Okay. I need to admit something.
I didn’t start watching Supernatural thinking it would influence my visual language as a graphic designer. I thought it would just be comfort binge material while I’m on Erasmus in Graz, avoiding my deadlines.
But somehow, between demons, salt circles, and emotionally damaged brothers, it completely shifted how I think about atmosphere in design.
Supernatural isn’t just about monsters. It’s about mood.
The lighting is always slightly off. Warm but shadow-heavy. Dark forests. Empty highways. Flickering motel lights. The visual identity of the show is consistent in a way that feels almost like branding.
And that’s what hit me.
Every episode feels cohesive because of atmosphere, not just storyline. The color palette leans into deep browns, muted blues, golden headlights cutting through darkness. Even the typography in the intro — that burning, cracking effect — sets a tone before the narrative even begins.
As a graphic designer, I think a lot about visual systems. Logos. Type hierarchies. Consistency. But Supernatural reminds me that mood is also a system.
The recurring symbols — devil’s traps, sigils, angel blades, pentagrams — function like graphic elements. They’re instantly recognizable. They carry meaning. They repeat. They evolve. It’s basically a mythological design language.
And the layering of folklore? That’s where it gets even better.
The show pulls from urban legends, Christianity, pagan myths, apocalyptic narratives — and reinterprets them visually. It’s collage storytelling. It’s remix culture before TikTok made that a daily habit.
Living in Graz, walking through old streets at night, I started noticing how environment shapes imagination. Supernatural thrives in liminal spaces — abandoned houses, forests, highways. And being in a foreign city kind of feels liminal too. You’re not fully grounded. Everything feels slightly cinematic.
As an artist, I’m drawn to that “in-between” feeling.
What Supernatural does brilliantly is contrast intimacy with scale. One moment it’s two brothers talking in a car. The next, it’s cosmic-level angels and demons. Visually, that translates into tight framing versus vast landscapes.
In graphic design, we often forget scale as an emotional tool. What happens when typography feels small and isolated? What happens when imagery overwhelms the frame?
Also — and this might be controversial — the show is camp sometimes. And camp is powerful. It doesn’t always take itself too seriously, even when dealing with apocalypse-level drama. That balance between darkness and irony is something I want more of in my own work.
Design doesn’t always have to be polished and intellectual. It can be dramatic. Gothic. Slightly theatrical.
Maybe that’s why I’m currently obsessed with darker palettes, textured overlays, and symbolic graphics. Blame the Winchester brothers.
Or maybe it’s just that good storytelling — even in a 15-season supernatural soap opera — teaches you more about visual identity than a branding workshop ever could.
