I have noticed that the term “flop,” employed to describe big artists or albums that fail to top past commercial victories, seems to grow in popularity with each passing year. Lady Gaga’s last two albums, Joanne and ARTPOP, have become synonymous with flopping, despite boasting hits like “Million Reasons” and “Applause” and carrying her to the Super Bowl stage. It has been suggested that Lorde, Kesha, and Demi Lovato’s zeitgeist-dominating but mildly underselling 2017 releases Melodrama, Rainbow, and Tell Me You Love Me were all flops, even though each featured a major hit in “Green Light,” “Praying,” and “Sorry Not Sorry.” The term has become so casually wielded that even Taylor Swift’s Reputation, which debuted with 2017’s biggest sales week at more than 1.26 million copies sold, sparked conversation over whether the album could be considered a flop by Swift’s A-list standards.

And yet, surveying the message-board and Twitter chatter among self-identifying pop “stans” (a term adapted from the Eminem song to describe the most obsessive of fans), those who adore these supposedly fallen stars seem to revere them more than ever. If a music industry undergoing a sales and streaming flux has led to flopped albums being more common than ever, then so is their silver lining: the underdog effect that leads some listeners to rally around their favorite pop star with even more fervor.

While we may have reached peak flop last year, the exultant reaction to underselling pop LPs isn’t a new phenomenon. Some of the albums that occupy a near-mythic place in the pop stan imagination—like Britney Spears’ Blackout, Carly Rae Jepsen’s E•MO•TION, or Christina Aguilera’s Bionic—failed to match the commercial success of their creators’ previous releases, despite featuring singles that landed in the top 40. Perhaps not coincidentally, many these albums also represent the critical highpoints of each singer’s career. Similarly, critical darlings like Charli XCX, Tove Lo, and Tinashe inspire adamant adoration with releases that barely register with the broader public. Look harder and you will even find stans still obsessed with records by Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and onetime “Hills” heel Heidi Montag, despite the fact that almost everyone else in the world has forgotten these albums even existed, if they ever knew of them in the first place.

On one hand, this may be the Hot 100 equivalent of record-store-clerk syndrome, with the most serious of pop listeners proudly repping their supposedly undersung heroes. But I suspect there’s more to it than that.

I and many others identify specifically with the commercial pressures and major-label struggles of artists like Jepsen and Charli XCX. I’m queer and many other people who adore their albums also seem to be queer or belong to other marginalized communities. Perhaps we see our own challenges reflected in our favorite flops, feel defensive of them as people who have also been maligned, and find inspiration in their perseverance. After all, “flop” is a diss directed almost exclusively at women, and weaponized most viciously against women of color. How are you going to call icons like Janet Jackson, Brandy, or Mariah Carey flops when their male contemporaries with similarly declining sales are rarely treated like has-beens? It’s more than just feeling overprotective—double standards and the pressure to be perfect are familiar territory for those who’ve been ostracized in some way. Fighting for your favorite pop star’s dignity can feel like fighting for your own.