CW: This article includes discussions of homicide, abuse, and true crime topics.
On its website, the podcast Serial markets itself as telling;
“one story—a true story—over the course of a season. Each season, we
follow a plot and characters wherever they take us. We won’t know
what happens at the end until we get there, not long before you get
there with us. Each week we bring you the next chapter in the story, so
it’s important to listen to the episodes in order.”
Its audience is prepared for a story with “characters” and a “plot”. Serial is a true crime podcast that prepares its audience for a story with “characters” and a “plot”. Plot and character are not things we usually expect when reading something non-fiction; what we expect to read are the stories and experiences of people. This is where most of the ethical dilemma lies in true crime — the contention between the experiences of people, and the plot of characters.
At this point in history, we are experiencing a renaissance and evolution of true crime narratives in popular culture. In 2014, when Serial released its first season, an investigation into the murder of Hae Min Lee rapidly rose to the top of the Apple podcast charts. I would like to credit this moment as the true catalyst for our modern obsession with true crime. With the increasing popularity of the genre comes a whole new range of mediums for these stories. Our popular media has been inundated by various forms of true crime, one of the most popular being the adaptation into movies or series. This genre has cultivated a vast and rapidly expanding fan base, drawing in millions of enthusiasts who actively engage in discussions, theories, and debates across various Reddit communities and social media platforms.
The growing fascination with true crime has sparked a wave of content creators, podcasters, and filmmakers dedicated to exploring real-life mysteries, criminal psychology, and the intricacies of the justice system. It has sparked many conversations about the muddy ethical implications of the genre. The popularity of Netflix true crime docu-series and thrillers seem to be commodifying and sensationalising real-world tragedies. Is all true crime media made with the intent of bringing justice and attention to complicated cases, or do creators use the traumatic experiences of real people to benefit monetarily?
In September 2024, the second season of Ryan Murphy’s true crime anthology series Monsters was released. This season in particular focused on the case of the brothers Lyle and Erik Menendez and the 1989 murders of their parents. It was followed by a huge hype across various media platforms. This is what ultimately drew me to the question of investigating why a story about murder and crime gains such a ‘cult’ following. This season of Monsters joined the growing collection of true crime documentaries and movies on Netflix, a catalogue of the unparalleled growing market for true crime over the last decade. One of the most complex choices while making a true crime is the casting. So how do you cast a serial killer in a pool of Hollywood beauties, especially when sex sells? In the past decade, we’ve seen Zac Efron portray Ted Bundy; Evan Peters play Jeffrey Dahmer; and Cooper Koch and Nicholas Alexander Chaves take on the roles of Erik and Lyle Menendez.
Using attractive celebrity actors in the roles of serial killers and criminals does a great deal to soften the reception of these people. It is likely that directors like Ryan Murphy purposefully cast ‘hot’ actors to create the internet craze that we saw after The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story. After the show was released, a trend emerged of creating edits of its actors Nicholas Alexander Chaves and Cooper Koch. One of the top edits under the search ‘Monsters the Erik and Lyle Menendez Story’ is a ‘thirst trap’ style edit containing scenes of the brothers to the song Blame it on the Rain — this particular video has over 5 million likes. I believe this trend is largely a product of Ryan Murphy’s own inclusion of multiple half-nude and shirtless scenes of the brothers, flashing the glitz and glam of their life after the murder of their parents. This isn’t to discredit the acting performances of either actor, but their physical attraction seems to be a large contributing factor to their casting.
The first season of Monsters follows a similar trend. Humans tend to misconstrue physical attractiveness for ‘goodness’. A similar result came forth from the release of The Dahmer Story, starring American Horror Story’s ‘dreamboat’ Evan Peters. It seemed to trigger a wave of sympathy for cannibalistic serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. Memes and internet discourse began focusing on empathising for Dahmer or expressing a secondary attraction to him, being spurred by the popularity of Evan Peters. Disturbingly, you can find similar thirst trap edits of Evan Peters portraying Jeffrey Dahmer, much like those of Nicholas Chaves, with millions of likes. In casting these ‘sexy’ actors as morally complicated or murderous people, Netflix and true crime producers cultivate an environment where they surpass the gravity of the situations for virality and success.
Both seasons of Monster have received criticism from the people involved in the real cases. Erik Menendez, through a statement made by his wife on X, states that “Murphy shapes his horrible narrative through vile and appalling character portrayals of Lyle and of me and disheartening slander”. While making the Dahmer season, Netflix was not required to consult the families of any of the victims of Jeffrey Dahmer. Shirley Hughs, mother of victim Tony Hughes, said to The Guardian in regards to scenes of her son in the show, “I shed tears. […]. The tears [are] tears of hurt because it hurts. It hurts real bad”, “I don’t see how they can use our names and put stuff out like that out there.” Whether or not the Menendez brothers were ‘monsters’ or not, neither victim nor perpetrator deserves to have their narrative misconstrued and projected in a dramatised form. If creators are not required to consult the individuals involved in an event, is it ethical for them to tell their story? In my opinion, no.
The culture’s obsession with true crime media has grown into a genre that capitalises off the struggles of individuals, selling a ‘character’ narrative while harming those involved. Mediums like the Netflix docu-series capitalise off an impressionable audience to benefit the creators, operating under the guise of information. While many of you may be entertained by true crime, and I cannot say I exclude myself from this statement, there is a deep ethical implication to these stories and the ways they are being told. The edits of Nicholas Alexander Chaves to ‘Dirty Cash’ which flooded our ‘for you’ pages have a much more sinister meaning than we see on the surface.
The amateur investigator, mukbangs and ‘get-ready-with-mes’
When we think about crime, the first things that come to mind are probably police investigations, the news, and the legal system. I wouldn’t expect many of your lists to include mukbangs, makeup tutorials, or ASMR. There are hundreds of YouTube accounts which centre their content on telling stories surrounding crime cases and investigations, and there are infinite ways to produce these stories. Some of the most popular channels are Bailey Sarian, Rotten Mango by Stephanie Soo, Kendall Rae, and Eleanor Neale. Each of these YouTubers have a different process and purpose for their content.
Bailey Sarian in her ‘Murder, Mystery and Makeup’ series has been criticised for her casual tone, applying makeup while discussing stories containing content like murder, sex crimes, and abuse. Similarly Stephanie Soo’s mukbang videos have been regarded as entertaining, but generally disrespectful. Even if a creator has a genuine purpose — focused on highlighting a victim’s experience or exploring the psychology of crime — they still receive a monetary gain from creating these videos. This raises issues regarding the exploitation of public cases. A typical Bailey Sarian YouTube video will feature a well lit and glamorous portrait of Sarian, often holding a makeup brush and with a bored, cool, pouting look on her face. This headshot is almost always centered, backgrounded with photos of young victims or prison photos from perpetrators. Underneath the thumbnail is written a compelling rhetorical question, punctuated with question marks: “The Baby Snatcher. Did She Deserve It Or A Victim Herself?”. It comes across as indifferent, unfocused, but it attracts viewership, and thus ad revenue. Just the phrases ‘makeup tutorial’ and ‘serial killer’ seem commedically antithetical.
So is there even a way to make a true crime video in an ethical way? I am someone who watches a lot of YouTube, specifically long form content, often video essays, but sometimes I have found myself listening to a true crime video. When I do beget my qualms with the genre, the only creator I tend to visit is Eleanor Neale. I have in the past tended to view her videos as more ethical or sensitive than those made by makeup creators or mukbangers, but how much of that is really true. Eleanor Neale is a British true crime YouTuber who has a channel with 2.8 million subscribers. She talks about her interest and intent in an interview with the BBC; “I think I rinsed the whole documentary section in one week,” she says. “I was like, ‘right okay, I want a job in that, somehow’. After discovering her passion, she went on to study psychology in university, interested in “how [a] killer’s brains are so different from ours,” This is a sincere motive, and it’s something that probably appeals to most of us. So does this mean that Eleanor Neale is making ethical true crime? Does the intention matter when consuming the final product?
I’d like to propose a few criteria that an ‘ethical’ true crime video should meet: A victim centered approach, respect for both victims and surviving family, and an avoidance of sensationalism. Eleanor Neale films her video’s plainly, just her in the middle of the frame speaking to a camera against a blank wall, maybe including a photo for context when prompted. The majority of her content centers the victim, empathising and exploring facets of their personality, telling their story. But like Sarian, Neale tends to sensationalise the crimes she focuses on. The nature of YouTube as a platform cultivates a need for thumbnails and titles that grab attention. In order to sustain a career on YouTube, you need to attract viewership, trying to convince a person that your video is the most interesting, shocking, compelling — essentially, leveraging the power of ‘clickbait’. In the process of doing this, a creator distorts the story of real life people to support their own needs to make it marketable. The entire platform of YouTube leans away from an ethical presentation of true crime, according to my proposed true crime criteria.
Why we enjoy true crime, and the human psychology
So now after we have consumed all this criminal content, why are we entertained? What is it about the human mind that is so fascinated with the gore and guts of watching the recreations of real-life murder?
It inevitably comes down to a number of factors. Dean Fido, Lecturer in Psychology at the University of Derby Online Learning, says that we as humans seek excitement, “when we mix this desire with insight and solving a puzzle, it can give us a short, sharp shock of adrenaline, but in a relatively safe environment.” It’s the feeling of experiencing danger without actually exposing yourself to it. Besides this feeling of adrenaline and control, true crime appeals to our innate curiosity. We are amazed at what kind of person could be so cruel, intrigued by a mindset so foreign to us, many viewers crave to understand what makes the serial killer. It’s this same curiosity which engages us to the puzzle of crime, that ‘who-dun-it’ formula that many true crime shows follow, taking us through the steps leading up to the arrest of a killer.
True crime has a capability to tap into our psychology, those innate elements of entertainment, modern day media on Netflix and YouTube know this draw and capitalise off it. We are sold a narrative with magnetic characters and a compelling plot line, marketed under the guide of information and awareness. We are witnessing the transformation of real life experiences into sensational narratives. Regardless of the ethical implications of the genre, more people than ever find themselves immersed in a sea of true crime content, and I think we will continue to see this trend for years to come.
