & Liam Deserve to Be Happy (this much I know)

Speaking of which, let’s talk about Pam Anderson and Liam Neeson.

According to Deauxmoi (again — the oracle), the two may be dating. I squealed a little bit. Not ironically. Not performatively. Just: Yes. Them. Please.

Pam, the bleeding heart with a backbone of steel. A woman who wears her scars like jewelry, tells the truth even when it costs her something, and doesn’t ask for forgiveness for having loved deeply.

And Liam, the quietly grieving action hero who lost his wife in a tragic accident and kept showing up to work anyway, holding his grief in the same hands that held a script. Public pain with no good place to go.

As far as I can tell from this parasocial distance —

They deserve each other.

They deserve peace.

They deserve joy that isn’t wrapped in scrutiny.

But here’s the thing: I don’t know them.

And yet… I care.

And yet… I want them to be okay.

When Does Admiration Become Entitlement?

Here’s the uncomfortable part: if I saw them at a café, what would I do?

Would I say thank you? Would I share from my heart, in the same spirit Pam has shared with hers? Would I ask for a picture? Would I cry?

Where does admiration end and access begin?

We talk a lot about consent in romantic or sexual contexts, and thank God we do. But what about emotional consent? What about admiration? What about these public-facing humans who become vessels for our projections — and are expected to receive our need without boundary?

It’s easy to point fingers at the “crazy fans.” But maybe it’s deeper than that. Maybe we’ve forgotten how to admire without expecting something back. Maybe we’ve confused attention with intimacy.

And maybe the real invitation is to examine how we show up in all relationships — not just the famous ones.

Parasocial Is Just a Mirror We’re Not Ready For

Here’s my theory: the parasocial relationship isn’t inherently bad.

It’s just unbalanced. It’s a mirror without depth. A one-way intimacy.

And the scary part isn’t how much we see in them — it’s how much we don’t see in ourselves.

Actors often talk about how the emotional weight of a role doesn’t leave when the director calls “cut.” The lines blur. Sometimes the pain they’re channeling is their own. Sometimes they can’t separate the character’s sadness from their own childhood memory.

Isn’t that an internal parasocial relationship?

We watch them do it on screen. And then we do it to ourselves.

We project versions of ourselves into imaginary futures, arguments we’ll never have, audiences who’ll never clap. We live in emotional fan fiction. And then we judge ourselves for caring too much.

No wonder we’re lonely.

The Death of the Diva

When I was younger, I loved Mariah Carey. And then, for a while… I didn’t.

She was “too much.” Too demanding. Too sparkly. Too loud. An off kilter persona so separated from our lived reality.

I rolled my eyes at the diva behavior.

It took me years to realize: I wasn’t tired of her. I was tired of the parts of myself I wasn’t allowed to be.

We mocked the diva because she dared to take up space. We made her a joke because we were uncomfortable with a woman who knew her worth and dared to require matching energy.

Lady Gaga has seen this too — cheered for her talent, then punished for her drama. The very flair we loved became the thing we hated. Because we expect women in the spotlight to be endlessly gracious, endlessly available, endlessly receptive to our projections.

The Diva didn’t die.

We just killed the part of us that could admire her without resenting her power.

A Code of Conduct for Admiration

What if we treated admiration like an altar?

What if we stopped asking, “What would I do if I met them?”

And started asking, “How do I carry this feeling with care?”

Parasocial relationships aren’t going away. But we can build better ones — with our public figures, our private selves, our imagined futures.

We can learn to admire without entitlement. We can feel deeply without demanding proof.

Because in the end, maybe it’s not about canceling the parasocial.

Maybe it’s about redeeming it.

Making it sacred.

A Soft Closing

Raise your hand if you’ve ever projected a little too hard.

If you’ve imagined a future that didn’t happen.

If you’ve cried for someone you’ll never meet.

If you’ve flinched at your own tenderness.

Me too.

Let’s stop shaming the impulse.

Let’s just give it better language, better care, and better boundaries.

Let’s remember: admiration is a gift, not a transaction.

And we’re allowed to feel — even when it’s weird.

Especially when it’s weird.