For a lot of us, slashers were our first introduction to horror.
Most likely not the originals, of course. No—more likely the second, third, or fifth installment in a franchise that should’ve been buried with some dignity years ago.
Because if the slasher genre has taught us anything, it’s that you keep pumping out film after film, with the stories becoming more and more ridiculous as they go along—and when all else fails and you run out of ideas, just set it in space.
This article is a cynical love letter for the sick, twisted, die-hard horror junkies who believe slashers are the pinnacle of horror cinema.
And before you start foaming at the mouth—
yes, I know Hellraiser isn’t technically a slasher.
But after ten movies and a reboot, this cinematic version of a BDSM fantasy deserves to be an honorary member of the family.
Pinhead may not chase people through the woods with a machete, but this priest of pain has a body count that would put many on this list to shame.
So, let’s talk about what your favorite slasher really says about you.
Not what you want it to say.
What it honestly, brutally, bloodily exposes.
Careful—this is going to hurt.
But that’s why you’re here, right?
Because like the slashers you love—
Prepare to take some deep cuts.
Friday the 13th
If your favorite slasher is Friday the 13th, you’re not making a bold statement—you’re just picking what you think everyone else wants. This is vanilla horror. It’s safe. Predictable. Easy to swallow. But let’s be honest: safe is also boring.
Sure, the first film earns its reputation. It’s a classic. It’s iconic. It lives up to the hype—unlike all those doomed campers. But after that? Wash. Rinse. Stab. Repeat. Jason shows up. Jason kills people. Jason dies. Jason comes back for reasons science can’t explain and the script doesn’t bother to.
By Part 6—maybe the best installment—the franchise finally figured out how self-aware it wanted to be. But then it kept going. And going. Psychic powers. Body swaps. A teleporting hockey mask. Space.
You’re not a fan because it’s deep. You’re a fan because it’s easy. It doesn’t ask you to feel anything. It just hands you body count after body count and dares you to pretend that’s enough. This is the comfort food of slashers: fast, empty, nostalgic, and barely worth chewing.
So go ahead. Be safe.
But just know this: you didn’t pick a favorite slasher.
You picked the horror version of elevator music.
A Nightmare on Elm Street
If your favorite slasher is A Nightmare on Elm Street, you’re probably just trying to rebel against people who picked Friday the 13th — which is ironic, considering you basically picked the same franchise wearing a cooler sweater.
If Friday is vanilla, this is chocolate. It has a little more flair, a darker edge, but it’s still a scoop you didn’t think too hard about. You tell yourself it’s original because Freddy makes jokes and kills you in your dreams, and sure, the one-liners are iconic. The nursery rhyme lives rent-free in every horror kid’s brain. But let’s not pretend it’s high art.
After Part 3—which is the best and everyone knows it—the series goes full Dream Clown. Freddy kills, Freddy quips, Freddy dies, Freddy comes back. Again. And again. It’s a haunted carousel of diminishing returns.
You act like Nightmare is elevated horror because it messes with reality, but deep down, you know it’s just Friday the 13th with better lighting and a stand-up routine.
And don’t even bring up that remake. We’re all still pretending it didn’t happen.
So sure, go ahead and call it your favorite.
Just know: a slasher by any other name is still basic.
But hey—welcome to prime time, bitch.
Halloween
If your favorite slasher is Halloween, you’re probably the kind of person who confuses tradition with taste. You say it’s the blueprint, the classic, the one that started it all. And yeah—technically, it is. But let’s be honest: you picked safe… and you picked chaos.
You treat Michael Myers like he’s horror’s ultimate cipher—pure evil, no motive, terrifying in his blankness. But that works only if you stop watching somewhere around Halloween II. After that? Motives pile up. Siblings appear. Cults get introduced. Timelines fracture. He becomes a symbol for trauma, evil, fate—whatever the sequel needs him to be. And somewhere in there, the franchise gave us Jamie Lloyd—Laurie’s daughter, clearly meant to become the next Michael—only to change its mind by the very next film, and eventually kill her off in a stupid plotline before never mentioning her again.
You’re the kind of horror fan who thinks defending Season of the Witch makes you smarter than average, while simultaneously praying no one brings up Halloween 6. You act like you’ve got refined taste, but really? You’re just trauma-bonded to the mask.
You told yourself Halloween (2018) was a return to form. And honestly? It was—for about ten minutes. Then came Kills and Ends, and whatever mythology you thought you were clinging to got body-slammed by reboot fatigue and a guy named Corey.
So if you pick Halloween as your favorite slasher, you’re not wrong—
but you might be lying to yourself about why.
You don’t love the story.
You just miss when horror felt clean, silent, and contained.
And you’ll follow this franchise into the fire if it means Michael might be scary again.
Child’s Play
If your favorite slasher is Child’s Play, you’re probably a little too stubborn for your own good. The problem is, you didn’t just watch one of the Child’s Play movies when you were young—you bonded with it. Most likely it was Child’s Play 2, with that iconic poster of Chucky about to decapitate a jack-in-the-box. Or maybe it was Bride of Chucky, where your teenage brain decided murder was fine as long as it had fishnets and nu-metal.
Either way, it scared you. It thrilled you. It carved itself into your horror identity.
And now here you are, convincing people the franchise still deserves your loyalty.
You’re like a Halloween fan, but worse—because where Halloween spiraled, Child’s Play delighted in becoming unhinged. This series didn’t lose focus accidentally. It leaned in. And sure, it tried to pull itself together after Seed of Chucky, but by then? The damage was done. Kind of like Chucky’s face—you can stitch it up, but it never looks quite right again.
And then came the TV show. It started strong. Solid writing. Creepy setup. Some promise. But in true Child’s Play fashion, it couldn’t finish what it started—because this franchise never met a plot it didn’t want to sabotage with tone whiplash.
Multiple timelines. Legacy characters. High school drama. Doll politics.
So if Child’s Play is your favorite, let’s call it what it is.
You’re not loyal. You’re not nostalgic.
You’re in horror-themed Stockholm Syndrome.
And his name is Charles. Lee. Ray.
Scream
If your favorite slasher is Scream, you’re the kind of person who wants to seem smarter than everyone else—even while climbing the stairs to your own murder scene.
You pride yourself on being self-aware. You use words like “meta,” “deconstruction,” and “final girl theory” in everyday conversation. You love horror—but only if it knows it’s horror.
You say you love Scream because it flipped the genre on its head. But let’s be honest: you don’t just think it’s clever—part of you sees Billy and Stu, and thinks, “I get it.” And that’s the part you never say out loud.
And now, more than ever, your franchise reflects you. Because as the series goes on, everyone wants to be Ghostface. From copycats to superfans, every new killer is just another person who craved a narrative and picked up a mask.
Just like you.
Half of you watches these movies to appreciate the genre commentary.
The other half is quietly wondering how you’d pull off your own monologue.
So yeah—you think you’re into Scream because it’s meta.
But maybe you’re into it because it lets you imagine what it would feel like to be the one behind the voice changer.
And if you’ve ever looked one up on Amazon—don’t worry. We won’t tell.
Hellraiser
If your favorite slasher is Hellraiser, you’re not a horror fan—you’re a masochist in denial. You can pretend all you want. You can say you love the lore, the cautionary themes, the cosmic punishment for human desire… but let’s be real:
You saw a guy get torn apart by meat hooks and whispered, “Yes, please.”
This franchise is literal torture porn, elevated by Victorian aesthetics and one-liners delivered with opera voice. It’s about a puzzle box that opens a door to hell, and you’re the type of person who sees chains, knives, leather, and skin being flayed off like wallpaper and thinks, “They get me.”
You didn’t just watch these movies—you felt them. And a tiny, deeply concerning part of you wondered what you’d do if you found the box. Spoiler alert: you wouldn’t throw it away.
So let’s stop pretending.
You don’t love Hellraiser because it’s philosophical.
You love it because pain makes you feel something.
And Pinhead? He’s not your villain. He’s your dom.
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre
If your favorite slasher is The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, you’re the kind of person who tells yourself you’re into “pure cinema” when really, you’re just nostalgic for that first hit of Leatherface, like an addict chasing that horror high.
You love the original, obviously. You talk about it like it’s a sacred text—raw, unsettling, grimy in a way that can’t be replicated. You describe it as “visceral” and “uncomfortable” like that’s a bad thing. But if we’re being honest—and we are—that’s the only one you actually love. The rest of the franchise? You tolerate it like unpaid child support.
You’ll say you like Part 2 because of Chop Top, proclaim it’s Bill Moseley’s greatest role. But halfway through that movie, when Stretch won’t stop screaming in one unbroken high-pitched migraine for what feels like an eternity, even you have to start questioning and reconsidering your decisions.
You like the idea of the franchise more than the franchise and you tell yourself you’re in love with the chaos of the sequels but be honest, you checked out the second Leatherface was suddenly raising a tiny murder baby or Matthew McConaughey started screaming about secret societies, while Leatherface starting running around in panties.
And no—none of that made sense. Not then. Not now. Stop pretending it did.
If this is your favorite slasher series, deep down you’re just clinging to the one that felt real. Because the original wasn’t a movie—it was lighting in a bottle caught on film.
But let’s stop lying: it’s not about the series. It’s never been about the series.
You don’t love Texas Chainsaw Massacre—you love The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. The first one. The only one that matters. The one that smelled like death and sounded like madness and hit like a shovel to the head.
So no—you’re not a franchise fan. You’re a purist. You don’t want plot, polish, or pace. You want sweat.
You want screams.
You want the screaming never to stop. And most of all?
You just want horror to be horror again.
Terrifier
If Terrifier is your favorite slasher, then let’s stop pretending:
You’re not here for suspense. You’re not here for story. You’re here for the blood. Every ounce of it. You like your horror mean, humorless, and flayed alive with a rusted hacksaw.
Plot building? Waste of time. Creating suspense? Why bother.
You want to see a clown cut someone in half and then smear their blood across the floor like a Jackson Pollock painting.
You’re clearly into the torture porn branch of slasher cinema—the one where the question isn’t who will survive, but how much can they scream before the meat comes off?
Where gore is the main event, emotion is irrelevant, and if someone’s not dying in pieces, the movie’s clearly stalling.
Art the Clown doesn’t stalk, he butchers. He’s not a slasher villain—he’s a rennetless killing machine in clown makeup. You don’t like him because he’s iconic. You like him because he makes other killers look lazy.
And the sequels? You didn’t just watch them. You made people watch them. You sat them down and throughout each film you said, “Don’t worry, it only gets worse.”
You applauded the bedroom scene in Terrifier 2.
You screamed in approval during the shower scene in Terrifier 3.
So, if this is your favorite slasher, own it:
You don’t want tension.
You’re not rooting for the final girl.
You don’t care that nothing makes sense.
You want pain, you want suffering, and you want the violence so over-the-top it defies all human logic.
And the only thing you’re wondering is how Art can top himself next.
I Know What You Did Last Summer
If I Know What You Did Last Summer is your favorite slasher, you’re not trying to be a true original—you’re just trying really, really hard not to say Scream.
You want to stand out. Be different.
But instead of actually picking something bold, you picked the other movie… written by the same guy who wrote Scream. Only flatter. Wetter. And desperate to be taken seriously despite being built around a killer fisherman.
So yeah—we know what you did.
You lied when you said this was your favorite slasher franchise.
You didn’t pick a favorite. You picked the participation trophy of slasher franchises. The one that asked you “What are you waiting for?” — the answer is: a better slasher film.
Sure, the first one had some decent elements. A solid cast. A memorable kill or two. A mystery that, at the time, felt like it mattered. But let’s not pretend it earned a spot in horror royalty. Because when the credits rolled, it proved one thing:
It isn’t Scream.
And somehow, it became a franchise.
I Still Know What You Did Last Summer took a premise that was already beyond stretched and dragged it across an island resort—because nothing screams murder like mimosas and suntan lotion.
Then there was that third one. You didn’t see it. No one did. It’s just the forgotten disc in a dusty boxset. You couldn’t stream it even if you wanted to.
But you, you’re the kind of person who insists this series “deserves a second chance.” As if they didn’t just try that with that series a couple years ago. You remember, right?The one that got canceled after one season—and no one even noticed.
And now, because Scream is back making money, the out-of-ideas execs decided to resurrect the other Kevin Williamson property. Another legacy grab. Another shameless nostalgia drag.
I Know What You Did Last Summer — yet again trying to be what Scream already perfected.
So—
What are you waiting for?
To admit the truth?
That this movie isn’t your favorite. It never was.
And deep down, we all still know what you did last summer—
Yeah.
You didn’t watch these movies.
Prom Night
If your favorite slasher is Prom Night, then congratulations—you like the Diet Coke of slashers.
Zero sugar, zero substance, and just enough Jamie Lee Curtis to pretend it’s a legitimate slasher.
You didn’t pick this because it’s your favorite. You picked this because you wanted to seem like you picked something unique. So you dug a little deeper and landed on that other slasher with Jamie Lee—thinking it made you look like an aficionado. It doesn’t.
It just makes you look like someone who got scared of having an actual opinion and decided safe, slow, and aggressively mundane was the way to go.
Prom Night feels like what would happen if someone made a horror film but kept checking to make sure their parents were okay with it.
The killer wears a ski mask, the kills are barely even trying, and the “twist” lands like a wet paper towel. People remember the disco scene and act like it’s iconic. Let’s be honest—other than a dated dance, can you actually remember anything else that happened in this movie?
And the sequels? Because they made more of them.
You’re the kind of person who pretends like Hello Mary Lou is some underappreciated cult classic. But deep down, you’re not in it for the supernatural prom queen. You’re just desperate for something to make this series interesting. Spoiler: it isn’t.
By the time the remake rolled around, they took whatever was left— gore, tension, personality—turned the brightness up, stripped the violence down, and served us a Lifetime movie with a body count. You watched it once. Just the first one, you don’t remember a single scene.
So if Prom Night is your favorite slasher, own it:
You’re not drawn to slashers because of mayhem or madness.
You want them neat. Clean. Disposable.
You don’t want horror that hurts—you want horror with bumpers on the damn bowling lane.
This isn’t boundary-breaking. It’s background noise.
And if you’re still clinging to this series like it’s horror gospel?
The killer’s not the only one with identity issues.
Sleepaway Camp
If Sleepaway Camp is your favorite slasher, then you don’t really love slashers. You love one scene. One twist. One freeze-frame scream at the end of the movie—and you’ve been convincing everyone you know to watch it ever since, just so you can stare at them during the ending. Like you get off on the reaction more than the movie itself.
You call it “underrated.” You say it’s bold. Transgressive. Ahead of its time. A cult classic. But what you mean is: that one scene at the end is the entire movie. The rest? Just killer POV shots and some of the worst slasher kills ever put to screen—right next to Prom Night.
The acting feels like a screen test. The dialogue sounds like it was improvised on the spot. And half the cast looks like they were pulled straight from a summer camp production of Annie.
But you? You sit there talking about subtext and psychological horror—like Angela’s 90 minutes of awkward silence and side-eye was enough to elevate an entire movie that barely knows what tone it’s aiming for.
And don’t even get started on the sequels—where Angela is suddenly played by Springsteen’s sister and is now a camp counsellor, gleefully murdering campers while cracking one-liners like she thinks she’s hosting open mic night at Crystal Lake. She transforms into a knockoff Freddy Krueger with a perm, and somehow, they expect you to still take it seriously.
If Sleepaway Camp is your favorite, admit it:
You don’t care about story.
You care about shock.
You’re not in this for the suspense, the final girl, the creeping tension.
You just want to feel clever showing someone a film that makes them uncomfortable.
But truly loving this franchise?
Don’t kid yourself.
No one likes Teenage Wasteland, unless you just want to punish yourself.
So… What Does That Say About You?
So now you know what your favorite slasher really says about you.
Not what the merchandise wants you to believe.
Not what you preach to your friends and total strangers when you hype up your favorite killer.
But what your VHS-rotted soul actually reveals.
You didn’t grow up on thoughtful, innovative horror.
You grew up on severed limbs, one-liners, and final girls who screamed better than they acted.
And you didn’t flinch.
You leaned in.
Because while some people watch horror to be scared…
you watched to see who would die next—and how messy it would be.
Slashers are illogical.
They break their own rules.
They retcon so hard they defy common sense by Part 4.
But we keep watching.
We rewatch.
And we will defend them until the end of time.
Why?
Because that’s the nature of a slasher fan.
We love the blood.
The body counts.
The terrible storylines.
The sequels that should’ve stayed in the grave.
Sure—we may know better.
But we watch anyway.
Because slashers may be messy, inconsistent, ridiculous, and broken…
but we love them.
And we’ll die on that hill—right after tripping over the first body.
