Villains, Vibes & Visibility
Why the Queers Love the Baddies
It was a Saturday at Disneyland in Anaheim, and the air was already flirting with autumn. Pumpkins carved into mouse ears lined Main Street, the Haunted Mansion had donned its Nightmare Before Christmas drag, and I was standing in the shadow of Sleeping Beauty's Castle. Somewhere between Fantasyland and Frontierland, I was reminded: queer folks don't just survive in theme parks without kids, we thrive. And like our favorite villains, we've always known how to turn someone else's fairy tale into our own haunting.
The Villain Edit
When the leaves turn and fog machines roar to life at Universal Studios Hollywood's Halloween Horror Nights, who are the icons that really draw us in? Not the squeaky-clean heroes. It's the villains: Maleficent with her sinister couture, Ursula with her drag-queen bravado, Scar with his delicious sarcasm. Even Cruella, swanning around in couture, is basically doing a runway show every time she enters a scene.
Why do we adore them? Because villains dwell outside the "happily ever after." They embrace shadow, spectacle, and self. For queer people, who have often been cast as outsiders in our own stories, their unapologetic presence feels like a mirror. Growing up, we were told to blend in. The villains taught us to step into the light, or better yet, the eerie green glow.
Parks Without Kids: Our Wicked Playground
Theme parks are marketed as wholesome havens for kids, but during spooky season, they transform into something far more delicious. Walking into Disney California Adventure during Oogie Boogie Bash, without a stroller or sugar-rushed toddler in sight, is a revelation. We come in groups, in couples, in chosen families, glittering under blacklight projections while villains hold court at immersive trick-or-treat trails.
There's something radical about queering these "family-friendly" spaces. Sometimes family looks like two moms corralling their little monsters. Sometimes it's you and your best friend in matching villains' spirit jerseys. And sometimes, it's just your inner child finally getting that churro you were once denied, all while a cackling witch strolls past.
Visibility in the Shadows
Standing in the long, candlelit line for the Haunted Mansion, I had time to ponder: Is queer visibility even more powerful in the dark? Pride Nights and rainbow merch have their place, but sometimes it's smaller gestures that cast the longest shadows—two guys holding hands in line for Space Mountain, a drag queen making the entire crowd laugh during Scare Zone banter at Universal, or queer teens twirling through Cars Land in Halloween costumes too fabulous for daylight.
Each moment rewrites the story of who belongs in these spaces, proving that family fun doesn't just come in one shape, one size, or one fairy tale ending.
Happily Never After
Queers loving villains isn't about siding with evil; it's about celebrating authenticity in spaces that often ask us to soften our edges. And maybe that's why spooky season at California theme parks feels so magical for us. It's the one time of year when the outsiders are the stars, when being extra isn't just tolerated, it's spotlighted.
So, as I licked the last bit of cinnamon sugar from my fingers after a seasonal snack in Frontierland, I couldn't help but wonder: when the villains look like us, and the night belongs to us, maybe the real happily ever after isn't in the castle at all. Maybe it's in the shadows, surrounded by chosen family, where we get to dance with the baddies under a harvest moon.
Written by Daryl Marez | Hiya! Subscribe to my author newsletter to receive news & project updates—Check out my other links for more.