In partnership with
When I was a kid, I was never drawn to the heroes. They always felt too shiny, too straight, too full of certainty I didn’t have. Ariel wanted legs and a man. Simba wanted responsibility. Buffy wanted to date boring guys named Riley. Heroes were about duty and destiny.
The villains, though? They had something else.
Ursula swept onto the screen like she owned it — drag queen energy, hips swaying, voice dripping with innuendo. Scar lounged in shadows with eyeliner sharper than his claws, hissing with theatrical bitterness. Jennifer Check in Jennifer’s Body strutted through high school dripping blood and lip gloss, terrifying everyone who underestimated her.
They weren’t made for me. But they felt like me.
Villainy as a Mirror
If you didn’t grow up with positive queer representation, you learned to survive on villains. They were the ones allowed to be flamboyant, excessive, obsessive, emotional — everything boys like me were told not to be. They broke rules and refused to apologise. They turned pain into performance.
And most importantly, they got to say the quiet part out loud.
When Scar spat, “I’m surrounded by idiots,” it felt like permission to roll my eyes at the world. When Ursula belted “Poor Unfortunate Souls,” it was both a warning and a wink — the audacity of wanting more than what you’re given. Jennifer turned hunger — sexual, emotional, literal — into something ravenous and unstoppable.
Heroes were supposed to be role models. But villains were survival guides.
Camp, Catharsis, and Protection
There’s something inherently camp about villainy. Big gestures, dramatic monologues, outfits that scream instead of whisper. Camp was the only place queerness could live onscreen for a long time — and villains were its landlords.
When the world told me my softness was weakness, watching villains chew scenery felt like revenge. If I couldn’t be adored, I could at least imagine being feared. If I couldn’t be visible as myself, I could be larger-than-life in secret. Villainy became a kind of armour: dangerous on the outside, protective on the inside.
But villain stories never end with the armour. They always come with a cost.
The part where queer villainy collides with history, harm, and why I still carry a complicated love for these characters is where this essay shifts from nostalgia into something heavier.
The Legacy of Queer Villains
Of course, the flip side is obvious: queerness got coded as dangerous, deviant, corrupting. Disney villains queer-coded for decades, “bury your gays” baked into horror tropes. We didn’t get to be heroes — at least not until very recently. But for me, there was something strangely empowering in rooting for the ones who weren’t supposed to win.
Because villains taught me to value difference. To see glamour in excess. To weaponise wit when I didn’t have power. They whispered that survival wasn’t about being palatable — it was about being unforgettable.
Why I Still Love Them
Even now, with queer heroes finally on screen, I still feel a flicker of recognition when a villain steals the spotlight. Maybe it’s nostalgia, or maybe it’s that villains still embody something heroes rarely do: unapologetic desire. Wanting too much. Feeling too deeply. Loving in ways the world calls wrong.
Queer villainy was never meant to be aspirational. But it was protection. It gave me somewhere to pour the parts of myself that didn’t fit anywhere else.
And honestly? Sometimes I’d still rather be Ursula in full drag-sea-witch glory than Prince Eric with his floppy hair and generic charm.
Because at least she got the best lines.
Understanding Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria: How This App Can Help
For many with ADHD, a simple "no" can feel like a world-ending nightmare. This is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), and it makes navigating daily life painfully hard.
Developed by clinical psychologists, Inflow helps you understand and navigate RSD triggers using science-backed strategies.
In just 5 minutes a day, you can learn to prevent unhelpful thoughts and build deep emotional resilience. Stop spiraling and start reframing your thinking with a custom learning plan designed for your brain.