We recently hit the 20 year anniversary of the release of the first Harry Potter book. Apparently it’s a big deal. I know this because yesterday I saw 11 trillion social media posts about it online. A bunch of broom riding fanboys and crazy girls celebrating, talking whether they’re Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or Vegan or Republican or whatever. Tons of people in their twenties and even thirties jizzing in their pants, geeking out over a children’s book. They were sharing Buzzfeed quizzes to find out which one of Harry’s balls they were. I got “Harry’s left testie” because I’m “social, creative, and empathetic.” It’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen my generation participate in and it needs to stop today.
Clearly I never understood or related to the appeal behind this Potter cat. Just not my cup of tea. So I suppose my unnecessarily severe hatred for the guy isn’t directly BECAUSE of the franchise. Like sure, I hate the movies and the books or whatever. But I recently came to an epiphany. This isn’t poor Harold’s fault. I hate Harry Potter because of the fan base. The most obnoxious group of people in the entire universe — tied with Juggalos and people who say “lol I’m fluent in sarcasm.”
As a kid who grew up in the 2000s, a time when Spongebob was our lord and savior and Outkast’s “Hey Ya” was on every radio station (aka the golden age of America), I’m very familiar with the Harry Potter universe. Every single damn friend had an elementary school birthday with a Harry Potter themed. A bunch of pre-pubescent douchebaskets running around with plastic wands and fake lightening scars on our foreheads. The new Harry Potter film would come out every year, an annual tradition like Christmas or chlamydia. Which is all well and good until we passed puberty.
We ventured into middle school, and then high school, and then college. I look around, and I still see tons of people that are heavily invested in this trash talking about what Hogwarts house they’d live in, like a bunch of mental patients. People popping the DVD’s back in and revisiting it like only sociopaths and serial killers would. We’re in the real world now, join us. If you’re old enough to drink, know what mortgage means, or bought Plan B at 1 in the morning with a rando mid panic attack, you’re too old for your heart to be visiting Hogwarts.
Sure, I’m far from grown up: my apartment is a mess, I think farts are the funniest thing on earth, and I still don’t understand how Wall Street works. But at least I’m not obsessing over children’s books like a psycho. Would you walk around blabbering about Cat In The Hat and devoting your identity to being a hardcore Dr. Suess fan? Do you own a bunch of Roald Dahl t-shirts? No, because you’re too old to be into those books right? Exactly. So shut up about Dumbledore already. Every day I break the cardinal rule and scream “Voldemort” out loud on principle. Harry Potter can go fist himself..
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