Fantopia

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May we all find the strength to keep loving bravely.

We live in a world where adoration is often confused with power. A world where devotion is mistaken for control, where fans uplift their idols yet lose themselves in the process. Idols, often androgynous and mysterious, become objects of desire—carefully crafted, yet distant and unattainable.

This is more than just entertainment. It’s a ritual. Worship becomes labor. Desire becomes control.

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But we reject the idea that fans are restless yet powerless. She sustains the idol’s existence through her gaze, her time, her sacrifice. Yet, she’s trapped in a cycle where her devotion demands more than it gives.

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡈⠻⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣉⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡈⣉⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

We question the systems that turn admiration into dependency. We challenge the idea that idols should be placed above fans, who often go unnoticed. We refuse to believe that longing must always be one-sided.

This project is a call to reimagine the spaces where connection, influence, and identity take shape. It invites new forms of interaction—where the fan is no longer a passive observer, but an active participant shaping their own experience and meaning.

I find it fairly easy to say "I love you" and "I'm grateful for you" to my idols, but it’s always difficult when it comes to the people around me.

Above all, I want to thank my parents for providing the best education and support throughout the twenty-one years of my life. Especially during the hardest month of my thesis, their presence healed many of my struggles. Over the past four years, I've met many talented and inspiring colleagues and mentors in the field of interior design, including Professor Nina and Professor Chris. This book would not have been possible without their patience and thoughtful guidance.

In the deepest part of my heart, there is a garden reserved for my friends. At the entrance, it says:

"Dear friends, please forgive my shyness in expressing my gratitude. But, thank you for becoming my friends."

During my thesis journey, friends were always by my side — whether it was offering kind words after a tough review, or working beside me at 4 a.m. in the studio. Every time depression tried to pull me down, they held me and helped me stand again. I truly believe that my friends are a big part of what has built me into who I am today, and I am spending these final days of college with deep gratitude in my heart.

In the end, thank you, stranger. We may not know each other, but I am still grateful that you opened this book, filled with my love and tears.

To the future — I will keep striving until I become the person I always dreamed of.

Sherry, 2025

Gender Performance, Structural Power, and the Reproduction of the Panopticon Immersive Theater and the Translation of Fan Behavior

A blend of K-pop collages, scribbled lyrics, fragments of a diary, and fleeting moments from concerts—captured, collected, and curated within these pages.

The K-pop fandom is not just about fans loving their idols—it is a complex world shaped by desire, power dynamics, and hidden systems of control. This thesis explores the paradox at the heart of celebrity worship in K-pop, where fans appear to empower idols while becoming emotionally dependent on carefully constructed illusions. By examining parasocial relationships and drawing parallels to cult-like dynamics, this study reveals how fans believe they shape idols’ images while in fact fueling a commercial machine that controls them both. In response, this project reimagines the fanclub space—not as a site of blind devotion, but as a platform for self-reflection and emotional autonomy. Drawing from K-pop’s aesthetics of soft masculinity, the design employs glass and movable spatial dividers to express vulnerability, fluidity, and the quiet strength of emotional openness.

Let’s take BTS and their "soft masculinity" as an example. While it seems like they are breaking traditional ideas of how a man should look like and behave, this image is actually carefully planned. Companies use data to understand what fans want, especially young women, and create idols who are "approachable but untouchable." Every social media post, every fan comment, and every fanfiction story helps shape the idol’s image. This creates a system where fans think they are in control, but they are actually being controlled.

Using Judith Butler’s ideas about gender, I look at how K-pop idols perform "soft masculinity" and flexible femininity as part of their image. Fans, mostly women, play a big role in shaping these performances by voting, posting on social media, and writing fan stories. But

while this makes fans feel like they are part of a community, it also creates a hierarchy. Fans end up doing a lot of emotional work, which helps the industry keep making money

"Imaginary boyfriend" trend is one of the example of curating an ordinary human into a super star, where fans feel close to idols through live streams and vlogs. Fans think they are gaining power by seeing their idols’ "real" moments, but these moments are often staged by the industry. This fake imagery of closeness is shifting the way we see gender in real life: male idols have to act young and innocent forever, while female fans become emotionally dependent, almost like they are in a "digital cult."

The real power in this system doesn’t belong to the idols or the fans—it belongs to the industry itself. When fans spend hours "cleaning up" their idols’ online reputations or voting for them, they are actually helping the industry make more money and stay in control. Even when fans leave one idol, they often end up following a new one, showing how hard it is to escape this system.

In the end, this research asks the question: In the world of celebrity worship, who really has the power? Are fans in control, or are they just part of a machine that uses their emotions for profit? When the concert lights go out and the fans go home, who is really winning—the fans, the idols, or the industry that controls them both?

I feel like I’m trapped in an endless hole of self-doubt.

Then one day, out of nowhere, a star appears.

But beneath it... is that a trap?

A capitalist illusion? A dream crafted for worship?

If you ask me whether I regret falling—

No. I’d fall a thousand times, just to be held in their arms.

And I know— he’ll keep holding my broken pieces, as if they were something beautiful.

In contemporary society, fandom culture shapes the public image of celebrities and profoundly influences how individuals perceive gender, power, and selfhood. K-pop, as one of the most successful globalized cultural exports, has constructed a highly intricate network of parasocial relationships between idols and fans. In these relationships, fans seemingly control the reputation, career, and moral trajectory of their idols through purchases, votes, and comments. However, the industry's design deeply embeds their emotional investments and behavioral patterns.

This study introduces the metaphor of “the watched watcher” to explore the paradoxical relationship in which idols are watched by fans while simultaneously “watching back” through orchestrated emotional feedback loops, platform data collection, and performance interactivity. While fans believe they are active participants in shaping the idol, they are themselves the object of systemic surveillance and emotional manipulation.

By integrating Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon as a structural metaphor, this study aims to spatialize the invisible forces of fandom culture: the flow of power, the performance of gender, and the construction of identity. Using examples from K-pop, immersive theater like Sleep No More, and psychological ideas about space, this paper suggests a detailed design approach to make the ways people connect emotionally more visible and help them think critically about their experiences.

Life Four-Cut is a Korean-style photo booth trend where users take four vertical portrait shots in a single strip, often mimicking K-pop or idol aesthetics.

Judith Butler’s theory of gender performativity, as articulated in Gender Trouble, posits that gender is not an innate attribute, but a reiterated performance shaped by cultural norms. K-pop idols are exemplary in their meticulously curated gender expressions—male idols are often crafted as emotionally gentle, aesthetically soft, and emotionally “safe,” thereby breaking traditional conceptions of masculinity. This “virtual boyfriend” phenomenon is not a step toward gender liberation but a commercialization of emotional fantasy for female consumers.

Despite their apparent active participation in content creation (through fanfiction, voting, and streaming), fans' actions are actually influenced by market trends, platform dynamics, and algorithmic feedback. Emotional intimacy is simulated by curated authenticity— what appears to be a genuine idol-fan interaction is, in reality, a performance of authenticity. Power in this system is not unidirectional but structural. Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon, originally designed as a prison model, provides a valuable framework: a central watchtower surrounded by cells, enabling constant surveillance. Because they are constantly under observation, inmates internalize discipline.

"I will say it one last time, they, are the same person...Men. AND how many times do I have to tell you, these photo cards are DIFFERENT. Not the same."

In digital fandom culture, a similar model prevails. Fans express their affection by posting, commenting, or buying merchandise, believing they are in control. Platforms, management companies track, store, and analyze their actions. This panoptic logic transforms fan activity into data labor, reinforcing platform capitalism.

Thus, idols and fans do not exist in a binary power relationship but in a network of co-constructed control. Architecture, when informed by this dynamic, can serve as a stage for exposing such mechanisms—not merely as functional infrastructure but as a medium of emotional and political revelation.

A circular prison design that allows a single guard to observe all inmates without them knowing if they’re being watched, creating a sense of constant surveillance and self-regulation.

Immersive Theater (Sleep No More): Challenging Fixed Perspectives

This theatrical production dissolves the boundary between performer and audience. Viewers wander freely through a multi-floor environment, piecing together fragmented narratives based on their paths. This spatial logic inspires the design of fan spaces that subvert linear emotional journeys, enabling users to confront the illusion of agency in their paths of desire and consumption.

Translating Fan Rituals into Spatial Interfaces

Building on the immersive and participatory aspects of Sleep No More, the following fan space concepts translate rituals commonly observed in fan culture into physical and interactive environments. These spatial interfaces challenge the emotional investments and the constructed nature of fandom, encouraging users to reflect on their behaviors within the space of their fandom.

Sync Fiction Studio: A writing and projection area where fan-created texts are displayed in realtime, embodying collective fantasy construction.

Voting Simulation Hall: A space featuring interactive installations that mimic mass voting or streaming events, exposing the illusion of emotional impact through ritualistic behavior.

Simulated Intimacy Booths: Through VR or mirror interfaces, users experience “private” moments with idols, only to be confronted later with the constructed and performative nature of such intimacy.

Set along the shifting edge of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, the Duggal Greenhouse occupies a site where industrial history meets contemporary reinvention. Once a center of wartime production, the Yard’s remaining infrastructure speaks to systems of control—of shaping vessels with purpose and precision. Today, those echoes of power become the foundation for a new kind of fabrication: not of ships, but of identity, image, and belief.

The surrounding water is in constant motion, mirroring the emotional currents of parasocial attachment. Devotion to idols—like the tide—can be both nourishing and overwhelming. It reflects desire while threatening to dissolve the self. The East River becomes a metaphor for this dynamic: reflective, fluid, and consuming.

Construction Ploan
Site Ploan

Wind moves invisibly across the site—an ambient force, intangible but unavoidable. It mirrors the mechanisms of celebrity culture and digital capitalism: shaping behavior without being seen. In this way, the environment itself models the parasocial condition—at once immersive and disorienting.

Against this backdrop, the Duggal Greenhouse becomes a vessel for a sequence of programs—spaces where fans act, reflect, and confront their own participation in the idolfan relationship. These are not passive or purely performative experiences, but architectural situations that provoke awareness, invite ritual, and encourage self-inquiry. It becomes a site of transformation—both personal and collective.

The design strategy for the fan club space comes from the small, everyday rituals that are so familiar to K-pop fans—especially the way fans handle and collect idol photo cards. The idea of holding, trading, and arranging these cards shaped the use of repeated rectangular modules throughout the space, showing up in the way cubicles, seats, and partitions are organized. It’s about creating that same feeling of intimacy and personal connection.

At the same time, the design borrows from the flexibility of paper itself. Folding and unfolding isn’t just a visual reference—it becomes part of how the space works. Sliding doors, foldable tables and chairs, and movable dividers let users change their surroundings depending on what they need in the moment, whether that’s privacy, social connection, or time for reflection.

Inspired by Sigmund Freud’s model of the psyche (Id, Ego, Superego), this spatial proposal outlines three sequential zones. Each zone embodies a distinct phase of the fan's emotional involvement— from immersion to self-reflection to critical awakening.

Concious

Unconcious

The goal is to build a space where memory, fantasy, and critical thinking can all overlap—kind of like how a fan’s photo card collection layers different emotions and experiences. The model studies and early sketches explore these ideas through repeating shapes, folding structures, and soft gradient colors that hint at emotional shifts and transitions.

Elevation View of Concept Model
Plan View of Concept Model
Design Process of Second Floor prespective plan

"The tilted rectangular frames in the design are inspired by the natural way photocards lean and layer inside my card holder box.

Observing this everyday arrangement, I sketched the form, which later evolved into the spatial structure rendered below."

Doors covered in fan art unfold into a corridor with foldable seats and tables.

The Id Space: Theater of Desire and Projection

The entrance zone represents the raw, unfiltered emotional state of fan immersion.

Key Features:

Scream Room: A soundproof booth playing concert footage at high volume to enable cathartic emotional release.

Virtual Idol Room: AI-generated conversations simulate private idol-fan exchanges.

Fanfiction Projection Wall: Real-time display of fan-created narratives on an interactive screen.

Relic Display Area: Idol-related artifacts (clothes, props) presented as sacred objects of devotion.

Design Language:

Dim lighting, warm saturated tones, enveloping acoustics, and soft tactile materials create a dreamlike, immersive environment ideal for emotional projection.

Prespective Section Facing South

The Ego Space: Mediation and Self-Confrontation

This transitional space encourages users to reflect on their behavior and confront their assumptions.

Key Features:

VR Reversal Booth: Fans view their actions from the perspective of the idol, breaking the one-way gaze.

Whisper in and back: Visitors record or listen to anonymous fan stories, forming an emotional archive.

Fan Network Mapping: Visual representation of fan group dynamics, language patterns, and behavioral norms.

Design Language:

Neutral tones, transparent materials, and modular partitions create introspective nooks and spaces for personal thought.

Prespective Section Facing North

The Superego Space: Ethical Interrogation and Social Discourse

At the terminus of the experience, this area provides a site for rational discourse and ethical evaluation.

Key Features:

Fan Activism Showcase: Cases where fan energy transitioned into social activism (e.g., charity events, public campaigns).

Album Exchange: A donation-based corner where fans can leave behind unwanted albums and exchange them for another K-pop-related item, such as a key charm, photocard, or fashion accessory.

Dialogue Roundtable: Space for public talks, open discussions, and community-led workshops.

Design Language:

Museum-like clarity, high-contrast lighting, and robust materials underscore the transition to analysis, transparency, and public responsibility.

Prespective Section Facing West
Prespective Section Showing Spacial Relationship Between Intimacy Booths, Streaming Hall, and Bag Drop.
Prespective Section Showing Memory Archive Room, Fan Art Desplay Zone, and Dialouge Round-table.

Drawing on the Panopticon’s idea of self-surveillance, the central observation core broadcasts how people respond inside the intimacy booths.

Small individual activity rooms line both sides of the space. Diagonally across, large digital screens and fan-made idol graffiti cover the bigger partitions, creating a shared visual tribute.

Bentham’s panopticon is fundamentally about the internalization of power through visual uncertainty. In fandom spaces, surveillance is not hidden—it is voluntarily embraced, yet rarely questioned. Fans willingly expose their preferences and behavior in exchange for inclusion or recognition. This self-disclosure becomes a resource for digital platforms.

By incorporating architectural metaphors from the panopticon—such as central pathways, mobile wall partitions, or one-way mirrors—the project seeks to dramatize this condition. Spaces may allow users to view others without being seen, or reverse the condition by revealing their own exposure.

From the belief in emotional reciprocity to the realization that one is being manipulated to the prospect of self-liberation, the experience of passing through these zones is similar to a pilgrimage through affective traps. Through this journey, the space becomes not only a container of emotion but a choreography of power.

When the Stage Lights Fade, What Remains?

This project positions fandom space not as a zone of entertainment but as a theater of desire, surveillance, and social negotiation. The architectural strategy, based on the psychic triad of Id-Ego-Superego, guides fans from emotional indulgence to critical awakening. It exposes the hidden logic behind gendered performance, emotional labor, and digital capitalism.

K-pop fandom is not a trivial obsession—it is a structure where gender identity, collective fantasy, and power flow coalesce. Architectural design, when imbued with socio-political awareness, can intervene in this process. It can reveal the illusion, provoke dialogue, and offer space for new modes of engagement.

When the idol steps off the stage and the fan steps out of the immersive space, what remains is the question:

That moment of reckoning, where the illusion collapses into awareness, is the true architectural finale—and the beginning of personal inquiry.

Dear Diary:

Tracing the lines between longing and becoming.

When it comes to desires, I can’t help but bring up the recent scandal surrounding Cai Xukun.1 Back when he first blew up in Idol Producer2. I never really understood him, and I had this vague feeling that he wasn’t as pure as he presented himself. Turns out, my instincts might’ve been right. These past few days, I’ve been watching all kinds of analysis videos about him, as well as clips of his fans (iKun) scolding him for being such a disappointment. At first, I just watched them for fun, but now, thinking about it, I kinda feel for iKun—spending so much money and energy, only for their idol to let them down like this.

1 Reports included allegations of misconduct, though Cai’s team denied them. See Wang (2023) for analysis. 2 Similar to Korea’s Produce 101, the show’s voting mechanism was later criticized for lack of transparency (Chen, 2019).

Time flies. It’s been five years since Idol Producer and the rise of Nine Percent1. Last month was their fourth anniversary of the disbandment. Nowadays, barely anyone talks about Nine Percent anymore—it’s like their whole existence was just a beautiful, fleeting dream. Kinda depressing.

But a while ago, I went to Azora Ching’s (You Zhangjing)2 solo concert. I went in with the mindset of saying goodbye, splurging on the most expensive tickets and bringing my little sister along. I kept hoping he’d mention Nine Percent, and he did—not by name, just a passing remark: "Four years ago, it was in this same venue…" The crowd erupted. At the time, I didn’t get it, but later I learned that Nine Percent’s disbandment concert had been held in that exact arena. He even sang two songs from the show, including the one he performed when I first saw him. The line "Let me love you, okay?" instantly dragged me back to a random moment five years ago. In my mind, that youthful boy had, in the blink of an eye, become this radiant star on stage. I couldn’t help but cry. So much had happened in those five years, and it all flashed through my mind like a kaleidoscope to the sound of his voice. And in that moment, it dawned on me—I too had grown, shedding the skin of a wide-eyed child to become someone who could stand unwavering in the storm.

1 Name of the group, a nine-member idol group formed in 2018 through China's first public-voted survival show Idol Producer, disbanding after 18 months due to limited-term contracts.

2 My favorite member from Nine Percent.

Azora has this one song I adore, called "Is This the Grown-Up You Wanted to Be?"3

The lyrics go:

"When I doubted myself, You waved coolly and said, ‘Silly, just go.’

In the city’s vast maze, Where no one heard my cries for help, You came to meet me, humming a song."

The night it dropped, I sat alone in my room and cried. Every time I’ve heard it since, it’s hit differently. But hearing it live at the concert? The tears wouldn’t stop. I’d just spent two weeks interning in Hong Kong, under intense pressure. He sang, "Hey, you—become an adult who shines, don’t be afraid, just grow up brave…" And earlier that day, for the first time, I’d mustered the courage to leave the suffocating environment that had been weighing me down. Making that decision wasn’t easy—I’d been through fear, frustration, failure, regaining confidence only to fail again… I cried because it felt like he was the only one on my side. He doesn’t know me, has no idea what I’ve been through, but his voice gave me real hope and courage to start over. Another song of his, "If You’ve Ever Felt This Way," was also a huge comfort. "If you’ve ever felt like this, or if you’re feeling it now—like a black hole is swallowing everything you love about life"—it felt like it was speaking directly to me.

Now, writing this, I’ve already made peace with that period. But back then, those lyrics were priceless. In that moment, I truly understood the power a positive idol can have. Even when I couldn’t find encouragement from people around me, I could still draw strength from my idols. They’ve become indispensable in my life, and their numbers keep growing. Through constant exploration, I’ve discovered so many incredible people. Some have faded with time, but I’ll never regret having loved them.

3 Song from You Zhangjing/Azora Chin’s first solo album “Azoraland”, Chinese title: “ ”, 2020

Today marks my 100th day as a SEVENTEEN4 fan. I’ve always thought commemorating specific numbers like this was kinda silly, but so much has happened in these 100 days— SEVENTEEN has been like a guardian angel witnessing my transformation.

Suddenly, I feel so lucky. Only three months in, and I’ve already experienced BSS’s subunit comeback, their Mini10 comeback, Super winning first place on music shows, and now their appearance at the Macau music festival. The next day, they went to Guangzhou for a fansign—and at the time, I was literally there too, just 20 minutes away…! It felt surreal. I didn’t get to see them, and I won’t be going to their concert in late July, but I am going to Korea for a week just for them! When I failed to snag tickets, I was devastated for days, but after some reflection, I realized it’s fine. I’m still happy.

Those meant to meet will always find their way.

4 SEVENTEEN is a 13-member South Korean boy band under Pledis Entertainment (now HYBE Labels), renowned for their self-produced music, synchronized

"theater-like" performances, and three specialized subunits (vocal, hip-hop, performance), dominating global K-pop charts since their 2015 debut.

Since the moment I stopped outside Seoul Goyang Stadium in 2023, I’ve imagined countless times what it would be like to finally see you with my eyes.

It’s been over twenty hours since the last goodbye, but thinking of the confetti floating under the LA moonlight still makes me feel like I’m back under that stage. A fever, almost zero sleep, a 12hour flight, walking until my heels bleed, and endless lines—none of it mattered. Nothing could stop me from wanting to see you standing in front of me.

Out of the four shows, I only wore glasses to one. That was when I truly saw your face clearly. It was so precious, I wanted to be in my best state to meet you, but I forgot that contact lenses don’t fix astigmatism.

At the first show, I sat on the right side with a friend. At the start, I could only see your silhouette, but I knew it was you right away. That voice I’ve heard so many times made tears rush to my eyes. The speaker shook my chest, but at that moment, I felt like the happiest person in the world.

The second show made me feel like I’d unfollow you right away. But then I kept replaying the moment in my camera where you looked in my direction and smiled softly. It felt like you were comforting me. The love of a fangirl is so stubborn, so unwavering.

The third show brought unexpected luck. Before it started, I had even decided to go sightseeing in LA with my friend. But of course, nothing is more important than you. My friend by my side, the person I cherish on stage, and the songs that got me through countless lonely nights… I’ve replayed this moment in my mind over and over, in slow motion. Genuinely the happiest moment. Even now when typing, tears fall, but they’re tears of joy.

Thanks to my friend, I got to sit in the front row for the final show. Before the rehearsal, I sat there thinking, in such a huge outdoor venue, I’d only be a hundred meters away from you. It felt unreal. I usually avoid watching sound check videos1, but here I was, experiencing it for the first time.

For two days, during the parade, you stayed in one corner, facing away from me. If it happened one more time, I thought I’d quit being a fan. I repeated it in my mind a thousand times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe we’re still going to be opposing magnets after all.

These past few days felt like a movie, fireworks, and a dream. Along the way, I met some annoying people, but compared to the love I felt from fellow fans, they’ve been completely forgotten. The girls were all so beautiful and kind, especially when we traded photo cards. It’s cheesy to say, but it felt like we were meant to meet—you holding my idol, me holding yours.

Luckily, life doesn’t have a right answer. Thank you for always standing so firmly behind me.

1 Sound check videos are pecial behind-the-scenes videos showing artists rehearsing before a show; many fans avoid them to keep the live experience fresh and surprising.

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