Horror, Film
On the Girls Who Love Creatures
The Depths of Being Understood by Something Equally Misunderstood
Yes, even my cold and unromantic heart has fallen victim to the gorgeous fish man in The Shape of Water (Fox Searchlight Pictures, 2017). In my defense, that is a conventionally attractive fish with a heart of gold. Before y’all come at my throat, I know he is an amphibian; let’s not split hairs. From Frankenstein to Beauty & the Beast, and even Hellboy, the femmes and thems have come forth with their desire to be with these men (monsters). With romantasy on the rise, I’ve seen an even bigger uptick in the “hear me out” community and, quite frankly, I’m here for it.
Imagine the world you live in doesn’t respect you. The men hate you no matter what you do, and society at large seems hell-bent on erasing your existence — on downplaying your struggles while telling you nothing is wrong. You try to escape it, but that doesn’t work; you try to conform to it, and that just makes everything worse. All you want in the world, besides good friends, is someone who understands you — who truly sees you outside of the confines built by someone else. Along comes a man, a beast, a something? Something curious, adventurous, who wants to get to know everything about you.
In some cases, a provider or a protector, but in most cases — someone who will be there with you through it all. Is the creature/monster attractive? Not by conventional means, probably, but that is hardly the point.
You see, monster lovers rest in the fantasy. The grip of the unknown, the intrigue, the desire to be known as our deepest selves without judgment. But also the desire to learn something new, to explore things you likely would not with a human. It’s an all-risk, all-reward scenario most of the time.
In the case of my earlier reference, The Shape of Water, we are masterfully introduced to this principle. Who else but Guillermo del Toro knows the heart of a woman and a creature so deeply?
In The Shape of Water, we follow Elisa — a mute woman who works at a government lab in Baltimore during the Cold War Era. While she is largely isolated (due to her disability), she does have one good friend at her workplace, Zelda. Now, Zelda is a Black woman working in the same place as Elisa but facing much different subjugation. However, the bond between these two feels so deep and unshakeable. It is Zelda who encourages Elisa to continue contact with the Amphibian Man, never once judging her along the way and even helping her escape with him in the end. Elisa finds the Amphibian Man being held in a water tank, and while he could be a frightening sight, Elisa is drawn to him. She teaches him to sign, she feeds him, is gentle with him — in ways the government officials never were, and he returns the affection. Against what would be conventional notions, they fall for each other, and Elisa makes it her mission to free him. Their love transcends their respective species as it slowly grows throughout the film. Even though Amphibian Man can’t speak, you get the sense that he would do absolutely anything for Elisa — unlike most of the men around her.
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Granted, The Shape of Water is another version of Beauty and the Beast, but much less child-friendly. Elisa and her friends are living in a time of sexism, segregation, and extreme government overreach (sound familiar?). So when she is confronted with a creature, just as alone, scared, and confused as she is — is it any surprise at all that she is drawn to him? Her attraction to him is not necessarily based on his physical appearance but on their shared grief, fear, and trauma. It is based on their shared experiences of being trapped and misunderstood. She teaches him to sign and communicate. She teaches him that not all of humanity is out to imprison him, and he helps her realize that she is stronger and more capable than the people around her have ever allowed her to be — or believed her to be. Fundamentally, Elisa is looking for an escape, and so is the amphibian man (who is never really given a name, btw).
I could talk about The Shape of Water at length, but a more modern-day example of this trope for me would be Lisa Frankenstein (Focus Features, 2024), directed by Zelda Williams. Lisa Swallows is another lost and isolated girl. In the film, she is dealing with the murder of her mother by talking to the grave of a dead Victorian pianist. She’s an outcast at school, has the quintessential evil stepmother, and gets shunned by her crush at a party. The cemetery brings her some kind of odd peace, and talking to this Victorian-era dead boy she’s never met seems to as well. By some stroke of fate, a lightning strike brings him to life, and Lisa goes to great lengths to keep him by her side. Of course there is murder, mayhem, and the painstaking task of making a zombie presentable, but Lisa does it all because that zombie treats her like a person who matters. I mean, he literally kills her enemies without question, and even if he is a zombie, I think that’s kind of hot. It is Lisa and the Creature against the world — you can’t help but find yourself rooting for them. If you have not seen Lisa Frankenstein, I’m not going to spoil the ending for you — I am simply using this example to highlight a theme.
A theme that no doubt will take the forefront in an upcoming film called Wicker (Black Bear Pictures, 2026), directed by Alex Huston Fischer and Eleanor Wilson. As much as I joke, I know for a fact I will be front and center when this is in theaters. Based in medieval society, Wicker follows a woman well out of “suitable marrying age” and a bit crass — who is ostracized by her village because she is a fisherwoman. She smells like fish, and people don’t have a problem reminding her of it even though they need the very resource she is providing them. But she is in no way bothered by this; in fact, she chooses to be a spinster. Until she commissions a master weaver to make her a husband — and he does, out of wicker. From what I can tell, their love is meant to be depicted as pure, uncomplicated, and rather steamy. A joyous ode to monster romance by not painting the creature as some terrifying thing that needs justification but simply, just is. A woman wants companionship, and she gets it from a very, very hot wicker basket. If only it could always be that simple.
Wicker builds on the theme that I believe romantasy or monster romance tries to convey. The idea that femmes and thems want deeply to be cared for and understood, and we’d like to have a bit of fun while doing it. It speaks to the idea that the monster in our worlds is not always in the shape of an actual monster but in the people around us — those that cast us out for being a little different, for choosing unconventional lives, or deciding that patriarchal norms just aren’t for us. In this, a “hear me out” is more of a “please listen to my soul.” It breaks present-day notions that all femmes and thems care about are looks or money and bares the deeper truth: that we just want to love without fear. We want whimsy, yearning, mystery, and hot sex, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Loving the monster, for me, is loving a version of myself. A deeper version that I would never really allow anyone to see. As a Queer, Black, Non-Binary individual — the world I live in is steeped in self-protection. There isn’t a day that goes by when my rights and existence aren’t called into question, and unfortunately, that doesn’t change when I am dating someone. Sometimes, the person I’m dating is the very one who seeks to make me smaller than I have ever been. I know I am not alone in this.
Oppression breeds sacrifice, sacrifice breeds loneliness, and in turn, breeds want. The romantasy genre is an accessible way for many of us to quench that thirst. While some would rather tout the genre as a low-intellectual thing, I think it is more based on high empathy — which is a kind of intellect. One I would argue is on the decline in our world. Empathy is what breeds change, understanding, and ultimately love.
When one is forced to always be aware of people and the world around them, having something to escape into is paramount to survival. A zombie, a sincere amphibian, a gruff demon, a man made entirely of wicker — as long as they are willing to sit and listen for a while, I’m okay with that.
Interstellar Flight Magazine publishes essays on what’s new in the world of speculative genres. In the words of Ursula K. Le Guin, we need “writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope.” Visit our Patreon to join our fan community on Discord. Follow us on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.
