Eels are weird. There is just no getting around it. For centuries, humans have looked at these slippery, ribbon-like creatures and felt a confusing mix of "get that away from me" and "actually, wait, let me see it again." Recently, that specific vibe has coalesced into a digital phenomenon known as eels my beloved monster. It’s a meme, sure. But it is also a weirdly heartfelt appreciation for a creature that looks like a sentient sock but lives a life more mysterious than most deep-sea aliens.
People love them. They really do.
The Mystery of Where They Come From
Aristotle thought eels just spontaneously generated from mud. He looked at them, saw no obvious reproductive organs, and basically said, "Yeah, they just appear when it rains." He was wrong, obviously, but you can't really blame the guy. For thousands of years, nobody could find an eel egg in the wild. Even Sigmund Freud—yes, that Freud—spent a frustrated summer in Trieste dissecting hundreds of eels trying to find their testicles. He failed.
The reality is much stranger. Most of the eels we talk about, like the European eel (Anguilla anguilla) and the American eel (Anguilla rostrata), perform a disappearing act that baffles biologists. They spend their lives in freshwater rivers, looking perfectly normal, until one day their bodies physically transform. Their eyes grow huge to see in the dark. Their stomachs dissolve because they aren't going to eat anymore. They swim thousands of miles to the Sargasso Sea, a patch of the Atlantic Ocean defined by currents rather than land. They spawn and they die.
It’s tragic. It’s metal. It’s exactly why the eels my beloved monster sentiment resonates. We love a tragic, misunderstood beast that refuses to reveal its secrets to science.
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Why We Call Them Monsters (With Love)
The "monster" label isn't an insult. It’s an acknowledgement of their sheer, chaotic energy. Have you ever seen a Moray eel open its mouth? It has a second set of jaws in its throat. It’s called a pharyngeal jaw. If that sounds familiar, it’s because it is exactly how the Xenomorph from the Alien movies works.
But then you look at their faces. They have these permanent expressions of mild shock. They look like they just realized they left the stove on.
The Internet’s Obsession with the "Beloved"
The phrase eels my beloved monster stems from a broader trend of "ugly-cute" appreciation. In a world of filtered influencers and perfectly manicured aesthetics, there is something deeply grounding about a creature that is essentially a long tube of muscle covered in slime.
- The Slime Factor: Eels produce a thick layer of mucus. It protects them from parasites and helps them slide over land. Yes, some eels can "walk" across damp grass to get from one pond to another.
- The Bite: While most aren't dangerous to humans, the sheer power of an eel's grip is legendary.
- The Longevity: Some eels in captivity have lived for decades. There’s a famous story of the "Brantevik Eel" in Sweden that supposedly lived in a well for over 150 years.
Honestly, they are just survivors. They've been around in some form for millions of years, navigating the shift from salt water to fresh water and back again. They are biological masterpieces wrapped in a package that most people find repulsive.
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The Crisis Behind the Meme
While we joke about our eels my beloved monster, there is a darker side to the story. European eels are critically endangered. Their populations have crashed by about 90% since the 1970s. We are losing them faster than we can understand them.
Overfishing is a huge part of it. Glass eels—the tiny, transparent juveniles—are worth a fortune on the black market, sometimes fetching more per pound than cocaine. They are shipped to farms in Asia, raised to adulthood, and sold as unagi.
But it isn't just fishing. Dams are a nightmare for eels. Imagine swimming 3,000 miles to find a mate, only to get shredded by a hydroelectric turbine or blocked by a concrete wall. We’ve essentially turned their ancient migratory highways into a series of deadly obstacles.
If we want to keep calling them our "beloved monsters," we actually have to make sure they stay alive. Conservationists like those at the Sustainable Eel Group are trying to create "eel-friendly" passes on rivers, but it’s an uphill battle.
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How to Actually Appreciate an Eel
You don’t have to go out and catch one to appreciate them. In fact, please don't. The best way to engage with the eels my beloved monster lifestyle is to support the habitats they rely on.
- Check your seafood sources. If you’re eating unagi, know where it came from. Most "farmed" eel is actually wild-caught as babies because we still can't reliably breed them in captivity.
- Support river restoration. Healthy, connected rivers are the only way these animals complete their life cycle.
- Spread the weirdness. The more people realize that eels are fascinating biological enigmas rather than just "gross snakes," the more political will there is to save them.
Eels aren't monsters in the scary sense. They are monsters in the mythological sense—beings that exist outside the normal rules of nature. They are slippery, stubborn, and weirdly beautiful if you look at them long enough.
They are, truly, our beloved monsters.
Next Steps for the Budding Eel Enthusiast:
To dive deeper, look into the work of James Prosek, whose book Eels is basically the definitive text on why these creatures drive people crazy. You should also check out the local river trust in your area to see if there are any ongoing "eel passage" projects. Seeing a glass eel migration in person is a bucket-list item for anyone who appreciates the sheer tenacity of life. Keep the meme alive, but keep the species alive too.