The BTS comeback album is almost here – and you best believe I’m slipping back into my K-pop obsessive era | Aastha Agrawal

5 hours ago 1

When I heard the surprise news that BTS are releasing a comeback album, it pulled me back into a past version of myself, one that was all-consuming in its obsession, but equally marked by shame.

At the ripe old age of 14, I had mastered the art of lowering my screen brightness and switching tabs to hide my shameful secret from any passerby or seat-sharer.

While schoolboys huddled around computer screens unashamedly watching live cricket matches on full volume, I don’t recall groups of girls gathering openly to watch the new BTS or One Direction music video. Those viewings happened in private – over late-night Skype calls or on the back bench of a classroom with a shared laptop between my best friend and me.

To hide an obsession is so common among teenage girls and an attempt to block a clear avenue to ridicule. I didn’t want to be told I was too obsessed or that I liked something too deeply.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve softened and minimised my obsessions around others. Even though I stayed up until 3 am waiting for a new BTS music video to drop, I wouldn’t admit it because it would make me sound “crazy”.

Why was obsession a sin only girls could commit? Why is displaying genuine emotion so quickly misconstrued as parasocial attachment or unhealthy dependence? When does interest become obsession? What is the threshold? And why don’t young men get measured on the same scale?

Now, a little older and no longer immersed in those fandoms, I look back at that version of myself with so much softness. Rather than cringing (as I usually do when reflecting on anything from my past), I feel protective of the girl who found solace, connection and belonging in something others dismissed or felt entitled to mock.

When I moved to Melbourne alone at 17 for university, I didn’t know a single person. There were no familiar reference points or easy friendships to fall into. So I distracted myself. BTS had an entire universe of content: variety shows, live performances, interviews, lore embedded in music videos, whole storylines you could get lost in. And I did.

Friends still jokingly refer to that period as “Aastha’s K-pop obsession era”, but I wonder how many of them have ever paused to ask why I clung to it. What had changed in my life then compared with now?

The reality, in hindsight, is that getting lost in that content was far healthier than letting my mental health collapse under loneliness. It kept me occupied and gave me something to look forward to.

On days I’d wake up at 5am for shifts at McDonalds, where tradies made comments about my appearance and middle-aged managers revelled in tiny power trips, then head straight to classes in a new city where I was underage and isolated – sometimes the only thing that kept me going was knowing I could watch a new performance later, or a new Run BTS episode.

On days I didn’t want to leave my bed, the careers of these random boybands gave me a reason. If they could survive 17-hour training days in an industry built to break them, surely I could take care of myself.

Eventually, this interest helped me make real friends. Some of my closest friendships began on dating apps, where we recognised each other’s fandom references in bios. A match became a message, a joke and then years of friendship.

Fandoms and so-called “obsessions” often encourage creativity, too. These artists and idols exist within curated creative worlds, complete with aesthetics, eras and lore. There are entire avenues for experimentation: fan art, fan fiction, fan cams, edits, fan covers, fan translations and fan-made merch.

Fandoms provide a safe space to create and try things. For me, it sparked my earliest experiments in writing.

While I’m grateful to have grown out of that period of my life, I look back on it with fondness. It holds a special place in my heart and in my development as a person. And with a new album, Arirang, arriving Friday, followed by a world tour next year, you best believe I’ll be slipping back into my 17-year-old self again – staying up late to stream, refreshing presale links and waiting eagerly in those early access queues for a VIP ticket.