Fandoms have their own culture. They come with values, language, rituals, etiquette, and yes—even an unspoken hierarchy. This culture doesn’t appear overnight. It grows from the constant interaction between fans, shaped by the music, messages, and presence of the artists they support. As idols create and evolve, fans respond creatively—with art, translations, analysis, projects, and community-building. In time, this back-and-forth shapes a fandom’s unique identity.
For ARMY, that identity includes streaming, voting, buying albums, organizing charity drives, translating content, archiving memories, and showing up for each other and BTS in countless ways. These weren’t random choices. They were responses: to the times BTS were overlooked; to industry gatekeeping; to narratives that tried to erase or undermine them.
I learned these things when I entered the fandom.
When we streamed, we weren’t just chasing numbers. We were holding space for BTS in a world that refused to give it.
When we voted, we weren’t just competing. We were reclaiming dignity for seven young men who dared to dream in an industry that prevented them to dream for themselves.
When we bought albums, we weren’t flexing. We were investing in a story we believed in.
It’s understandable that new ARMYs who joined during BTS’ military era experience the fandom differently. You’re entering a community that’s already diverse, vast and complex. You fell in love with legends. I did, during the pandemic. Veteran ARMYs fell in love with the boys who had to fight to be seen as legends. My daughter did, during the Wings Era. That’s why some practices, like streaming or voting, still feel sacred to ARMY. It’s not about pressure—it’s about memory. It’s not just about what we do, but why we do it.
And one thing that makes being ARMY so unique is that, there’s no rulebook. No official checklist that says: “This is how you be a fan.” And that freedom is beautiful. People come to BTS for different reasons, and love them in their own ways.
But this is where culture comes in, where the unspoken “laws” quietly shape our actions. No one told us to stream solid BTS playlists 24/7 (not mixed with other songs of Kpop groups) during comeback week, we just knew it mattered. No one officially announced that birthdays would be marked with charity drives or art exhibitions. But it became a norm, because it reflected what BTS themselves stood for.
Fandom culture isn’t about control. It’s about shared understanding built on trust, love, and lived experience. And when that culture is strong, it helps guide us not as rigid rules, but as gentle markers of care and respect.
So when veteran ARMYs speak up about streaming, or when we tell stories of the old fanbase days, it’s not gatekeeping. It’s memory-keeping. It’s passing down not just what we do, but why we do it. And in turn, we also have to LISTEN to how new ARMYs are experiencing things now because the fandom is alive, and it changes with every new heartbeat that joins it.
ARMY, we are so lucky to be loved by BTS. Namjoon, in one of the Permission to Dance concerts in the US back in 2022, said something unforgettable. He acknowledged the overwhelming love they’ve received from ARMY, but he didn’t stop there. He said it was a love that must not be taken for granted.
And so, they give back.
The variety, the breadth and depth of the content they created, produced, and released during their military era is worthy of their acclaim as global artists of this generation. They didn’t disappear. They doubled down. They lived up to their name—Bangtan Sonyeondan—because they love us.
And for BTS, ARMY will always be their biggest, loudest voice.
Apobangpo! Purple and true!
zarahG and AMI 
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