If it’s possible to have a parasocial relationship with a fictional character, I have it with Buffy Summers. She’s tattooed on my thigh. I’ve dressed as her for comic conventions. I’ve attended Buffy trivia. And I’ve watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer more times than Giles, her watcher – kind of like a guardian-slash-taskmaster, for the uninitiated – got knocked on the head.
Even as a megafan I recognise that many aspects of the show have aged badly. Still, Buffy helped me get through adolescence into adulthood by showing me that nearly everything is survivable: in Buffy’s case, even one’s own death.
