Larger Than Life: The Reign of the Boybands doesn’t just tell the story of coordinated dance moves and chart-topping singles, it reclaims a narrative that has been dismissed for the longest time.
The Paramount+ documentary acknowledges how boy bands were often trivialized in the cultural imagination, and more importantly, how the young girls who adored them were ridiculed for their passion.
Through interviews with members of The Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, and others, who are now older, reflective, and often more candid, it allows for a reassessment of the boy band phenomenon not as a manufactured fad, but as a deeply resonant cultural force that gave a voice to a generation of girls who felt everything loudly and unapologetically. And it offers the fans, not the music executives, the final word.
Lance Bass
Boy bands were always more than their choreography and harmonies. What the documentary gets so right is that the boy bands of the 90s and early 2000s were part of a lineage. The label might be modern, but the formula was tried and trusted. From barbershop quartets to The Beatles, Menudo to New Edition, The Osmonds, and even the Jackson 5, young women have always found themselves reflected in these polished groups of sensitive, good-looking men singing about love.
The packaging changes, frosted tips become pastel hair dye, matching outfits give way to minimalism, but the structure is ancient. Emotional fantasy made accessible, safe rebellion disguised as pop music, love songs that say, “You matter.” Boy bands didn’t invent that. They just amplified it. And in doing so, they created a pipeline for girls to care out loud.
Before we had language for it, fandom gave us the blueprint for how to feel deeply, unapologetically. For many of us, the Backstreet Boys were our first emotional vocabulary. Choosing a favorite wasn’t trivial, it was aspirational. If you were a Nick girl, you probably liked things sweet and chaotic. If you were a Howie girl, you understood quiet strength before you even had the words for it. I was a Brian girl, which meant I liked heart and humor wrapped into something deeply steady. The choice said something about who we were, or who we wanted to be.
Fandom gave us a safe container for big feelings in a world that told us our feelings were too much. Crying at concerts, writing fan fiction, decorating our binders with posters from J-14 – these were acts of emotional self-invention. And they were easy to mock. But what we were really doing (even if we didn’t realize it at the time) was practicing for heartbreak, loyalty, joy, and connection. Practice for building identity.
Everyone said we’d grow out of it. That we’d look back and cringe. But here’s the thing – we never stopped loving them. Not really. That love just evolved. And I know because I’ve lived it. In 2023, I saw the Backstreet Boys in concert. It was my first time seeing them in person after more than two decades of being a fan. I was standing there, surrounded by women who had grown up just like I had, and suddenly I was 15 again. Only this time, I had a job and a long list of things to stress about.
The music started, the crowd screamed, and I was home. It wasn’t nostalgia for the songs I had grown up with. It was real, and that old fangirl feeling was still alive. At one point, Brian looked out into the crowd, and our eyes met, and he smiled. Not a polite, distant stage smile, but something warm and personal. And for a moment, I wasn’t an adult with bills and deadlines. I was just a girl, being seen by the voice that had carried her through the messiness of adolescence and beyond. That’s not a phase. That’s a part of me.
And yet, when girls scream at concerts, they’re called hysterical. But when boys scream at football games, they’re called devoted. The volume is the same. The passion is the same. But only one gets cultural legitimacy. One gets celebrated. The other gets side-eyed. The world has always been uncomfortable with girls who feel too loudly. That’s why fangirls are so easy to mock. And that’s why our love has always been revolutionary.
We knew how to build identity from sound, from song lyrics, from faces on CD covers. We knew how to build community across lockers and continents. The emotional infrastructure of the internet was built by us, even if no one wants to admit it. They told us we were ridiculous, but we were right. Not about everything – not about the dream weddings or who had the best falsetto – but about the kind of people we were becoming. Empathetic. Expressive. Loyal. Joyful on purpose.
Loving a boy band wasn’t really about the boys. It was about each other. It was about building a world where girls could feel everything, all at once, and not apologize for it. That blueprint still exists. You see it in BTS ARMYs organizing fundraisers. You see it in Swifties tracking time zones and surprising each other with friendship bracelets. You see it in every post, playlist, and ticket line where girls (and women) gather and say, “I love this, and I’m not ashamed.”
Boy bands may change their sound, their style, even their lineups. But the power of their fans, the girls who learned to scream and feel, remains the same. And maybe now, finally, the world is learning to take that seriously.
Watch Larger Than Life: Reign of the Boybands on Paramount+.
The Paramount+ documentary acknowledges how boy bands were often trivialized in the cultural imagination, and more importantly, how the young girls who adored them were ridiculed for their passion.
Through interviews with members of The Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, and others, who are now older, reflective, and often more candid, it allows for a reassessment of the boy band phenomenon not as a manufactured fad, but as a deeply resonant cultural force that gave a voice to a generation of girls who felt everything loudly and unapologetically. And it offers the fans, not the music executives, the final word.
The Documentary That Pulled Back The Curtain
Lance Bass
Boy bands were always more than their choreography and harmonies. What the documentary gets so right is that the boy bands of the 90s and early 2000s were part of a lineage. The label might be modern, but the formula was tried and trusted. From barbershop quartets to The Beatles, Menudo to New Edition, The Osmonds, and even the Jackson 5, young women have always found themselves reflected in these polished groups of sensitive, good-looking men singing about love.
The packaging changes, frosted tips become pastel hair dye, matching outfits give way to minimalism, but the structure is ancient. Emotional fantasy made accessible, safe rebellion disguised as pop music, love songs that say, “You matter.” Boy bands didn’t invent that. They just amplified it. And in doing so, they created a pipeline for girls to care out loud.
We Didn’t Just Scream – We Practiced Feeling
Before we had language for it, fandom gave us the blueprint for how to feel deeply, unapologetically. For many of us, the Backstreet Boys were our first emotional vocabulary. Choosing a favorite wasn’t trivial, it was aspirational. If you were a Nick girl, you probably liked things sweet and chaotic. If you were a Howie girl, you understood quiet strength before you even had the words for it. I was a Brian girl, which meant I liked heart and humor wrapped into something deeply steady. The choice said something about who we were, or who we wanted to be.
Fandom gave us a safe container for big feelings in a world that told us our feelings were too much. Crying at concerts, writing fan fiction, decorating our binders with posters from J-14 – these were acts of emotional self-invention. And they were easy to mock. But what we were really doing (even if we didn’t realize it at the time) was practicing for heartbreak, loyalty, joy, and connection. Practice for building identity.
It Was Never Just a Phase
Everyone said we’d grow out of it. That we’d look back and cringe. But here’s the thing – we never stopped loving them. Not really. That love just evolved. And I know because I’ve lived it. In 2023, I saw the Backstreet Boys in concert. It was my first time seeing them in person after more than two decades of being a fan. I was standing there, surrounded by women who had grown up just like I had, and suddenly I was 15 again. Only this time, I had a job and a long list of things to stress about.
The music started, the crowd screamed, and I was home. It wasn’t nostalgia for the songs I had grown up with. It was real, and that old fangirl feeling was still alive. At one point, Brian looked out into the crowd, and our eyes met, and he smiled. Not a polite, distant stage smile, but something warm and personal. And for a moment, I wasn’t an adult with bills and deadlines. I was just a girl, being seen by the voice that had carried her through the messiness of adolescence and beyond. That’s not a phase. That’s a part of me.
Mocked, Dismissed, and Always Right
And yet, when girls scream at concerts, they’re called hysterical. But when boys scream at football games, they’re called devoted. The volume is the same. The passion is the same. But only one gets cultural legitimacy. One gets celebrated. The other gets side-eyed. The world has always been uncomfortable with girls who feel too loudly. That’s why fangirls are so easy to mock. And that’s why our love has always been revolutionary.
We knew how to build identity from sound, from song lyrics, from faces on CD covers. We knew how to build community across lockers and continents. The emotional infrastructure of the internet was built by us, even if no one wants to admit it. They told us we were ridiculous, but we were right. Not about everything – not about the dream weddings or who had the best falsetto – but about the kind of people we were becoming. Empathetic. Expressive. Loyal. Joyful on purpose.
A Blueprint for the Future
Loving a boy band wasn’t really about the boys. It was about each other. It was about building a world where girls could feel everything, all at once, and not apologize for it. That blueprint still exists. You see it in BTS ARMYs organizing fundraisers. You see it in Swifties tracking time zones and surprising each other with friendship bracelets. You see it in every post, playlist, and ticket line where girls (and women) gather and say, “I love this, and I’m not ashamed.”
Boy bands may change their sound, their style, even their lineups. But the power of their fans, the girls who learned to scream and feel, remains the same. And maybe now, finally, the world is learning to take that seriously.
Watch Larger Than Life: Reign of the Boybands on Paramount+.