The fancall culture we’ve built (and what it cost us)

Usually once a comeback, I write a reflection on how it went.

Most of the time, at least one section is about fancalls. If you’re hosting events, you have to deal with them in some way.

But this comeback, I haven’t hosted. I just observed. And so this reflection is coming early—a mere two weeks into the comeback.

And the easiest thing to observe right now is fancalls.

I know this post may upset some people. That’s not my goal. But I do think it’s necessary to bring the topic to the proverbial table.

I care about ATEEZ. I care about this community. I care about the friendships I’ve built through group orders, trades, and discussing PCs.

And because I care, I’ve been thinking about the fancall culture we’re operating in—what it rewards, what it discourages, and how that shapes what we do.

Things have changed, and not all of the change is bad. But I would argue that certain changes have the potential for problems, and I think it’s worth pausing to ask where the new culture we've created is leading us.

please enjoy pictures of Jongho while you read

General fancall overview

(I know some of this will be old news for longtime fans, but I want this to be accessible to newer atiny as well.)

The most important thing to understand is this: fancalls are revenue tools. 

They are not designed to be fair—they are designed to sell albums. Higher cuts benefit both KQ and the hosting stores.

Whether fairness would increase participation is probably irrelevant to the companies running the events. The system works. It makes money. Systems that make money rarely change on their own.

For most of the rest of this section, I’m pulling from a prior (now deleted) post. Skip if you already know the basics.

What’s a fancall: 

Fansigns and fancalls are events hosted by stores to sell ATEEZ albums. KQ commits ATEEZ to participate, but the stores control the entry process and selection.

Most events now include:

1. An in-person fansign

2. A video fancall

Fancalls are typically about two minutes long and usually take place over KakaoTalk (some stores use Line).

How you enter a fancall: 

It’s very easy. You buy albums. 

You buy albums from the store’s event link.

Each album is an entry.

You cannot win through a GOM unless the GOM is explicitly raffling the call. If they are not loudly advertising a raffle, assume they are entering themselves.

How you win a fancall: 

Your chances for any given fansign are based on statistics. And math. 

Imagine 100 slips of paper with Jongho’s name in a jar and one slip each for the other members. If two winners are drawn and each person can only win once, statistically Jongho is overwhelmingly likely to be drawn first.

That’s how fancalls work. Each album is an entry. The more albums you buy, the more slips of paper with your name go into the jar. You can win with one album — but mathematically, it’s less likely.

It is also important to say this plainly: ATEEZ is more popular now than they were even a year ago. More fans means more entries. More entries means higher statistical thresholds. Some of the rise in cuts is simply growth.

But popularity alone doesn’t explain how fast the numbers jumped. Growth raises the starting point. The way fancalls reward higher spending determines how far people push it.

The shift from photocards to fancalls

A lot of people collect photocards.

ATEEZ releases a huge number of PCs each comeback. As a completionist collector, that means I order from nearly every event. For Golden Hour 4 so far, I’ve spent $326.25 on Korean store releases alone.

When I started GOMing, it was about photocards. I barely knew fancalls existed. I just wanted control over my PCs after being scammed by multiple GOMs.

Fancalls were not a part of my equation. 

But I won five in a row my first comeback GOMing. That's something that could never happen now—both because ATEEZ's popularity has grown enormously and the landscape has changed.

But my point is that for many people, GOs are about collecting. They’re filling a binder, not chasing a call.

This matters when we talk about “serial” discourse.

Many GOMs—serial or not—offer POB discounts when entering themselves. I see that as a thank-you. Joiners get cheaper PCs; the GOM does a ton of unpaid work and maybe gets to talk to a member. If they can afford the discount, that’s a win-win.

Some collectors will always prioritize cheaper PCs. They don’t care about fancalls—they care about completing their collection. And with how many PCs ATEEZ drops, that money adds up fast.

When you’ve joined 35+ GOs and spent $300+, the difference between a $6 PC and a $10 PC matters.

That’s why people will keep joining with the same GOMs, regardless of discourse labels.

another Jongho to calm the spirits

The rise of the raffles 

Raffles can be great, and I’m not arguing they should disappear.

I am saying they have effects.  

Right now, large raffles are funneling more wins toward the biggest hosts in a way that may not be sustainable.

Raffles began as a thank-you to joiners—a way to give access to something they otherwise would not have. Many GOMs still prioritize fixed joiners in raffles. I do. It makes sense: those are the people buying the most albums.

When I started GOMing during Bouncy, raffles were not the default. They existed, but they were not dominant and only the most established GOMs raffled fancalls.

Now they are the rule.

Personal attempts are viewed with suspicion. GOMs are expected to disclose not just numbers, but history, concert attendance, and provide an emotional backstory.

Meanwhile, raffle GOMs are massive. Twenty-plus sets entered for one member.

Scale matters too.

Rounding album prices to cover unknown fees is normal. But rounding at large scale the way these raffles do will increases margins on how much money they collect. Large raffles also win polaroids, which can be sold for hundreds or kept.

To be clear: I think keeping prizes is fair. GOM labor is unpaid.

What I question are narratives that frame large raffles as purely self-sacrificial without acknowledging the scale advantage they gain in both their chances at winning prizes and the money collected from rounding up.

And cuts are rising—even at smaller stores. While many blame raffles entirely, I see them more as an accelerant. But I’ll get to that. 

The real question for this section is: how does a small or mid-size GOM compete with 20 set entries from GOMs raffling the call?

Small or medium sized GOMs used to offset this by offering POB discounts on personal attempts to entice more joiners . Now that behavior is labeled “serial.”

To survive, mid-GOMs must open for everything and cover unclaimed cards for months. I did that. It cost me—a lot.

Because building a community takes time. And in this environment, many would-be GOMs will decide it is not worth it.

When mid-size entries disappear, we lose stabilizing numbers. Instead, we have large raffles, high-spend individuals reacting to the large raffles, and discourse blaming “serials.”

The worst news for a personal host is learning a 150-set raffle winner is entering for the same member.

Yes, raffles could be split. But as someone who has hosted them, I understand the instinct not to split. You want your winner to win. You do not want to raise hopes only for them to lose.

But if raffle wins feel almost guaranteed, fancall-focused joiners move to the biggest GOMs.

That leaves less room for everyone else.

The raffle structure has also attracted joiners who are uninterested in collecting and participate solely for the chance at a fancall. I have had many joiners disappear when EMS was due because they only cared about the call.

Disclosure culture 

Beyond raffle size, the deeper issue to me is disclosure because disclosure has changed behavior. 

Large raffles publicly show how many sets it takes to beat at least one competitor.

If I want a Yunho call and see a raffle at 150 claims—and I know the winner will choose Yunho—I either give up or try to outbuy. So maybe I buy 170. The numbers rise.

I used to disclose all my numbers—wins, losses, stores, members.

I regret that.

Not because I don’t want to help atiny—but because when you tell people the number that won, they treat that number as the new minimum. And once a number becomes a minimum, someone will always try to beat it. 

A store or time that’s easy to win becomes hard to win as soon as someone says it’s easy because when everyone is following the same strategy, the strategy collapses. 

Disclosure culture has turned ceilings into floors. The number that once won becomes the number everyone thinks they need just to try.

If I disclose that I won a Hongjoong call with 16 albums, 16 becomes the baseline—not just for one person, but for everyone who sees it. And when the system is set up for there to be winners and losers, knowledge escalates.

There will always be people with more money and larger platforms that can use that knowledge to their benefit. Once the number is 16, someone buys 24. And it compounds. 

Last comeback, I stopped publicly disclosing raffle entry numbers. They were still technically findable—but not easily accessible. Not because I hate atiny and don’t want them to win fancalls, but because I wanted to protect my joiners from being outbid.

Large raffles show big numbers.

People try to beat them.

Cuts rise.

Smaller hosts can’t keep up.

More joiners move to the biggest raffles.

And the cycle repeats.

Gatekeeping clarified 

Six months ago, I deleted my “Everything I can think to tell you about fancalls” post. It had thousands of weekly views and generated constant DMs—often from people outside the fandom.

Many questions were already answered in the post. Others asked directly how many albums they needed to buy.

Eventually, it became overwhelming. But with hindsight, I am also glad I removed a public archive of numbers.

Gatekeeping is a dirty word. And I don’t want to keep ATEEZ from anyone. I want more fans. More albums sold. More people discussing lore with me.

But there’s a difference between gatekeeping and boundary-setting.

Gatekeeping is denying belonging based on arbitrary standards.

Choosing not to share personal strategy with strangers is not gatekeeping. 

A fancall is not a prerequisite for being an atiny. It’s a paid opportunity within a commercial system.

No one is entitled to a fancall. 

I want more people loving ATEEZ. I want more albums sold. But I also know not everyone approaching me for “advice” had good intentions. Some bad-mouthed me in one space and asked for strategy in another.

That doesn’t feel like community to me. 

Disclosure happens naturally in real communities. But that requires relationships—not entitlement.

I will continue to help people I have relationships with. But public disclosure means sharing with everyone—including solo stans, bad actors, and people who wish you harm.

Information spreads beyond your intended audience.

surprise Choi bros

Serial discourse + witch hunts

I would define what a serial fancaller is for this discussion, but I can’t. 

There is no agreed definition of a “serial fancaller.” 

The number shifts depending on who is speaking and how many calls they themselves have had. The goalposts move—one call becomes two, two becomes three, exceptions are carved out—until the term simply means “more than me.”

Jealousy gets wrapped up in this. Someone can win a single call and be labeled a serial. We’ve seen it happen.

Personally, I do not care how many fancalls a person has per comeback as long as they: 

1. are not scamming people

2. treat the ATEEZ members with respect. 

Those are my dealbreakers—not how someone spends their money.

ATEEZ often has 15+ calls per comeback, and we don’t know how many there will be at the start of each comeback. A lot of people told me the magic  number for serials is 5 per comeback, but five isn’t even half the fancalls ATEEZ may do per comeback.

The bigger issue is that serial discourse turns into witch hunts. Winner lists are combed. Names recorded. Templates circulate. People are doxxed or accused of stalking for attending official schedules.

Spending money on sanctioned events is not stalking. 

Harassing people who have won calls in the name of fairness does not make fancalls more just.

A “serial” takes one spot on a winner list. Even if they win repeatedly, there are still 14 other spots.

Recently, Dear My Muse left 40 people off a winner list. Before that was even addressed, templates were already circulating about someone who won three spots.

That person took three. But the store stole 40. 

And for some people, the discourse focused on the individual.

Let me be quite frank. In my opinion, I do not think it’s normal for people who did not apply to an event to check a winner’s list solely to track rather certain individuals are on it. 

And you will never convince me it’s acceptable to stalk someone’s accounts or expose personal information because they talked to a member of ATEEZ at a sanctioned event.

You are not competing only with serials. You’re competing with large raffles, high-spend individuals, and everyone reacting to disclosed numbers.

Final thoughts

I don’t think serials are the villain of this story. I don’t think the rise of raffles are the end times. And I don’t think disclosure is always wrong. 

But fancalls are structured to make us spend money. And I worry about sustainability.

I’ve benefited from this system. I’ve been hurt by it. I’ve contributed to it. I’m not outside of it.

But if we care about this community long-term—if we want more people to feel excited rather than exhausted—then we have to be honest about the way fancalls are structured.

Transparency and fairness sound simple. They aren’t. Because the truth is that fancalls are a competition. There are limited spots. Not everyone can win. 

But I do still believe in the community part of this. I love celebrating wins with friends. I love talking about PCs. And I love being a part of something bigger.

And I think it’s worth asking whether the fancall culture we’ve built is helping us get there—or slowly pushing us away from it.