RAINBOWF FINAL ACTUALLY-compressed

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Photo by Elliott Wright-Anderson

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Photo by Gabi Linke

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By Satchel

She emerges distraught and covered in blood, having survived long enough to either be rescued or to herself by defeating her assailant. Ultimately, she is stronger because of it all. Countless horror movies since have followed this pattern: one heroine survives to the end, living through the deaths of her friends and fam “final girl” trope is polarizing among horror fans; while some love and identify with it, others view it as inh misogynistic.

Misogyny echoes through Hollywood in a plethora of ways, and the portrayal of women’s suffering is one o Infamously sexist director Alfred Hitchcock once said, “Torture the women!”, explaining that he would rat a pretty face in pain than an ugly one. This chauvinistic sentiment is reflected in the wave of horror heroine emerged in the 1970s and 1980s, where their suffering often became a central spectacle.

Film scholar Carol J. Clover coined the term “final girl” in 1987, defining it through several prototypical tra by patriarchal expectations of femininity. For instance, she cannot dress or behave “too femininely,” becaus also be masculine enough to overcome the typically male attacker without breaking patriarchal expectatio also cannot be sexually available; in horror films, on-screen sex has historically functioned as a death senten those involved. Despite these controversial origins and the restrictive traits attached to the trope, many wom queer viewers have found solace in the final girl. Many unexpected horror fans have found comfort in char embody this trope, either by reclaiming what she represents or by simply identifying with her resilience.

While the final girl trope can, at times, cater to a male gaze, Clover argued that it is “designed to align specta with the male tormentor, but with the female victim—the ‘final girl’—who finally defeats her oppressor.” H films may not always celebrate her femininity throughout the narrative, but her survival nonetheless cent within the genre. Her existence connects horror to audiences that have often been marginalized in other cin spaces.

Queer viewers who do not identify as women have also connected to the final girl, likely because of her bein marginalized yet ultimately triumphant. The final girl’s resilience and ultimate victory can offer an empo sense of catharsis. Though villains are often the face of horror franchises, final girls frequently become cult Ellen Ripley (“Alien”), Sydney Prescott (“Scream”), Nancy Thompson (“Nightmare on Elm Street”), Laurie S (“Halloween”) and so many others have left lasting impressions on generations of viewers.

Characters like Strode, albeit strong and resilient, simply lived long enough to be saved by a man. Character Ripley and Thompson use intelligence, strength and strategy to confront and defeat their antagonists them Over time, the trope has shifted. Final girls independently defeat their assailants more often than ever, rathe simply enduring long enough to be rescued.

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21st century final girls like Grace Le Domas (“Ready or Not”) and Jay Height (“It Follows”) have shown modern reinterpretations of the trope. Le Domas exhibits toughness without sacrificing femininity, while Height challenges expectations by being an “imperfect” victim who still plays a central role in the climactic confrontation.

The rigid traits Clover originally outlined have become less essential in defining who qualifies as a final girl. Contemporary horror presents female characters with more varied personalities, behaviors and identities, reflecting a broader appreciation for feminist interpretations of the genre among both filmmakers and viewers alike.

With both feminist and misogynistic potential connotations embedded within it, the final girl remains understandably divisive. It is important to acknowledge the misogyny woven into the trope, but it is equally valid to feel empowered by her survival. You can be an apologist for the final girl, criticize the final girl, or both. While the trope has historically carried misogynistic undertones, it has also provided a framework for women’s empowerment, even at its inception. As the final girls in newly released media become progressively more feminist, this additional role gains even more weight. Portrayals of women in horror still have a long way to go, but in defense of the final girl: we should celebrate her womanhood, strength, resilience and her ultimate victory over masculine evil.

Photo by Tyler Anderson

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Photo by Sutton Raeburn

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Photos by Sutton Raeburn

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Photo by Elliott Wright-Anderson

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Photos by Gabi Linke

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Photos by Elliott Wright-Anderson and Dylan Renslen

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Photos by Olivia Gewanter

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“I just remember being 11, 12 years old, telling my mom, she’s asking me, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ I’m like, I want to be a DJ.” Local Sleaze, a Denver-based DJ, always knew who she would become.

Though she began life as a shy personality, she attests that being a DJ transformed her in more ways than one.

Not only did her body confidence flourish, but so did the way she carried herself. She recounts her struggle with comments on her body in earlier years, in disbelief about the expectations.

“Growing up, I did get shamed a lot and bullied for how skinny I am…I was going to middle school and high school around the era where 2016 instabaddies were the norm,” she said. But that didn’t get to her!

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For information on upcoming shows, check out @localsleaze and @theritualdenver!

Local Sleaze credits the rave community in promoting body positivity and allowing her to cultivate kindness for herself, physically and mentally. She notes that the rave scene isn’t merely a scene, but a community of like-minded “freaks” who encourage authenticity.

“I feel like now I can f---ing own it—I feel like it’s telling everyone who’s ever shamed me, f--- you, this is my body, you’re gonna see it, whether you like it or not,” she said.

Before she could “own it” at shows, Local Sleaze cited Facebook as the place where she first aired her dirty laundry, earning her the title of “Denver’s Paris Hilton.” Here, she found an outlet to express herself without shame, which she now channels towards establishing a legacy: The Ritual.

“I’ve always wanted to create something that would become something bigger than myself…I just wanted to create an event series that was a safe space for what I like to call the ‘freaks of the night.’ I feel like people like me don’t have anywhere to go dance and mingle, so I wanted to create something.” The Ritual is a place that she hopes others can use to embrace PLUR: Peace, Love, Unity and Respect.

In Roam’s interview, Local Sleaze explained the role of PLUR in her community, when hate is becoming the new norm: “I just try to be a f--ing example and despite the tragedies that are happening all around us, I try to promote that, even when we go through oppression and tragic events, we will always unite by music, dancing and [being] with f---ing community.”

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Photos by Dylan Renslen

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