By Last year, I penned an article about the SALTBURN effect on the Gen Z women of TikTok, peeling back the layers of unfiltered, messy, and unhinged longing that surfaced in a post-pandemic world. The response to SALTBURN was more than just shock over bathwater drinking and grave defilement; it was a raw commentary on how young people, particularly women, romanticize yearning. It reflected the ways they use parasocial projection and voyeuristic fantasy to navigate stunted social skills and a collective sense of disconnection brought on by years of isolation.
Fast-forward one year, and while some things have changed, others remain stubbornly the same. My 2024 resolution to cut back on doom-scrolling has been a spectacular failure. Yet, because of this failure, I’ve had the dubious honor of observing that the women of TikTok are still feral. This time, however, their collective obsession has shifted away from hunky babygirl Jacob Elordi and freaky little-guy Barry Keoghan. No, the hottie du jour isn’t a chiseled Hollywood heartthrob or a quirky underdog. It’s a wheezing, skin-flaking, bushy-mustached cryptid bleeding out of every orifice: Count Orlok.
Robert Eggers’ NOSFERATU, the latest addition to the auteur’s catalog of folkloric horror, takes its place as both a homage and a reimagining. Drawing inspiration from F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent classic and Bram Stoker’s foundational novel, DRACULA, NOSFERATU plunges into the archetypal allure of vampires. For centuries, vampires have represented seduction: the dark, forbidden fantasy of desire wrapped in danger. From Victorian erotica to old Hollywood glamor to the glistening abs of the Cullen clan, vampires have always straddled the line between the grotesque and the alluring. Yet, Eggers’ vision of Orlok pushes the pendulum to an extreme that no one—not even the most devoted Gothic romance enthusiast—could have anticipated. Women’s thirst over Orlok isn’t about the dashing sophistication of DRACULA or the smoldering temptation of a TRUE BLOOD antihero. Instead, it’s a fascination with the obsessive and twisted embodiment of a character who describes himself as “an appetite and nothing else.” Why are young women drawn to this gothic nightmare? Is it the audacity of falling for the undead equivalent of a walking pestilence—or something deeper about modern isolation and the hunger to be truly craved?
Set in the fog-drenched town of Wisborg, NOSFERATU follows Thomas Hutter, an eager but naïve real estate agent tasked with closing a property deal at Count Orlok’s remote castle. It quickly becomes clear Orlok’s interest isn’t in prime waterfront real estate—it’s Hutter’s wife, Ellen. Played with haunting fragility by Lily-Rose Depp, Ellen is reimagined from the silent original as more than a sacrificial lamb. She emerges as a symbol of resilience and vulnerability, carrying the scars of her harrowing past and the weight of battling for her very soul. Her narrative is steeped in Gothic horror tropes—creeping shadows that threaten to swallow her whole, rats swarming the streets in waves of disease, and the insidious spread of a literal and symbolic plague. It’s her inner battle for autonomy and survival that anchors the film, rendering her a painfully relevant mirror for modern struggles with abuse, trauma, and the near-impossible quest for freedom from predatory forces.
Count Orlok, portrayed menacingly by Bill Skarsgård, is an all-consuming predator whose obsession with Ellen began in her childhood during a time when she exhibited heightened psychic sensitivities. The connection between Orlok and Ellen is far from a simple predator-prey dynamic. Eggers crafts a chilling backstory of grooming, manipulation, and gaslighting, turning Orlok into a mirror for abuses of power as he coerces Ellen into surrendering herself entirely to his monstrous physical and sexual appetite. Ellen is forced into a Faustian bargain where her body and soul become the price for her community’s survival. Her heartbreaking unraveling is deeply human, a young woman facing impossible choices in a world that offers her no escape.
So… Why do women find this hot?
My sanity has been questioned multiple times as I scrolled past TikToks declaring, “Get a man who would travel across the ocean to get you back,” or the even more unhinged, “She came to him willingly—it was always him.” Girl… HIM? The combover, the gingivitis? Make it make sense. And don’t get me started on the girls who said the mustache was his worst offense. As I peeled back the layers of this phenomenon, it began to make a twisted kind of sense. Ellen and Orlok’s dynamic, horrifying as it is, taps into an emotional vein many women recognize: to be wanted wholly and intensely, even dangerously.
Consider the modern dating landscape—a realm where romance often feels transactional and apathetic. Dating apps like Tinder were supposed to make finding love easier, but the reality has been less than ideal. A 2023 survey revealed that half of Tinder users weren’t even interested in meeting offline, and nearly two-thirds were already married or partnered. Adding to this disillusionment, 80-90% of users reported “dating app burnout.” For women navigating this minefield, the thrill of being passionately pursued—a trope that Gothic horror from a time long ago revels in—feels like an antidote to the sterile apathy of swiping culture.
This desire for deeper connection harks back to Ellen’s world of Victorian-era isolation, where the constraints of her time created a starkly physical solitude. Confined to the domestic sphere, her life is dictated by societal rules that offer little room for personal fulfillment. Her home becomes her cage, where she is protected and imprisoned. This forced stillness amplifies her vulnerability, making her an easy target for Orlok’s predatory obsession. In contrast, modern isolation takes on a digital form, where women are surrounded by screens and profiles, but often find themselves emotionally adrift. The illusion of connection provided by social media and dating apps paradoxically heightens feelings of loneliness. In both eras, the lack of true agency leaves women searching for genuine intimacy, a longing that Gothic horror captures through its heightened depictions of impassioned yearning.
It is this hunger for emotional intensity, further fueled by post-pandemic isolation, that has driven trends like BookTok, where romanticized characters and narratives feed into women’s primal wants. Gothic horror, with its blurred lines between darkness and romance, offers an alluring escape, now more than ever. Ellen and Orlok embody this force in its most extreme form: repellent yet magnetic. Orlok’s obsessive pursuit speaks to women’s deepest fears and fantasies, the beating heart of Gothic horror’s exploration of power, desire, and agency. But at what cost does this romanticization occur? BookTok’s glamorization of toxic dynamics—possessiveness, stalking, and abuse of power—mirrors the complexities of Ellen and Orlok’s twisted connection. While older audiences may parse the nuance, younger viewers steeped in these narratives might further internalize problematic intimacy ideals. When real-world dating feels detached and apathetic, Gothic horror offers a visceral alternative: a love that consumes, even if it destroys.
The reimagining of Count Orlok has ignited a surprising trend: the hypersexualization of a character deliberately crafted to be grotesque. The #HotOrlok discourse questions how we frame toxic relationships in fiction. Orlok is not a tragic antihero seeking redemption; he is undeniably a predator. Romanticizing his fixation risks glamorizing the very dynamics the film critiques. NOSFERATU forces viewers to confront the reality of Orlok’s actions—a chilling reminder of the destruction that ensues when obsession replaces love and control masquerades as devotion. As NOSFERATU and SALTBURN have proven, young women are reclaiming how they engage with narratives—finding catharsis in chaos, beauty in darkness, and humor in the grotesque. Yes, it’s objectively bizarre that Count Orlok became TikTok’s winter heartthrob, but the phenomenon is less about him and more about what his story unlocks: a thirst for intensity, connection, and a world that feels viscerally alive, even in its ugliest corners.
This isn’t about glorifying toxic relationships or excusing problematic dynamics. It’s about diving into stories that don’t flinch from complexity. In Orlok’s grotesque obsession, we see a mirror reflecting both our deepest fears and the emotional extremes we crave when the real world feels lukewarm. That tension—the draw and the repulsion—speaks to a media-savvy generation that wants to wade in the gray; even if it means crushing on a walking ad for dental hygiene awareness crossed with an existential nightmare. If that’s the cinematic future, then I, for one, am ready to embrace it—with or without the mustache.
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