This is a wonderful and surprising take on Black fandom and Black fans. I was expecting more "nerdy" fandoms from games and anime and such, but the fan subjects here were Misty Copeland, Black Panther, The Wiz, and ... the Golden Girls. The author weaves together a critical perspective and insights from an array of real fans across these diverse fandoms. I really enjoyed the ideas here. Black intertextuality as a way of linking generations of Black fans ... the idea that reception is necessary for understanding representation, because fandoms are social and the white gaze is always there, ready to judge ... this is a dense text and hard to summarize, so I would dive in and let it simmer. There's just one thing that I found odd: how the participants were described, especially bringing up their sexuality. It didn't really seem to have any bearing on their fannish engagement or understanding Black fandoms at all, not even when it came to shipping and so on.

Working from the author’s own fandoms, Martin explores how Black fandom makes classed distinctions and engages in consumer activism to support “good,” “family-friendly” Black content and to canonize particular fan objects, here Misty Copeland, Black Panther, The Wiz, and The Golden Girls, centering Black joy. He notes that “representation” matters, but can never be perfectly “right” because representation is always a simulacrum and therefore can never be unquestionably “real”; representation also requires an audience, and therefore depends on reception, so it can only work for a particular audience; and, for a Black audience, representation is likely to be entangled in double consciousness, “partly judged on how others (especially white viewers) will make meaning from texts.”

Although he focuses on joy, he also emphasizes pain as a verb, as in to take pains: “Black folks use their money to support Blackness via Misty Copeland and Black Panther in the hope that their capital will result in industrial change: more Black ballerinas [particularly in mainstream white spaces] and more high-budget Black-cast films. Black fandoms labor to canonize The Wiz as a representation and centering of specific Black cultural tastes. Black fans labor to read The Golden Girls Blackly to make it resonate. Thus, the ‘pain’ associated with Black fandoms is a political fandom rooted in a way to make media resonate and center Black cultural competencies.” For me, the discussion of The Wiz was particularly illuminating—he recounts how the white reception at the time saw it as a cult film, “so bad/strange it was good, while Black audiences saw it as canonical, a Black-cast film without Blaxploitation.” By contrast, The Golden Girls could be read “within Black structures of meaning and feeling,” including verbal sparring; the multigenerational and friendship-based living arrangements were familiar.
Martin argues that the Black canon he discusses “is interested in the ways these texts get used and reused in everyday life as a whole text, rather than one that requires remixing for its pleasure.” I find that pretty interesting, given that Misty Copeland is a performer who regularly interprets canonical works; that his Black Panther chapter includes things like kids dressing up as characters from Wakanda; and that The Wiz is a transformative work. But we all see different things in our fandoms.

*Fandom for Us, by Us* by Alfred L. Martin, Jr. takes a groundbreaking approach to fandom studies by shifting the focus to Black fandoms. Through the lens of class, clout, canon, and comfort, Martin explores how Black fans interact with media and how their unique practices influence cultural production. From Misty Copeland's rise in ballet to the impact of *Black Panther* and *The Wiz*, the book delves into the intersection of fandom and Black identity. Using 75 interviews, Martin highlights the distinct ways Black fandoms navigate representation and joy, making this a must-read for anyone interested in the complexities of fan culture.