The other day I was asked what it is I like about horror, so I put this together.
At first, it seemed like a simple question — I could’ve said I like being scared, or that horror is fun, or that I enjoy a good ghost story on a rainy night. And while all of that is true, the real reasons go much deeper. Horror is more than just monsters, gore, and jump scares. It’s my favorite genre because it gives voice to the outsider, welcomes new creators with open (often blood-soaked) arms, and celebrates the strange, the uncanny, and the overlooked.
One of the most powerful things about horror is how it speaks for — and to — outsiders. More than any other genre, horror is where the people who don’t quite fit can tell their stories. Its monsters are often metaphors: a vampire as a symbol of queerness, a haunted house representing generational trauma, a zombie outbreak reflecting societal collapse. Horror sees the weird and wounded parts of life that other genres try to clean up or ignore. It says, “Here. Look closer.” And when we do, we realize that the monster isn’t always the villain — sometimes, it's a victim. Sometimes, it's us.
From Frankenstein to Candyman to Let the Right One In, horror constantly returns to themes of alienation, identity, and fear of being misunderstood or cast out. The “final girl” trope, too, often centers the survivor — someone underestimated, ignored, or isolated — who finds strength and power in the very things that set her apart. These stories resonate with anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider. Horror doesn’t just represent the other; it honors it.
That deep connection to difference and defiance is probably why horror is such fertile ground for new and diverse creators. Unlike more mainstream genres, horror often exists on the edges — smaller budgets, niche audiences, experimental styles. That might sound like a limitation, but it’s actually a gift. Because horror isn’t always expected to play by the rules, it allows new voices to rewrite them entirely.
Jordan Peele is a great example. Coming from comedy, he brought a fresh perspective to horror with Get Out and Us, blending social critique with chilling storytelling. His success cracked open the door for other Black filmmakers and writers to tell horror stories rooted in their own lived experiences. The same goes for queer horror creators, Indigenous storytellers, women directors, and trans artists — many of whom find in horror a genre that actually wants to hear their voices, no matter how strange, angry, or raw.
Horror doesn’t demand polish. It rewards passion and originality. It’s one of the few places in pop culture where a low-budget film made with DIY effects and heart can go toe-to-toe with a studio blockbuster. And because the audience is often looking for something new, different, or offbeat, creators can take risks — and often must in order to stand out.
Which brings me to another reason I love horror: it fully embraces the odd, the grotesque, the absurd. It doesn't try to normalize everything or smooth over the rough edges. Instead, it leans into them. In horror, you’ll find killer dolls, parasitic twins, cursed videotapes, giant bugs, and haunted everything. It’s weird, it’s wild, and it’s wonderful. Other genres might back away from the bizarre, but horror invites it in and gives it a starring role.
But that strangeness isn’t empty spectacle. There’s often deeper meaning behind the madness. The absurdity of a film like The Thing or Possession reflects real human fears — of isolation, transformation, or losing control. The strange becomes symbolic. Horror isn’t afraid to say what others won’t, and that honesty — however uncomfortable — is what makes it so vital.
There’s also something uniquely cathartic about horror. It lets us explore fear in a safe, creative way. Watching a scary movie, we scream, we laugh, we cover our eyes — but we come out the other side. We survive. That’s a powerful feeling. In a world that’s unpredictable and often terrifying in its own right, horror offers a way to face our demons on our terms. It reminds us that fear doesn’t have to paralyze — it can galvanize.
And finally, horror is just fun. There’s a joy in the macabre, a thrill in the unknown. Whether it’s gathering with friends to watch a slasher flick, diving into a creepy novel late at night, or dressing up for Halloween, horror invites playfulness as much as it does introspection. It creates community. It gives us traditions, stories, and shared screams.
So when people ask me why I love horror, I tell them this: because it speaks for the outsiders. Because it welcomes new voices. Because it celebrates what’s strange. Because it’s brave enough to be messy, raw, and real. And because, at its bloody, beating heart, horror is about survival — about facing the dark and coming through changed, but still here.
Comments