Blog Fandom is Forever, Part 2: What a Thrill
What happens when 60,000 fans show up for more than just a concert? Stray Kids performed in London last week, and turned Tottenham Hotspur Stadium into a living, breathing universe of fandom. A reflection on what it really means to build community in music today.
While this article is being published on our official page, it’s written in the first person by Yaw Asamani, who leads Strategy. We believe the most powerful insights often come from personal experience, and Yaw’s recent trip to London sparked exactly that. What follows is his deep dive into what fandom really looks like in 2025.
Last Friday I found myself representing fandom shamelessly (if you missed how i got there read part 1).
I stood tall, head and shoulders above at least 99% of everyone else. I felt like a guardian, not just to my daughter who I happened to be accompanying… or was she accompanying me? I don't know, at this point I couldn't tell, but for some reason our seats were in the nosebleeds… Ah yes, that's because she’s 10 and they wouldn't allow us closer to the stage in the standing section. I'll tell you what, I almost left her right where she sat, I wasn't there for a long time… but I was defo tryna have a good time. But back to the legion, the squad, we the community, stood shoulder-to-shoulder all 60,000 of us at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.
Stray Kids were in town.
Two nights. Sold out.
A sea of fans chanting lyrics in Korean, front to back, no breaks, no slips. It didn’t matter where you were from, how old you were, what you wore or what you believed. You were part of something. Even if you didn't really know what the hell you were saying (like me)... mumble along, mouth it, sound it, SHOUT it and MOSH PIT IT! wait!!!
I had to remember where I was, and who I was…you can't mosh pit and go ape sh*t at a K-Pop concert leaping on people, at least not yet, they haven't adopted that kind of energy yet.
This energy was more in-synch, everyone felt a vibe together, but also they looked individual, all seemingly doing their own renditions of a solo-vibe that they had crafted from years of screen-time, and they finally got to show what they’d been crafting, they were part of the show. Like literally, There was even a segment that was dedicated to individual fans getting camera/stage time with Stray Kids and they would mimic each others dance steps… almost like a YouTube Short.
And then something wild happened.
For the last hour (out of 3 hours), the performance shifted.
The artists stopped performing at us, and started circulating among us. Literally. They jumped in a mini fan-mobile thingymajig and began riding through the stadium, waving, stopping, engaging each section directly. It felt like a moment designed to return the love fans had poured in. Almost like a pilgrimage, and we were all invited.
But then the show ended.
And London crumbled…
White Hart Lane? SHUTDOWN.
Roads? Jammed.
Uber? At least £200 for a 15-minute trip.
Trains weren’t running.
Teens curled up on curbs like the aftermath of a music-induced apocalypse.
It was chaos
But the energy? Still euphoric.
No complaints. No riots. No social media rage…All the Cafes and Takeaways along the road blasting Stray Kids anthems.
Groups of strangers, bonded by sweat, songs, and sacrifice.
Because the truth is: Whilst I thought these people were attending a concert, they were showing up for a movement.
And when people feel part of something bigger, they accept the cost…I was terrified. Clutching my pearls, head on swivel… does that mean I wasn't really down for the cause???
Inside the K-Pop Fandom Engine
Apparently this is the norm, Stray Kids and many K-Pop acts do this for breakfast.
It was a small glimpse into a much larger machine, refined, layered, and intentional. K-Pop has mastered how to build, nurture, and scale fandoms into living ecosystems.
So what exactly sets their model apart?
The Five Foundations of K-Pop Fandom (IMO)
Emotional Depth & Protective Loyalty: Fans listen, but because they care. They rally when things go wrong, organize campaigns, flood timelines, and create content daily. There’s a deep sense of emotional investment and shared responsibility.This is a few notches above appreciation; We’re talking guardianship, guardianship of a community.
Multiple Revenue Touch-points with Meaning: Albums are just the beginning. Every drop becomes a launchpad: lightsticks, photocards, limited-edition merch, fan call events, exclusive livestreams, crazy Dads who think they “get it”. Fans feel like they’re part of a living archive, collecting memories… not just merchandise.
Always-On Worlds That Don’t Sleep: What’s most impressive is how the connection doesn’t pause between projects. Content keeps flowing, old performances, curated playlists, behind-the-scenes footage, themed broadcasts, music-video marathons, content of content. All day, everyday there’s always a place to drop in and reconnect. Forget moments; these feel like persistent worlds that fans can inhabit anytime. The music doesn’t just play when the artist drops something new, it’s constantly present, framed, and activated in ways that feel fresh, relevant, and close.
Platforms Designed With Fans in Mind: Communities like Weverse and VLive were built for engagement, forget simple announcements. Artists share handwritten notes, unseen footage, and real-time check-ins. Even during quiet periods, the ecosystem stays active, because the relationship doesn’t depend solely on new releases.
Commitment That Strengthens the Bond: Being a fan takes effort. It means late nights, long commutes, high costs, and constant dedication. But that effort adds weight to the experience. The more you give, the deeper the connection.
Learn how 24/7 streams create 24/7 community engagement and loyalty.
Who This Works For, and Who Might Want a Different Path
The K-Pop model isn’t plug-and-play.
It takes structure, patience, vision, and a willingness to co-create culture.
Artists with a strong sense of visual identity, consistency across releases, and a desire to open up ongoing dialogue with fans have the foundation to build these kinds of relationships.
But artists who prefer distance, who rarely release, or who resist anything beyond the music itself may find this approach overwhelming or unsustainable. Not because it’s bad, but because it demands a different kind of commitment, both to the craft and to the people who support it.
Takeaway: Culture That Runs on Its Own Time
Stray Kids hosted a concert…yes to the untrained eye, they did, a manically thrilling one.
But IYKYN… They offered a chapter in a story that never really stops… to a small chunk of their community,
60,000 of them
live
both days, in one location.
Every piece of content, every community post, every replay-able moment adds depth.
And fans in turn observed and gave more back by doubling down on their involvement, even when nothing “new” was happening.
The ecosystem remains open.
The music keeps spinning.
The culture keeps breathing, even when the artist is asleep.
That’s not an algorithm hack.
That’s what belonging feels like.
And the artists who invest in that kind of presence, who create spaces where their music, visuals, and voice are always within reach, aren’t just building fanbases.
They’re building worlds.