A good horror movie has a few universally known elements: a creeping sense of dread, constant anxiety, a sense that things aren’t quite right. The tactics of foreshadowing and monster delay make things appear more terrifying than they are. And of course, the presence of deep human themes around emotion, identity, community, and oppression. To watch a horror film is to feel your skin crawl, your mind bend around mythic themes, your body tense in fear. Wait, that sounds like living in a trans body, you say.
Yes, yes it is. And that’s why I interviewed ten trans youth about their engagement with horror media. Many said they loved horror because, as Bard (they/he) put it, they “get to revel in [their] association with the non-human. See us as flesh puppets, as creatures, monsters, and gods. Humanity and personhood are maleable. I feel my sharp teeth and am proud.” Similarly, Avi (they/them) named that horror helped them be “aware of how embodiment can be beautiful and terrible, often at the same time.” Thus, horror media is not just a source of community and belonging for us trans kids and teens, but a literalization of our worst experiences and our greatest joys. A chance to reclaim the bias that is ordinarily thrown in our direction and make it something darkly beautiful.
Beyond the Stereotype
Of the trans youth I surveyed, a whopping 80% had engaged with horror media through reading, with about 60% also taking interest in film. However, even though only half said they felt represented in horror media, many framed the genre as inherently queer, pointing to projects such as I Saw The TV Glow as examples of what good representation felt like to them and stating that they’d like to see more similarly inclusive and diverse representation. Similarly, some named horror as a therapeutic form of media for them. Jaina (she/her) said that “seeing more films made by female directors, both trans and cis, has really taught me so many things I felt alone in feeling were pretty common and portrayed with sympathy in film,” hinting at the necessity of representation that grapples with the darker and more challenging aspects of gender marginalization.
When I asked what they considered to be strong horror media, these trans youth mainly spoke to honesty and courage in depicting trans experiences. Jaina mentioned “treating the trans character as a person and not a stereotype,” while Achilles (he/they) pointed out that good horror media addresses “realistic struggles, such as dysphoria or misgendering.” Across many of the responses, the theme of casual representation – portraying a trans character whose transness was significant to their life and identity, without turning all such portrayals into narratives about coming out, transitioning, or navigating bigotry – came up consistently. Thus, many youth wanted horror to be a metaphor or coping mechanism for their experiences, rather than a stereotypical flattening of them.
Finding Community
This week, on my book tour stop in Atlanta, I’ve seen the power of trans horror firsthand. Even as an anarchist who is horror-adjacent at best, I’ve found community through similar spaces. From a Rocky Horror screening (and excellent shadowcast performance by LDOD) that I randomly stumbled upon, to an open mic where self-identified goths shared their poetry and its inherent pathos. Even as someone who spends more energy organizing spaces than fandom, I’ve come to value the radical potential of creating spaces where the macabre and taboo are celebrated, where transness can be described in metaphor and poetry. Body horror evokes trans imagery, sure, but so do the messages of the genre – courage, community building, radical inclusion.
I feel my sharp teeth and am proud // Trans Youth React to Horror Media
A good horror movie has a few universally known elements: a creeping sense of dread, constant anxiety, a sense that things aren’t quite right. The tactics of foreshadowing and monster delay make things appear more terrifying than they are. And of course, the presence of deep human themes around emotion, identity, community, and oppression. To watch a horror film is to feel your skin crawl, your mind bend around mythic themes, your body tense in fear. Wait, that sounds like living in a trans body, you say.
Yes, yes it is. And that’s why I interviewed ten trans youth about their engagement with horror media. Many said they loved horror because, as Bard (they/he) put it, they “get to revel in [their] association with the non-human. See us as flesh puppets, as creatures, monsters, and gods. Humanity and personhood are maleable. I feel my sharp teeth and am proud.” Similarly, Avi (they/them) named that horror helped them be “aware of how embodiment can be beautiful and terrible, often at the same time.” Thus, horror media is not just a source of community and belonging for us trans kids and teens, but a literalization of our worst experiences and our greatest joys. A chance to reclaim the bias that is ordinarily thrown in our direction and make it something darkly beautiful.
Beyond the Stereotype
Of the trans youth I surveyed, a whopping 80% had engaged with horror media through reading, with about 60% also taking interest in film. However, even though only half said they felt represented in horror media, many framed the genre as inherently queer, pointing to projects such as I Saw The TV Glow as examples of what good representation felt like to them and stating that they’d like to see more similarly inclusive and diverse representation. Similarly, some named horror as a therapeutic form of media for them. Jaina (she/her) said that “seeing more films made by female directors, both trans and cis, has really taught me so many things I felt alone in feeling were pretty common and portrayed with sympathy in film,” hinting at the necessity of representation that grapples with the darker and more challenging aspects of gender marginalization.
When I asked what they considered to be strong horror media, these trans youth mainly spoke to honesty and courage in depicting trans experiences. Jaina mentioned “treating the trans character as a person and not a stereotype,” while Achilles (he/they) pointed out that good horror media addresses “realistic struggles, such as dysphoria or misgendering.” Across many of the responses, the theme of casual representation – portraying a trans character whose transness was significant to their life and identity, without turning all such portrayals into narratives about coming out, transitioning, or navigating bigotry – came up consistently. Thus, many youth wanted horror to be a metaphor or coping mechanism for their experiences, rather than a stereotypical flattening of them.
Finding Community
This week, on my book tour stop in Atlanta, I’ve seen the power of trans horror firsthand. Even as an anarchist who is horror-adjacent at best, I’ve found community through similar spaces. From a Rocky Horror screening (and excellent shadowcast performance by LDOD) that I randomly stumbled upon, to an open mic where self-identified goths shared their poetry and its inherent pathos. Even as someone who spends more energy organizing spaces than fandom, I’ve come to value the radical potential of creating spaces where the macabre and taboo are celebrated, where transness can be described in metaphor and poetry. Body horror evokes trans imagery, sure, but so do the messages of the genre – courage, community building, radical inclusion.
mk zariel
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