When Eminem and Rihanna dropped "The Monster" back in late 2013, nobody was surprised that it went straight to number one. They’d already done it with "Love the Way You Lie," so the "magic formula" seemed obvious: Em raps intensely about his trauma, and RiRi delivers a soaring, radio-friendly hook. But if you actually sit with the song, it’s not just another pop-rap hit. It’s a lot weirder, darker, and more self-aware than the stuff that usually tops the Billboard Hot 100.
Honestly, it’s a miracle it even happened the way it did. The song wasn't birthed in some high-stakes meeting between Interscope executives. It started in a "dark head space" in a Harlem studio.
The Monster: What Most People Get Wrong About Its Origin
Most fans assume Eminem and Rihanna sat in a booth together and hashed this out. Not even close. The bones of the song were actually built by a then-unknown singer named Bebe Rexha and a rising producer-songwriter named Jon Bellion.
Rexha was at Stadium Red in Harlem, feeling super down on herself, just trying to figure out her place in the industry. She wrote that "I’m friends with the monster" hook as a way of accepting her own anxiety and depression. Jon Bellion muddled through the chords, and they cut a demo that sounded way different from the final version.
When the track eventually landed in the hands of Frequency (Bryan Fryzel), he knew it was a Shady Records record. He pitched it to Eminem's camp, and the rest is history. Eminem took the hook, kept Rexha’s vibe, and then wrote verses that turned the "monster" from a general metaphor for depression into a specific commentary on his own fame.
It’s funny to think that one of the biggest songs of the 2010s was basically a "pitched" demo that Eminem took a massive risk on. Jon Bellion even mentioned in interviews later that they weren’t sure if Em would take it because it felt a bit "left field" for a lead single.
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Why the Lyrics Still Resonate in 2026
The reason people are still clicking on the music video—which, by the way, just crossed one billion views on YouTube recently—is because the message hasn't aged a day. In fact, in our current "always-on" social media culture, the lyrics feel more relevant than they did in 2013.
Eminem isn't just rapping about being a celebrity. He’s rapping about the disconnection that comes with it. He says:
"I wanted the fame, but not the cover of Newsweek... Wanted to receive attention for my music, wanted to be left alone in public."
He’s talking about the "monkey’s paw" of success. You get the money and the accolades, but you lose the ability to walk into a 7-Eleven without it becoming a news story. He calls his ego an "inflated balloon" that eventually blew. That’s raw. Most rappers at his level were still peacocking in 2013, but Marshall was basically admitting he was losing his mind.
Then you have Rihanna.
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She’s the perfect foil for him because she’s lived through her own media firestorms. When she sings about being "friends with the monster," she isn't saying she's cured. She’s saying she’s stopped fighting the voices. It’s about radical acceptance. You stop trying to kill the monster under the bed and you just start co-existing with it. That’s a much more realistic take on mental health than most "inspirational" pop songs offer.
The Music Video Was a Massive Easter Egg Hunt
If you haven't watched the video lately, go back and look at the details. Directed by Rich Lee, it’s basically a high-budget therapy session. Rihanna plays the therapist, and Eminem is the patient being forced to watch "tapes" of his own life.
It’s a literal trip down memory lane. They recreated:
- The "My Name Is" video set.
- The "Lose Yourself" elevator.
- The 2001 Grammy performance of "Stan" with Elton John.
- The "Way I Am" rooftop jump.
But the ending is what gets me. Eminem goes down in an elevator to a cage where he finds Slim Shady. It’s the visual representation of him keeping his darker, more violent alter-ego locked away so he can function as a father and a sober adult. When Shady throws a piece of paper (lyrics) through the bars, it shows that the "monster" is actually the source of his creativity. He can’t kill it, or he loses his gift.
Awards and That Iconic Live Performance
The industry noticed, too. The song won Best Rap/Sung Collaboration at the 57th Grammy Awards in 2015. It was Eminem’s 15th Grammy, solidifying the MMLP2 era as a legitimate comeback after the mixed reviews of his mid-2000s work.
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But for me, the peak "Monster" moment wasn't the awards. It was the 2014 MTV Movie Awards. They performed it live for the first time, and the chemistry was palpable. They weren't just two stars sharing a stage; they looked like two survivors. At the end of the set, they shared this quick, genuine hug that went viral because it felt so human. No "industry" fakeness, just two people who had been through the wringer together.
How to Appreciate the Song Today
If you’re revisiting the track, don’t just listen to the radio edit. Look for the nuance in the third verse. That’s where Eminem really goes off about the "occupational hazard" of being a poet who’s losing his mind.
Key Takeaways for Fans
- Listen for the layers: The production by Frequency uses these subtle, paranoia-inducing strings that make the whole thing feel slightly "off" in the best way possible.
- Watch the video with a "Stan" lens: Try to spot every reference to his old music videos. There are at least half a dozen major ones.
- Respect the writers: Remember that without Bebe Rexha’s "dark place" in a Harlem studio, this song never exists. It’s a reminder that great art often comes from the moments when you feel most lost.
The song basically tells us that everyone has a "monster." Whether it's fame, addiction, or just regular old anxiety, the goal isn't to make it disappear—it's to learn how to live with it without letting it take the wheel.
Actionable Insight: If you're a creator or someone struggling with "inner voices," take a page from the Rexha/Eminem playbook: stop trying to "fix" the parts of you that feel weird. Instead, try to channel them into something productive. The very thing you're afraid of might be the key to your most impactful work.