Why are we obsessed with true crime? Or more to the point, why am I obsessed with true crime. It’s awful. It’s god awful. Yet in the last 12-months I have spent more time listening to Karen and Georgia from My Favourite Murder than I have speaking to my own mother.

I’m not alone – I know from the fact that when I listen to the live episodes I can hear what seems to be 10,000 other people in the audience wildly cheering – screaming for blood. But according to Global News “since the birth of NPR’s wildly popular 2014 podcast Serial, the way people view true crime has changed.”

In the aptly named, and extremely relevant article, by the ABC ‘Why Women Love True Crime Podcasts’ I discovered that women such as myself are almost solely responsible for the upswing in crime-related bullshit available for mass consumption. I can only imagine why. Given that the heinous crimes perpetrated against women in Melbourne alone since the beginning of the year keep smacking headlong into the media turnpike.

A 2010 study found that women are more likely to be fans of true crime than men.  Is it empowering? does being informed make you safer? For me listening to true crime is a weird sort of self defence; like learning not to run upstairs when your house is on fire.

I tend to agree with Jo Thornley, host of cult podcast Zealot, that part of why women are more likely to consume true crime, is that it forms a (somewhat) effective way to process everyday misogyny, or as Thornley puts it: “There’s so much horror everywhere; turning some of it into stories helps us deal with it.”

There’s an ethical dilemma, though, which I’ve lost sleep over. Consuming true-crime content as entertainment leaves the door wide open for criticism: like glorifying the deeds of sick men, mythologising mental illness, denigrating the memory of someone who lost their life. Whose story do you have a right to tell? Whose story should be told, but got skipped?

There was an insightful article on this topic in The Vulture by Alice Bolin, who delineated crime content into high and low brow.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about these gaps between high and low, since there are people who consume all murder content indiscriminately, and another subset who only allow themselves to enjoy the “smart” kind. The difference between highbrow and lowbrow in the new true crime is often purely aesthetic[…] But for these so-called prestige true-crime offerings, the question of ethics — of the potential to interfere in real criminal cases and real people’s lives — is even more important, precisely because they are taken seriously. “

Alice Bolin, The Ethical Dilemma of High Brow True Crime (2018)

As a voyeur, you are granted the shot of adrenalin that comes with the carnage, but are also made dispassionate – safe in the confines of your living room – the victim becomes dehumanised.

Like most good things, though, true crime is bad for you.
Associated Professor of Sociology at the University of Toronto answers the question; what impact does true crime have on your body if you listen to it regularly? “Everybody is different,” Lee explained. “Any time you’re exposing yourself to extreme violence, you always run the risk of potentially traumatising yourself. People have to be aware of that, and listen to their body’s reactions to these kinds of series.”

Then there’s desensitisation… A few nights ago my partner climbed into bed only to find me snoring away while the story of a woman having her arms and legs severed played dolefully in the background. A grisly lullaby.

On one hand being educated means being aware, whether it’s not letting your drink leave your sight at a party, or not accepting lifts home with strangers. But on the other hand, these harrowing stories leave you cold to the acts of everyday violence – usually less glamorous – that are no less traumatising.