The Internet as the New Music Scene: Stan Culture, Memes, and the Digital Identity of the 2010s

When Music Moved Online

There was a time when being part of a music scene meant going somewhere. Into a smoky club, a record store, or a basement where someone’s cousin’s band played their first gig. But in the 2010s, the scene wasn’t a place anymore. It lived in timelines, hashtags, and comment sections. Suddenly, fandoms became micro-nations, memes replaced flyers, and artists didn’t just drop albums, they dropped moments. The internet didn’t just change how we listened to music; it changed what it meant to belong to music.

A collage of iconic Twitter stan memes/fan threads

From Subcultures to Stancultures

Before the 2010s, music scenes were physical ecosystems: punk had London and New York, techno had Detroit and Berlin, hip-hop had the Bronx, and indie had its dive bars. You met people through shared space and sound. But as the internet matured, social media became the new street corner. “Stans”, hyper-dedicated fans named after Eminem’s 2000 song “Stan”, formed online armies that weren’t bound by geography.

Platforms like Twitter and Tumblr turned fandoms into organized communities with language, rituals, and even moral codes. Beyoncé’s Beyhive, Nicki Minaj’s Barbz, and BTS’s ARMY weren’t just groups of listeners, they were digital tribes defending their idols with the intensity of sports fans. These groups mobilized globally in seconds, trending hashtags, spamming comment sections, and flooding awards with votes. For many fans, this was empowerment: a chance to be part of something larger than themselves, especially for young people who didn’t feel seen in traditional media spaces.

Song suggestion: Beyoncé – “Formation” (2016)

Memes as the New Marketing

In the 2010s, memes became the universal language of the internet and artists learned to speak it fluently. Virality replaced radio play as the currency of success. Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road” didn’t start on the Billboard charts, it started as a TikTok meme where teens lip-synced in cowboy hats. Doja Cat’s “Mooo!” literally began as a joke and turned her into a global star. The Harlem Shake and Gangnam Style broke YouTube records years before TikTok even existed.

This new ecosystem rewarded playfulness and spontaneity. If an artist could make people laugh, dance, or remix them, they were halfway to stardom. But it also blurred the line between authenticity and strategy. Was Doja Cat being funny, or was she marketing? Did the meme make the song or did the song make the meme?

Memes gave artists unprecedented reach, but they also turned music into content: disposable, scrollable, and measured in engagement rather than emotional impact. A song wasn’t just a song anymore: it was a template for virality.

Song suggestion: Lil Nas X – “Old Town Road”

“Yeehaw Challenge” TikTok trend from 2019

New challenge from 2025 

Stan Culture as Power—and Control

Stans claimed to give power to fans, but that power often flowed in complicated directions. On one hand, fandoms could mobilize for positive impact: BTS’s ARMY donated millions to Black Lives Matter, Taylor Swift fans flooded far-right hashtags with cat videos, and K-pop fans used fancams to hijack racist social media movements.

On the other hand, stan culture could turn toxic fast. The same collective energy that uplifted artists could destroy perceived enemies. Rival stans engaged in harassment campaigns, doxxing, and bullying, all in the name of loyalty. Online, music fandom became a full-time identity, not just a hobby.

This is where the concept of parasocial relationships, a one-sided emotional bond with public figures, became unavoidable. For many young listeners, artists weren’t just musicians; they were emotional anchors. That closeness could feel empowering but also manipulative. When an artist posts on Instagram saying, “I love you guys so much,” it’s easy to forget that there are millions of “you guys,” and every word is carefully curated by a team.

Song suggestion: BTS – “Idol”

Memes, Movements, and Manipulation

The 2010s taught the music industry something it could never learn from radio: virality can be engineered. Once labels realized that stan armies and memes could make or break careers, they began to exploit the system. Fake feuds, cryptic tweets, and staged “leaks” became standard PR tactics. Fans thought they were discovering things organically, but much of it was carefully orchestrated behind the scenes.

Think about #FreeBritney, a grassroots movement that used memes and tweets to demand justice for Britney Spears. It started as fan speculation and ended as a real-world political force that changed her legal guardianship. The line between fandom and activism blurred beyond recognition.

But there’s also a darker side: the industry began relying on fans to do its marketing for free. Instead of paying for ads, they could rely on “stan armies” to spread content and dominate platforms. In this sense, fandom became unpaid labor disguised as devotion.

Song suggestion: Britney Spears – “Gimme More” (symbolic of reclaiming agency)

The Internet Scene: A Digital Club with No Exit

The internet became the new club, but it’s one that never closes and never forgets. Unlike the punk basement or the Berlin techno night, there’s no moment of silence after the music stops, just endless scrolling. That constant availability changed not only how we consume but how we create.

Artists began crafting personas with their audiences in mind. Every tweet, every look, every snippet of a song was part of an ongoing story fans helped write. Musicians like Grimes, Charli XCX, and 100 gecs leaned into the chaos, creating post-ironic aesthetics that mirrored the absurdity of the internet itself. Music became self-aware: part performance, part participation, part meme.

And yet, within that noise, something real emerged. Fans found each other across continents. Teenagers in São Paulo could connect with fans in Seoul over the same beat. Communities that once existed in isolation became global networks of shared emotion and creativity. The internet scene might not have walls, but it has solidarity.

Song suggestion: Charli XCX – “1999“ (nostalgia-meets-internet irony)

Power, Profit, and the Paradox of Participation

At first glance, stan culture seems democratic. Fans have direct access to artists. They organize, they trend, they influence. But as media scholar Henry Jenkins noted, participatory culture always exists in tension with corporate control. The 2010s music landscape epitomized that tension: fans felt more empowered than ever, but the structures profiting from their participation remained largely unchanged.

Streaming platforms, social networks, and record labels all learned how to monetize passion. Every retweet, every stream, every reaction gif feeds data back into the system. What once looked like rebellion, the ability to make your fave trend, turns out to be part of the mechanism that makes someone else rich.

Still, it would be cynical to say that it’s all manipulation. Many fans use these spaces to express identity, find belonging, and fight for justice. The same digital tools that can be used to sell sneakers can also amplify marginalized voices and spread messages of equality. The key question is whether we can hold both truths at once: that the internet made music more communal and more commercial at the same time.

Relatability Check: Where Do You Stand (or Stan)?

Let’s be honest: we’ve all been there. You’ve defended your favorite artist in a group chat. You’ve replayed that one performance on YouTube until it felt like a private memory. You might have even joined a stan account “just for fun.” The truth is, stan culture isn’t just out there, it’s inside the way we all experience art now.

When fandoms dominate culture, they shape what gets funded, what trends, and what fades away. So maybe the question isn’t whether stan culture is good or bad, it’s whether we’re using it consciously. Are we amplifying art that moves us, or are we letting algorithms dictate our loyalties?

Conclusion: From Noise to Meaning

By the end of the 2010s, music had fully fused with the internet. The stage became a screen, the crowd became a comment section, and the mosh pit turned into a viral thread. Stan culture and memes redefined what it means to love music and what it means to belong.

But behind the hashtags and hit counts lies a deeper truth: humans still crave connection. Whether in a smoky basement in 1982 or a TikTok comment thread in 2019, we’re all looking for the same thing: a moment that feels bigger than ourselves. Maybe the internet didn’t kill the music scene. Maybe it just moved it somewhere new.

Song to close with: Childish Gambino – “This Is America” (2018) (a song that went viral as a meme, protest, and art statement all at once)

Written by: Christina Kyriakidou

Sources

• Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. NYU Press, 2006.

• The Guardian (2019). “How the Internet Changed Pop: From Stans to Memes.”

• Pitchfork (2018–2020). Various artist interviews and think pieces on fandom.

• Spotify Press. (2019). How the Internet Created Music’s New Communities.

• BBC Culture (2020). “Stan Culture and the Psychology of Online Fandoms.”

• Rolling Stone (2019). “BTS and the Globalization of Pop Fandom.”