After 10 years, five seasons, and 42 episodes, the hit Netflix show Stranger Things has now concluded. Directed by the Duffer Brothers, Stranger Things follows a group of kids (and a few adults) in Hawkins, Indiana, during the 1980s as they battle supernatural threats from the “Upside Down.” The show is both an extraordinary accomplishment and a thudding disappointment. Its success stemmed from the nostalgia, mythology, and theme of friendship that was its heart and soul. But the show’s recent emphasis on sexual identity undermined the thematic core that the Duffer Brothers spent years constructing. Christians need not be shocked to see these themes in secular entertainment—even “family” entertainment. The LGBT+ plotline has become all too predictable. That Stranger Things followed this script too is another reminder that we’re living in a “strange new world.” However, Christians can respond by pointing out how an obsession with sexual identity flattens otherwise interesting characters and sucks the narrative life out of otherwise compelling stories. Thematic Clarity Fans love Stranger Things because of its thematic clarity. The Duffer Brothers created a consistent world. The show isn’t only set in the 1980s but also recreates the feel of the ’80s, reminding viewers of some of their favorite childhood movies from Steven Spielberg and George Lucas. Stranger Things recalls a time before helicopter parents, when kids were frequently on bicycle adventures with their friends. The show’s sci-fi-meets-horror mythology also creates intrigue. The dark and foggy Upside Down is both terrifying and underexplained. A preserved sense of mystery—an unabashedly enchanted world—contributes to the show’s refreshing appeal in a secular age. The supernatural elements also clearly distinguish between good and evil. But friendship forms the show’s core. At the most important moments, the episodes return to this theme. The series begins and ends with four friends playing Dungeons & Dragons. Every season concludes with the same lesson: The protagonists need each other to defeat the darkness. Even Eleven (a girl with superpowers) can’t do it alone. True strength comes not from solo heroes but from tight-knit relationships and committed community. Rise of Sexual Identity Unfortunately, as the kids mature and the series wears on, these elements become undercut by a growing fixation on sexual identity. This culminates in a poorly written six-minute “coming out” scene in episode 7 of the final season. My negative assessment isn’t simply a Christian calling out a theme that clashes with my worldview; the episode is the series’ worst-rated. Many viewers have found the “coming out” scene forced and artificial. Will Byers (Noah Schnapp) occupies a paradoxical role. He’s the first kid captured and kept in the Upside Down, and the monsters continually target him as a victim. It isn’t until the last season that he figures out his greatest weakness can also be used as a strength. Because he’s so tapped into the “hive-mind” of the Upside Down, he can use this connection to subvert the enemy. However, Vecna (the Upside Down’s archvillain) also uses Will’s secret—that he’s gay—as a weapon. Therefore, to continue helping his friends, Will has to let them know his secret. This neuters Stranger Things’s most powerful themes. When Will confesses, everyone awkwardly rallies around him in acceptance, confessing their continued love for him. The anachronism is hard to miss. Stranger Things suddenly doesn’t seem set in a 1980s Indiana small town. It rather feels like a scene from a Los Angeles DEI meeting today. Previously, to conquer the Demogorgons, the kids had to band together and combine their strengths. But with Will’s coming out, the show seems to suggest that to defeat evil, they really just need to know who they are in terms of sexual identity. The idea that expressive individualism is what helps defeat Vecna is hard to take seriously. Does the fate of the world really rest on Will’s coming out? Hollywood’s reliance on this trope is both predictable and mind-numbing. Does the fate of the world really rest on Will’s coming out? Hollywood’s reliance on this trope is both predictable and mind-numbing. Worse, Will’s coming out nearly topples the theme of friendship. Questions surrounding Will’s relationship to best friend Mike (Finn Wolfhard) complicate what had been the relational heart of the show. Was their relationship truly a friendship or a one-sided romantic crush? If previously community and friendship were paramount, now sexual identity becomes the group’s focal point. This plot development didn’t resonate because the Duffer Brothers had anchored their series around something deeper than sexual identity––friendship. Upside-Down World of Christ A Christian anthropology encourages us to think of ourselves not primarily in terms of our sexuality but in terms of our friendship with God and others (John 15:15). We’re defined not by what we think of ourselves or how we define ourselves but by how we relate to God and others. When we reduce relationships to sexuality, we miss so much of what God has for us. A deeper and wider view of our relationships has been lost in a culture obsessed with sex and self-expression. Christianity challenges our culture’s obsessions. When Paul entered Thessalonica, the city accused him of “[turning] the world upside down” with his teaching (Acts 17:6). His proclamation of Jesus’s gospel—and its implications for all of life—disrupted social norms. When we reduce relationships to sexuality, we miss so much of what God has for us. Will’s coming-out scene is framed as a cathartic confession. But in Christianity, confession’s liberating power comes when we name the darkness within us and repent from it—rather than embracing it and asking others to accept it. We expose the monster inside us so it might be conquered through the power of a loving God, and with the help of our friends. Our Christian brothers and sisters who struggle with same-sex attraction, or other disordered desires, know this is where true life is found. Stranger Things initially captivated audiences because it was genuinely strange—a throwback to a Goonies-style innocence of childhood friendship and adventure. But as the series pressed into themes of sexual identity, it began to feel less strange and more strangely familiar—yet also empty. What Hollywood misses is that identity politics is too thin an account of who we are. Screenwriters imagine this move as courageous, but audiences can see through the tiresome sexual haze. The rise and triumph of stranger times has arrived. And it’s surprisingly boring.