K-Pop Demon Hunters Made Me Eat My Words and Sing Them Too

When I first watched K-Pop Demon Hunter back in July, I wasn't impressed. It was loud, it was flashy, and it felt like a neon sign buzzing in my living room. The story felt paper-thin, the battles looked like over-produced music videos, and I remember closing Netflix thinking, well, that was a waste of two hours.

My husband, though? He had the time of his life. He came out of that first watch glowing, like he'd just seen Frozen for the first time or as if there's finally a good Star Wars remake. He downloaded the soundtrack right away, played it on loop, and worked the choruses into his daily routine. He hummed while making dinner, belted the ballads in the shower, and shot me dirty looks every time I rolled my eyes. "You weren't concentrating," he told me, as if my dislike of the movie was a personal failure.

And honestly, I thought that was the end of it.

But the internet had other plans.

Within weeks, K-Pop Demon Hunters exploded. My TikTok feed was taken hostage by fancams, reaction edits, and cosplay tutorials. Spotify slipped the songs into my playlists. Even YouTube ads were suddenly full of glittery demon battles. Everywhere I turned, there it was. The movie I had dismissed. And the more I saw it, the harder it was to ignore. The songs I once rolled my eyes at? They were stuck in my head. I even caught myself knowing parts of the choreography without ever trying to learn it.

So when Netflix added a sing-along version, I caved. I decided to give it another chance, this time by myself, no husband performing the soundtrack beside me, no distractions. Just me, my couch, and a glowing karaoke bar of demon-slaying pop.

And I’ll admit it: I loved it.

The sing-along made the whole thing feel different. Instead of just watching, I was in it. I wasn’t sitting through glittery fight scenes; I was singing through them. The lyrics on screen gave the songs more weight, and suddenly the music hit harder. Watching alone helped too, without my husband stage-whispering like he was auditioning for the sequel, I could actually pay attention. And once I did, it all started to click.

The second watch felt immersive in a way the first didn’t. The movie is built for repeat viewings. The first time, the spectacle felt like too much. But once the songs were familiar, I could just lean back and let the chaos wash over me. The things that annoyed me before now feel intentional. Like the movie was in on the joke, winking as it went.

That’s the thing about K-Pop Demon Hunter: it’s not really a movie you analyze. It’s a movie you absorb. It’s pure glitter, eyeliner, and choreography, and once you accept that, it works. It doesn’t need to be Shakespeare. It just needs to be fun, and it is.

That’s not to say it’s perfect. Even as a new fan, I can admit the story is flimsy. It’s the most basic good-versus-evil setup you could imagine, and without the music, there wouldn’t be much left.

And yet, none of that matters as much as it should. Because once the songs hit, you forget the rest. They sneak up on you. They make you feel things you didn’t expect.

So yes, my husband was right. I wasn’t concentrating. And yes, TikTok was right too. The movie I brushed off deserved more than my half-distracted watch. It thrives on repeat viewings, on memes, on sing-alongs. It’s the kind of film that doesn’t just sit quietly in your Netflix history; it follows you around until eventually you give in.

Now, a week after my rewatch, I catch myself singing the songs while folding laundry. I put the soundtrack on in the car. I laugh at memes I never would have understood in July. And I’m already planning my third watch, this time with no shame.

Because once you let yourself enjoy it, K-Pop Demon Hunter isn’t just a movie. It’s a full-on experience. A glitter-drenched, demon-slaying, note-hitting party.

So here it is: my public apology. I doubted it. I dismissed it. And YES, I was wrong. Sometimes the demons really do win, and sometimes, they win with choreography sharp enough to cut you.