In the summer of 2020, while a bit too crazed in quarantine, I picked up interest in NBC’s “Hannibal.” As a fan of “The Silence of the Lambs,” I was eager to see a new take on the character of Hannibal Lecter (Mads Mikkelsen, “Another Round”). I very quickly grew fascinated with the show — particularly the strange bond between its protagonists, FBI agent Will Graham (Hugh Dancy, “Downton Abbey: A New Era”) and Hannibal. On a surface level, the plot follows Will attempting to catch Hannibal for his crimes. However, their relationship becomes quite complicated. The two often engage in what can best be described as psychological warfare, framing and imprisoning each other with additional threats of cannibalizing one another. Their relationship even became somewhat romantic toward the show’s end, with its final scene culminating in the two of them committing murder together and tenderly holding each other in the bloody moonlight. It was unlike anything I’d seen before —sort of beautiful, mostly absurd. Either way, I found myself unable to look away.
My obsession with “Hannibal” naturally led me to exploring its online fandom. I quickly became enamored with the beautiful fan art I saw, compelling me to make my own and share it. Yet, as this went on for a while, I began to notice an odd trend in some users engaging with my work — they carried the term “proship” or “proshipper” in their bio, often accompanied by a combination of the rainbow and meat emojis. Shipping, for those uninitiated, is the common practice of romantically pairing characters in media. It is a behavior so common that it shouldn’t have to receive a label like this. Upon seeing it, I thought to myself, why would someone in an online fandom space need to say that they’re pro-shipping? Everyone in fandom is pro-shipping; it came free with your Wattpad access in middle school. I was perplexed by the simplicity of the statement — surely, it must mean something more.
So, what is a proshipper? Though there is not one universally accepted definition, it is safe to say that a proshipper is one who supports romantic pairings that are deemed problematic, as well as supports creating fanworks of this nature. In this case, “problematic” generally consists of abusive dynamics, harmful age gaps and incest, and can also refer to shipping real people. As you can see, the vagueness of the term proship does not accurately capture these values. I learned this the hard way while checking the profile of someone with proship in their bio who had liked my “Hannibal” art. Almost immediately, I was bombarded with romanticization of incest in “Game of Thrones.” Needless to say, I did not want to be anywhere near proshippers after discovering this fact.
After making it clear in a post that I did not want proshippers to engage with my works, though, I noticed another term being thrown around derogatorily in my direction: “anti.” Once again, I was left scratching my head. Anti-what? Why was I being labeled this thing when I don’t even know what it means? What does it mean to be an anti? This is a somewhat difficult question to answer — though it can most simply be equated with opposing the problematic tendencies of proshippers. The debate between the two groups centers around whether fiction affects reality; proshippers are of the mindset that it does not, while antis believe that it does. Because of this reasoning, proshippers are of the mindset that advocating for problematic depictions in media do not translate to advocating for them in reality. Rather than these two groups simply existing in separate spaces, they are constantly at war over the others’ morality.
These groups have created very concentrated spaces and terminologies, as you can see, to the point that there are even stereotypes about what each group looks like. Proshippers are generalized to be much older (I’ve encountered several women in their early 30s identifying themselves as such), while antis are typically expected to be teenagers. As someone who has observed this firsthand across multiple fandoms, though, I don’t view each argument to be of equal weight. Oftentimes, debate comes about because an anti-shipper posts about being exposed to problematic content due to proshippers. If a teen online (understandably) complains about seeing something like incest on their timeline, proshippers (who are often grown adults) typically come at them in retaliation with a slew of flimsy arguments.
Many proshippers, for example, cite that “fiction does not affect reality,” so they should be able to engage with problematic content in fiction without moral panic. This has never sat right with me, though: Just because something is not real doesn’t mean it is inherently moral and okay. If you find it okay to romantically pair twin siblings Dipper and Mabel from “Gravity Falls,” for example, why should that blindly be accepted as okay just because it isn’t real? What media you’re viewing clearly does affect your reality, since so many people devote their free time to being in fandom spaces for media they like — whether it’s merely discussing media online or creating art and fan fiction surrounding their interests. If you’re choosing to engage in behaviors such as sexualizing fictional children, incest and abusive relationships online, how am I not to attribute those behaviors to your moral character offline?
These debates feel quite pointless when viewed in this light — myself and so many other people who have been labeled antis simply seek to block all proshippers rather than engage them at this point. The final straw in my case occurred, once again, in the “Hannibal” fandom in 2021, and I feel it is a perfect example of the chronically online, absurd self-victimization proshippers attribute to themselves. Creator of “Hannibal” Bryan Fuller began to interact frequently with proshippers, defending the way they behave online. He quickly entered the “proship vs. anti” debate, loudly proclaiming himself to be a proshipper. As a fan of the series, this revelation was not that shocking to me given the nature of the main characters’ relationship — as I mentioned before, it was abusive, cannibalistic and manipulative. As Fuller was the one who wrote this dynamic, it didn’t shock me that he approved of similar dynamics across fiction.
However, Fuller’s next move was a shock for many: He purchased merchandise of the phrase, a mug and a t-shirt. What particularly struck me and many others was the design of this merchandise, which included two pink triangles surrounding a rainbow meat emoji design. Already, it is absurd that a community surrounding an online dispute has merchandise, but the significance of the pink triangle brought things to a new level. Historically, the pink triangle was used by Nazis to label those they deemed “gay” in concentration camps. The choice to utilize Holocaust imagery in merchandise about online fandom clearly highlights the absurd self-victimization of proshippers — it’s as if they see themselves as brave, as strong for openly advocating for problematic pairings. It is, without a doubt, some of the most chronically online behavior I have had the misfortune of viewing. I have no desire to label myself as an “anti” because I am too busy having a life outside of the internet, but I would rather take on that label than be associated with proshippers.
Of course, it is not as black and white as I have explained it; even within their own communities, proshippers and antis debate about the boundaries of their arguments and what is and isn’t okay. Personally, I think it is mindful to simply critically consume media — I really enjoyed “Hannibal” and the toxic dynamic of its characters, but that doesn’t mean I have to romanticize and advocate for it further. Just because I viewed and enjoyed this content does not mean I am a proshipper, and I feel this is particularly a nonissue outside of online spaces. These proshipper communities are so hyper-focused on labels, on knowing who is “on their side” and who is opposed that I feel they fail to think critically about what they’re consuming and how it affects them. Even if they do, I don’t find their conclusions to be satisfactory; even if you can come up with some argument online morally justifying consuming pedophilic fictional content, for example, imagine telling someone in real life that you enjoy that content. It’s simply shameful. If you’re having to jump through hoops to create some rational explanation, perhaps you should reconsider what you’re doing in the first place.
Daily Arts Writer Katelyn Sliwinski can be reached at ksliwi@umich.edu.