Coldplay ticket frenzy: The rise of the anti-fan

The grotesque mismatch of demand and supply inevitably birthed a shadow market. The concert was sold out within minutes, and soon after, tickets were listed on reselling websites at exorbitant rates. The plaintive admonitions and warnings issued by BMS were as successful as a substitute teacher’s attempts to bring an unruly class to heel. Nor could they protect the officials of BMS from getting mired in an investigation launched by the Economic Offences Wing of the Mumbai Police.

In the days since, many have decried the usurious intent of those who cornered tickets only to turn a profit. Some have commented on the burgeoning appetite of the Indian urban elite — the tiny sliver of our population that has a taste for luxury and is not shy about indulging it. But the furore around this concert also offered an opportunity to observe a key cultural trend of our times: The persistent toxicity in online behaviour and social media discourse.

The laws of the internet mandate that for every online fandom there must exist a vocal set of detractors, the latter ready to rip into the former in a gladiatorial battle played out on mobile phone screens. The roots of this conflict lie in the cognitive bias known as “illusory superiority”.

Everyone believes they are special; a little different from — and, let’s be honest, better than — the rest of the herd. This faith in our own uniqueness encourages us to set our tastes against the grain. We yearn to find niche interests that can earn us social capital. This can be an enriching instinct and shape our distinctive sensibilities. But it can also cause us to double down in our rejection of all that is popular and conventional. It can goad us into being contrarian merely to stand apart, to feel superior. And on social media, the most effective way to signal our aesthetic superiority is by becoming the anti-fan who revels in knocking down others.

Coldplay’s wide appeal and accessible — dare we say, simple — pop songs made them an easy target for the anti-fan. As thousands bemoaned their failure to secure passes to the Mumbai concert, the anti-fans gleefully mocked them for their mediocre choices. They wrote caustic posts on X (previously, Twitter), wondering how people could countenance listening to Coldplay in 2024 — or, at all, really. Wasn’t their music too mainstream, too mediocre? The anti-fans were above these faddish pursuits. They established their own social ascendancy by making it clear that they did not deign to participate in the ticket-booking fiasco.

While the anti-fans trained their attack on Coldplay enthusiasts in general, the reactions of those left ticketless revealed how credentialism can exist and create schisms even within a fandom.

On Reddit threads and video posts, bitter questions were raised about the people who had managed to bag passes and claimed to love the band. Did they even know the names of the band members? Had they listened to the early hits? Could they name all Coldplay albums in chronological order? At the heart of these questions lay the issue of worthiness. Did these (supposed) dilettantes deserve to experience what the “real fans” could not?

In his book, The Consolations of Philosophy, Alain De Botton investigates the effects of frustration, which he describes as “the collision of a wish with an unyielding reality”. Drawing on the teachings of Seneca, the Roman philosopher, De Botton charts the emotive responses to having our desires quelled: A path that leads from anger and self-pity to bitterness and a sense of injustice. We rage and rant when something we covet slips through our fingers. If it falls into someone else’s lap, we feel robbed. We begin to view them with suspicion, as being unworthy of the thing that ought to have been ours. Eventually, we express our shrill disapproval, demanding to know why those who cannot sketch Coldplay album art from memory should get to attend their concert.

Whether you’re the anti-fan or the fan-who-feels-wronged, you can continue to mock or moan. Or, you can turn, once more, to the advice Marcus Aurelius offers: “Enough of this miserable way of life, these everlasting grumbles, these monkey antics… Even at this late hour, set yourself to become a simpler and better man in the sight of the gods.” And while you’re at it, try to get tickets for Green Day’s gig in Mumbai. They are a far better band, after all.

The writer is a Mumbai-based lawyer