Emma Li

People treat crime cases like they’re episodes of a drama series, desensitizing themselves from the very real violence that lies within them.

1.4 million likes. The screen flickers, replaying a slow-motion edit of Gypsy Rose Blanchard shortly after her release. A Nicki Minaj song pulses in the background, the beat synchronized to the rate of the clips. I tap the comments, hoping to see just one person questioning this spectacle. Instead, I’m met with an endless column of praise. “She slayed.” “Gypsy Rose is that girl.” I think to myself, “Since when did murderers become pop-culture icons?”

True crime is undoubtedly one of the fastest growing genres of media. It lures millions into its web of real-life horrors, especially with the recent surge of Netflix sensations like Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story and Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story. People flock to these stories for a plethora of reasons, whether it be to inform themselves of tragedies, seek justice for victims or even stay vigilant in an unpredictable world. But the truth is, most aren’t tuning in for consciousness. They’re tuning in for the thrill.

I’ve kept myself in the loop of true crime for years, feeling a responsibility to confront the darker sides of humanity and acknowledge the brutal endings of innocent lives. Yet, as I’ve observed the media’s reaction to these cases, I’ve become increasingly unsettled by how online viewers lack basic human decency toward the unfortunate victims of these cases. 

People treat crime cases like they’re episodes of a drama series, desensitizing themselves from the very real violence that lies within them. Among many relevant examples is the case of travelling influencer Gabby Petito, whose tragic disappearance and eventual death triggered viral videos across platforms like TikTok, YouTube and X. Instead of lamenting her loss, users treated it like their own murder mystery to solve. While the fan-driven involvement persuaded authorities to prioritize the case, it also introduced a frenzy of speculation that unnecessarily pressured law enforcement to divert their attention to false leads rather than facts.

Online sleuths and public reactions like those to Gabby Petito’s case expose the fine line between true crime and fictional murder mysteries. Immersing ourselves in real-life cases demands an expected level of respect and awareness, one that is too often overlooked. These aren’t mere stories to be consumed for pure entertainment; they involve victims that underwent unimaginable torture, leaving loved ones to grieve over them for the rest of their lives.

The general public’s flippant and detached attitude toward true crime is evident in how content creators present these cases, often complementing tragedy with entertainment. By casually narrating gruesome stories while doing makeup or indulging in mukbangs, they completely disregard the magnitude of crimes by reducing them to easily digestible, marketable content. 

But who’s at fault here? The viewers who binge-watch crime content? Or the content creators who prioritize shock value over truth? Responsibility falls on both parties; it’s a cycle fueled by the two of them. While content creators are expected to present cases with accuracy and sensitivity, many turn tragedies into stories that often distort the narrative at the expense of the victims and their families. At the same time, the viewers themselves drive these intentions. If the viewers weren’t so eager to entertain themselves with true crime, creators wouldn’t have a gravitation toward sensationalizing it. 

True crime will be eternally enthralling, a constant reminder of the extent of peoples’ capabilities and wicked mindsets. But we, as viewers, have complete control over how we engage with these stories, and whether we choose to engross ourselves in the internet mania that manipulates them or approach them with the gravity they deserve.