On January 10, 2020, children’s animated series The Owl House premiered on the Disney Channel. The show centers on the story of a young fourteen-year-old Dominican-American human girl Luz Noceda who—in true Isekai/Alice in Wonderland style—stumbles into a demon realm called the Boiling Islands, a morbidly magical land built on the remains of a Titan. There she meets powerful (and scraggly) witch/fugitive of the law Eda Clawthorne, otherwise known as “The Owl Lady,” a pint-sized overly-confident and adorable dog demon named King, Hooty (the tubular owl-like guardian of the aptly named Owl House), magical friends Willow and Gus, and more.
Now, as a self-identified geek and lover of LGBTQ+ children’s cartoons (a very specific form of media that I hope keeps expanding), there was no chance I wasn’t going to watch The Owl House when it first came out. What I didn’t expect was how truly incredible this show was going to be in terms of rich storytelling, worldbuilding, and diversity. Or how it would reflect and heal parts of me in the ways it did.
To start with the former, part of what The Owl House does so brilliantly is pay homage to classic and modern fantasy while providing fresh and innovative twists. From the very beginning, the show references fantasy authors such as C.S. Lewis in its pilot episode, “A Lying Witch and a Warden” (a play off the title The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe), while drawing inspiration from fantastical and surrealist artists such as Hieronymus Bosch, Remedios Varo, and John Albert Bauer.
Luz Noceda herself, an admitted fangirl who likes “editing anime clips to music” and “reading fantasy books with convoluted backstories,” is a genre-savvy protagonist who knows all about tropes like the “Chosen One.” So, once Luz steps into the Demon Realm, she does so in the hopes of playing out all her fantasy dreams, which include becoming like the hero in her favorite book series, The Good Witch Azura.
Yet the actual reality is more complicated. In the world of The Owl House there are no “chosen ones,” no easy fixes for power (as Luz discovers in a world where magic typically comes from a bile sac attached to the heart, something she does not have), and no simple heroes or villains. As her adopted mentor tells her in the second episode, “Witches Before Wizards”: “Look, kid, everyone wants to believe they are ‘chosen.’ But if we all waited around for a prophecy to make us special, we’d die waiting. And that’s why you need to choose yourself.”
Throughout the series, that theme of “choosing yourself” becomes one of the most potent themes for Luz and her friends.
Whereas in the human world Luz was seen as a “failure” of a student, told to go to “Reality Check Summer Camp” to tame her wild fantasies and nature, she excels in the demon world, learning “Wild Magic” on her own terms. Luz refuses to conform (it says something that she literally broke out of a prison called the Conformatorium—twice), and instead chooses to believe in herself, that she is clever and capable.
For Luz’ friends, like Willow and Hunter, victims of bullying and abuse, constantly degraded by their peers (Willow’s case) or guardians (Hunter’s case), told they are only “Half-a-witch,” they choose to believe they are whole. With the help of their loved ones, they choose to believe they are powerful and deserving of love and respect.
For Amity (Luz’s love-interest), raised and taught by toxic parenting to rise to the top by any means necessary (including being mean to her own best friend, Willow), she chooses to believe she can do better. Instead of becoming part of the magical elite Emperor’s Coven, as her controlling mother Odalia expects of her, Amity decides that she wants to choose her own path, becoming kinder to others and herself in the process.
And for the fans of this show, watching these queer and POC and disabled/neurodivergent characters on screen having amazing adventures, falling in love, and finding their chosen families, we feel seen For those of us with marginalized identities, existing in a world that often never automatically “chooses” people like us to be the lead character or the one who gets the epic love story, watching Luz, a neurodivergent-coded Afro-Latina bisexual girl, get to be and have those things, feels like nothing less than magic. Towards the end of the final episode in the third season when the Titan offers Luz the power she needs to save her friends, asking “will you choose yourself?”, those in the audience feel ourselves being asked that question. Watching these characters choosing agency and freedom over obedience and conformity, the audience is given the option of believing in a reality where we may choose that as well.
And as for me…
During the pandemic, I did as many people did, retreating into pop culture to cope with the stress of a volatile reality. The entertainment I tended to rely on the most was often the likes of children’s animation, i.e. She–Ra and the Princesses of Power and Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts. I found that such media is one of the most healing resources in my life. In addition to having something substantial to look forward to on a weekly basis—as waiting for new episodes helped me differentiate the weeks that were often made indistinct in the mess Covid made of time—they also helped a part of me that was neglected. Cut off from IRL interactions with my queer community, LGBTQ+ cartoons let me have small moments of peace where I could see myself represented and see the representation I wish I had as a queer kid who did not have such resources. Queer children’s animation helped me regain a past self that never got to openly have queer crushes or be honest with my identity, while imagining a reality where a kid like me, like Luz, could have those things. Which, in turn, speaks to the vicarious healing power that fantasy has.
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When C.S. Lewis created The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, he set the story during the Blitz, the time of the German bombing campaign against the United Kingdom during 1940 and 1941. In that time, children like the Pevensie siblings were relocated during the war due to the air raids. In the Wardrobe, not only do they enter into the fantastic world of Narnia, but also a place to cope with the trauma of living during World War Two. Within Narnia, the Pevensie siblings have the chance to meet creatures like satyrs and talking lions, to join the fight in the forces of good against evil and bring down cruel tyrants like the White Witch, and become kings and queens. Like Luz in the Boiling Isles, Narnia becomes a place where children can rediscover themselves and play into new character roles like explorer and hero, as well as finding joy and agency.
Less dramatically but similarly, fans like me escaped into The Owl House just like Luz does into the Boiling Isles. In a world marked by the chaos of pandemics and political protests and racial injustice, for three seasons (even with the last one cruelly cut short by TV executives), we could join Luz on her adventures, feeling triumph as she unlocked new glyphs, exhilaration as she attended Hexside (an inclusive, trans-affirming magical school), the heart-pounding joy of finding queer love, and more.
In a world, where connecting with one’s palisman (a type of magical companion in the Boiling isles) and unlocking their magical potential is established by expressing one’s “deepest wish,” Luz’s desire to be “understood” heartbreakingly mirrors so many of us in the human world who have felt misunderstood. Labeled “wrong” or “different” or “broken” simply for being who we are.
Yet in the world of The Owl House, for the span of each episode, we can forget a little of all that and finally feel understood. And for least for a moment, feel free.
So, to all the incredible people involved in The Owl House, from creator Dana Terrance, voice actors (including Sarah-Nicole Robles, Wendie Walick, Tati Gabrielle, Issac Ryan Brown, Mae Whitman, and Zeno Robinson), animators, and beyond, all I have left to say is:
Thank you.
Michele Kirichanskaya is a first-generation Ukrainian Jewish American writer from Brooklyn, New York. A graduate of the New School MFA Program and Hunter College, when they are not writing, they are reading, watching an absurd amount of cartoons, and creating content for platforms like GeeksOUT, Catapult, Bitch Media, Salon, The Mary Sue, ComicsVerse, and more. Their work can be found here and on Their social media, @MicheleKiricha1. Their first non-fiction book, Ace Notes: Tips and Tricks on Existing in an Allo World, came out in March 2023.
