Two years ago, I reflected on my relationship to true crime media after knowing a murderer. I detailed the ways we could approach this genre more responsibly and carefully while still consuming it.
I’m writing again to update my opinion: I’m done with true crime media.
Where does true crime stand?
True crime was popular even before the global pandemic forced us inside and rocketed podcast listenership to new heights. This genre, and later media industry, has its upsides. It has educational potential pertaining to the workings and failings of the justice system. It’s brought awareness to overlooked cases, particularly those involving marginalized victims who would not receive mainstream reporting. Some consumers support advocacy initiatives and bring their knowledge into the real world.
True crime fans who involve themselves deeply may form parasocial relationships to cases and the people involved. That interview with Kathryn Coduto is the first time I’ve considered how parasocial relationships can be formed with events, not just people. At the worst end of these relationships, true crime fans get directly involved. Some people harass perpetrators or survivors. Others take part in investigations with no regard for the potential consequences. People claim they’re doing it out of a desire to help, but I wonder why these ‘helpers’ don’t stop when they’re told to cool it.
Can we consume true crime responsibly?
Casual consumers like my best friends and I also began seeing our interest mirror the parasocial. We became emotionally invested in ‘updates’ and ‘breaking news’ on high-profile cases. We speculated with each other over perpetrators and methods. These daily occurrences on the far side of the world became fixtures in our lives even though they had zero value to us. Engaging in the deluge of violence against women and other marginalized people was exhausting. It fostered hypervigilance, pessimism, and burnout—as if we didn’t have enough of that.
We turned our focus toward consuming true crime media ‘responsibly’.
Once we started implementing ‘responsible’ ways to take on this media, we got pissed off at the content creators. Presenters peddle the stories of victims, families, and secondary survivors like gossip—often against their wishes. Presenters favour cases that’ll drive clicks: the gruesome, the famous, and the ongoing. They fixate on serial killers and spree-killers, raising the murderers’ names to mythical status while their victims are buried again underneath graphic descriptions and ad reads.
Even when I enjoyed true crime, I found podcast names like ‘My Favorite Murder’ distasteful. The fans of that podcast are called ‘Murderinos’, a name the hosts gleefully use. Some creators fall into copaganda and portray investigators as heroic figures while ignoring the police negligence and corruption that made these crimes possible. ‘True crime comedy’ is a whole subgenre. The comedy is ostensibly used to make disturbing content more bearable, but shifts it away from education to entertainment. Laughs shared over buried bodies—some still warm or not yet located.
And then there’s the monetization. True crime media isn’t a grassroots thing between us and the charming hosts. That’s the parasocial relationship talking. It’s a media industry driven by events, merchandising, and eyeballs. It’s no accident that creators host shows about deeply disturbing events and then line the show with wall-to-wall ads for security and therapy companies. If you want to know what the production companies and advertisers of true crime media think of their listeners, read this, straight from the advertiser’s mouth.
My friend group hit the breaking point when our ‘responsible’ podcasts began promoting true crime cruises. An opportunity to share margaritas and laughs with the hosts. Themed events and dress-up nights. Pool parties! All against the backdrop of people who were raped, tortured, and murdered. That was a new low.
I listen to history podcasts about genocide and war. Their subject matter is long-past, but I’d still be gravely insulted if the hosts promoted their upcoming Wartime Rape Con, or the Armenian Genocide Cruisetravaganza. That’s what ‘CrimeWave at Sea’ and ‘CrimeCruise’ sound like after the parasocial blinders come off.
Yeah, I’m done with true crime.
There are ethically aligned creators out there. I’m sure of it. Ones who disseminate true crime content more responsibly. But being a conscientious media consumer is tiring. I’m battling AI-generated garbage, grifters and scams, radicalization rabbit holes, and boycott this-and-that. I don’t have goddamned mental bandwidth for more responsible consumerism. Sometimes, cutting and replacing is the easier choice.
How do I quit true crime?
So here’s how to quit true crime and seek out alternatives.
True crime entertainment satisfies some key desires. Some people are drawn to shock-factor and grossness. Others use it to visualize fears of being victims—and how to react. Either way, this kind of media makes people feel like they’re confronting existing fears while being able to disengage anytime. The shock, fear, and emotiveness inherent to this media makes it more than a little addictive.
The desire to regulate our fears and connect with a desire to feel in control also makes true crime so popular with women. It can assuage some of our fears, but it can also turn into paranoia and hypervigilance. If that happens, BetterHelp and SimpliSafe, are ready to take your money after the hosts have softened you up.
The thing that made a difference for me was identifying the itch that true crime scratches, and replacing it. That looks different for everyone, but for me:
- I enjoyed the educational value and documentary format.
- I found gory, in-depth descriptions stressful and detrimental to my experience.
- I don’t like any show that veer into supernatural or ‘spooky’ content.
Seeing the gap in my heart that needed filling gave me criteria for what I wanted in future media. Namely that it needed to be educational, omit the most gratuitous descriptions of violence, and remain grounded in science and expertise.
That led me to places I’ll now recommend to you, dear reader.
Alternatives for the true crime itch
1. Air accident investigations
Hear me out.
Air accident investigations engage our fears of falling victim to terrible, uncontrollable disasters. But they usually have an uplifting message.
The causes are diverse: accidents, natural causes, incompetence, or malice. Like true crime, you are presented with a wealth of evidence about when and how the disaster occurred. There’s way less speculation because air accidents are supported by detailed recording and more competent investigative authorities (let’s not dwell on the last one).
Major aviation disasters almost always lead to sweeping safety changes and regulation. That way, air crash investigations turn into ‘hopecore’. Episodes usually end on a note about how this specific thing should never happen again, and the industry has learned from the incident. That offers far more closure than unsolved torture-murder cases or hearing that a police department investigated themselves and found no wrongdoing.
Many stories involve spectacular confidence and heroism. Many of them have few or no casualties. It’s a good fit for people who want to lean hard into investigation, expertise, and optimism. I enjoy Green Dot Aviation and Mentour Pilot, both of which are hosted by experienced pilots and trainers. The former is drier and technical, and the latter leans into storytelling.
2. History podcasts
History is full of awful events. Sometimes we even learn from them. There’s also enough separation from historical persons and events to make comedy more palatable.
History podcasts also address one of my major gripes with true crime media: audience participation. When true crime fanbases get out of hand, they harass survivors and families, or impede active investigations. I believe the few cases of true crime fans assisting an investigation are usually outweighed by a litany of harassment, added trauma, and disorganization fans can bring.
Even though I never participated in that fandom, I always felt like I was contributing to it by just listening in. I was supporting the creators who fuel that industry by giving them my attention. I was taking in their ads and opinions.
Audience participation isn’t a problem with historical events. They can be so far gone that there are no survivors, just stories and descendents. It’s far harder to harass people when the victims are anonymous and not being circulated in the news media. If you go back far enough, it’s just impossible to participate.
My favorite history podcast is Lions Led by Donkeys, which is hosted by a historian and descendent of genocide survivors. It is a comedy podcast that makes light of horrible events, but that humour stops during episodes concerning genocide and crimes against humanity. They also don’t have any external sponsors.
3. Horror fiction
My last suggestion departs from the real-world. For some of us, the true crime itch is more about what-ifs than reality. It’s why most true crime hosts speculate on missing details or discuss the supernatural. True crime media fills a ghost story niche in the 21st Century. Many hosts capitalize on the niche by pivoting to ghost stories and ‘spooky’ content or writing crime fiction.
Horror fiction indulges in fear and speculation but gives audiences a safe outlet. It’s fictional, so you don’t have to be as ethically vigilant about how you enjoy it. Families are not retraumatized. Living victims aren’t being exploited for income.
Horror fiction has subgenres for everyone. There are schlocky slasher series, cerebral scares, and eldritch nightmare fuel. Audiobooks of every length for every audience, and audio dramas for a more cinematic experience. My hallmark horror podcast is The Magnus Archives, an eldritch horror series that codified contemporary audio horror.
My first brush with the disastrous potential of true crime was before the industry blew up.
It was 2013. I was a high schooler on Reddit when the Boston Marathon Bombing happened. I saw Reddit devolve into a media frenzy that joined the manhunt for the suspects. This led to misinformation being fed to investigators, which impeded the investigation. Dozens of innocent people were subjected to campaigns of sustained harassment. One of the families harassed by internet detectives was dealing with a missing relative who had died by suicide.
The internet detectives indulged in the spectacle of ongoing tragedy, hampered the actual investigation, and worsened a grieving family’s life. Once the scale of their folly was revealed, the anonymous detectives collapsed into finger-pointing and deflection, then dispersed to evade the consequences.
There’s now an entertainment industry built on indulging ourselves in victims of horrific crimes. The educational value of true crime waned when it became a vehicle to promote cruises and merchandise. The victim support waned when it became a rubbernecking extravaganza.
If you’re confident that you can enjoy true crime responsibly, then by all means, continue. But if you’re burning out or becoming disillusioned, then I hope this article put your feelings into words and gave some new ideas.
