I wanted to meet Barbara and Ian, Liz and Jo, Sarah Jane, Leela, Tegan, et al. The specificity with which each of these authors discuss the various seasons of Doctor Who made me yearn to be as familiar with the show as they are. Reading Chicks Unravel Time has made me hungry to see more. Prior to that, I had only seen one or two episodes (I can’t even remember which Doctor, let alone the plot of the episodes) in bits and pieces. My roommate showed me Tom Baker’s E-space Trilogy, introducing me (and bidding farewell to) Romana II, Adric, and K-9. My experience with older episodes of Doctor Who has only picked up recently. It’s special, but it’s not the end of the world. But no, fans who had been watching since the black-and-white era had been through this seven times before. We feel like we’re the first ones to experience these anguishes. The story of new Who fans mirrors the story of generations’ coming-of-age: we forget those who came before already had to go through this. The rest is history, of course-the Tenth Doctor stole my heart, along with the hearts of many other Whovians, and then he left and the world would never be the same. I was gutted to learn that he was leaving after only the first season and convinced that this new fellow, “David Tennant” (if that’s even his real name) could never live up to the Ninth Doctor’s brusque charisma. Christopher Eccleston was my first doctor, and it’s true that I’ll never forget him.
I came to Doctor Who solely through the revived series.
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