The Neon Demon (2016): A Lesbian’s Unhinged Love Letter to the Most Sapphic Horror Film Ever Made
Hey. If you’re a lesbian with a weakness for beautiful women, toxic femininity, and movies that feel like someone bottled your worst (and best) fantasies, then you already know The Neon Demon is scripture. I’ve watched this film more times than I’m willing to admit in polite company, and every single rewatch just pulls me deeper into its glossy, blood-soaked, utterly lesbian vortex.
Let’s get one thing straight (lol): Nicolas Winding Refn didn’t make this movie for men. Yeah, yeah, there’s the whole “male gaze” conversation, but watch it as a lesbian and tell me it doesn’t feel like he accidentally handed us the keys to the kingdom. The way the camera worships Elle Fanning’s Jesse – those endless close-ups of lips, neck, collarbones, thighs – it’s not for straight dudes jerking off in the back row. It’s for us. It’s for every dyke who has ever stared at a beautiful girl in a club bathroom mirror and felt something dangerous bloom in her chest.
The plot? A 16-year-old virgin (Jesse) arrives in L.A. to become a model. She’s pure, untouched, literally glowing with that unbearable, edible kind of beauty that makes older women want to ruin her or become her. Three women orbit her like moths around a neon flame: Ruby (Jena Malone), the makeup artist who is so obviously wants to fuck her it hurts; Sarah (Abbey Lee), the ice-blonde model who’s aging out and seething with jealousy; and Gigi (Bella Heathcote), plastic-perfect and hollow-eyed, hating Jesse for being naturally what she paid $300k to fake.
And then it gets horny. And then it gets horrific. And then it gets so lesbian it loops right back around to holy.
Let’s talk about Ruby, because sweet Jesus, Ruby is the ultimate lesbian predator of my dreams and nightmares. Jena Malone plays her with this soft, maternal creepiness that turns outright feral. The scene where she’s doing Jesse’s makeup for her first big shoot, leaning in way too close, fingers lingering on Jesse’s throat while whispering “you’re perfect” – I had to pause the movie to breathe. That’s not platonic. That’s a woman calculating how long it would take to get that little deer alone in a room with dim lights and no witnesses.
Later, when Ruby fucks a corpse in the morgue (yes, really), it’s the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen in mainstream cinema. She’s on top, hair swinging, moaning, covered in silver body paint under blue light – it’s not about the dead girl. It’s about Jesse. It’s Ruby imagining it’s Jesse under her, finally still, finally hers. I’ve never felt more seen and more attacked in my life.
Then there’s the infamous “lesbian scene” everyone pretends isn’t a lesbian scene. Jesse, high on her own power after a runway show, comes home, comes home, strips naked in front of that glowing neon triangle (vagina symbolism much?), and Ruby is there, practically drooling. Jesse lets Ruby touch her, kiss her neck, slide hands down her body… and then rejects her at the last second. The devastation on Ruby’s face. The way she literally eats Jesse alive later (yes, literally). That’s the ultimate lesbian horror story: wanting a straight girl so badly you destroy yourself and her.
Even the “straight” parts are gay. Keanu Reeves plays a sleazy motel manager, but he barely matters. The real violence, the real hunger, the real sex – it’s all between the women. Sarah literally eats part of Jesse at the end and then bathes in her blood like it’s the fountain of youth. Gigi regurgitates an eyeball with Jesse’s blue iris. They consume her to possess her. That’s not horror. That’s Tuesday night on lesbian Tinder when someone hotter girl ghosts you.
The visuals are pure lesbian porn for women with taste. Every frame looks like a Vogue editorial shot through a fever dream. The colors – electric blue, violent pink, blood red – feel like the inside of my head when I’m down bad for someone I shouldn’t want. The soundtrack throbs like a heartbeat in a dark club when you finally make eye contact with the girl across the room. Everything is wet. Everything shines. Everything wants to be touched.
People call this movie pretentious. Good. Let it be pretentious. Lesbians have been starving for representation that isn’t two soft femmes scissoring in the rain for male approval. The Neon Demon doesn’t give a fuck about being tasteful. It’s excessive, it’s grotesque, it’s obsessed with female beauty in the most unhealthy way possible – and that’s why it’s perfect.
This movie understands something straight people never will: women don’t just compete with each other. We want to wear each other’s skin. We want to crawl inside each other’s ribcages. We want to eat each other alive and become something more beautiful in the process.
If you’re a lesbian and you haven’t seen The Neon Demon, fix that immediately. If you have seen it and didn’t come away feeling personally victimized by how gay it is… well, watch it again. Alone. With the lights off. And maybe keep a towel nearby.
Because this film? It’s not just horror.
It’s hunger.
And baby, I’m starving.
(First published on my very gay blog, November 2025 – come scream about women with me in the comments.)
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