I n the early 2000s, my three-year-old son wanted a Doctor Who birthday party. He had been watching old 1980s-era PBS recordings on our VHS, and he couldn't understand why the party stores didn't have the Fourth Doctor next to Buzz Lightyear and Arthur paraphernalia. Now, ten years later, when I research fannish cakes, I fi nd entire commercial cooking programs dedicated to baking a TARDISshaped cake, along with Doctor Who party-and bakeware. One reason for this change is clearly the resurgence of the Doctor Who franchise (BBC, 1963-1989, 1996, 2005-) and its wider popularity than before. Clearly, this amount of fan merchandise for even marginal shows is a recent phenomenon, testifying to both the expansion of media tiein commercialization and the increased popularity of fan and geek cultures. Twenty years ago, our Doctor Who mugs were a special PBS fund-raising gift; today, there is merchandise available not only for the most niche shows but also for specifi c fans: if you want a T-shirt, tote bag, or iPhone case dedicated to Superwholock (the slashy Doctor Who / Supernatural / Sherlock crossover of "Hunters and Doctors and Boys from Baker Street"), there are dozens of designs and options available on sites that cater directly to this audience. As an aca-fan, I am of two minds about this phenomenon. The acceptance of fans, geeks, and nerds is theoretically and personally satisfying, as is the increased popularity of geeky media, and consequently the more positive media portrayals. The freaks and geeks of my teenage years have given way to more affectionate and certainly more nuanced portrayals: Anthony Michael Hall's eternally geeky outcast of