Not Really a Fan of “Stranger Things”

I’m not really a fan of Stranger Things, and it’s not because I dislike genre, nostalgia, or ’80s references. What’s curious — and quietly irksome — is how the show became a template for all of those things rather than a singular expression of them.

Stranger Things doesn’t feel like a fresh story. It feels like a library: volume after volume of already-loved ideas. Every callback isn’t a return to the past but a silhouette cast by something already familiar. Monsters, synth scores, walkie-talkies — by now, they’re signals we recognize before we engage.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with homage. But when a show becomes shorthand for retro-cool rather than narrative curiosity, the audience begins to watch for the references instead of the story. The tension doesn’t come from mystery; it comes from recognition.

The finale made this clearer. What followed wasn’t much debate about what it meant, only confirmation that it ended the way it should have. The reaction felt pre-agreed upon. Closure mattered more than surprise. Satisfaction mattered more than risk.

Fandom hasn’t helped. Stranger Things was treated as timeless long before it was finished. In fan culture, completion often replaces evaluation. A surface becomes a shrine. Icons get preserved rather than questioned.

I’m not really a fan of that. What I want from a story isn’t a perfectly sealed ending or a shared sense of arrival; I want something that unsettles me a little, even after it’s over.

Stranger Things was enjoyable. It was often fun. But fun isn’t the same as resonance, and familiarity isn’t the same as depth. I’m not really a fan of mistaking a loud cultural goodbye for a lasting voice.