“Why Are We All Fascinated
by Criminals?”

The success of true crime can first be explained by the fact that these stories are real. When we watch a crime series, we know it is fiction. By contrast, in a real criminal case, we know that the victims, the families and the events actually existed. This creates a much stronger emotional involvement and reinforces our curiosity, our empathy and our need, as human beings, to understand.

New platforms have also transformed the way we consume these stories. Podcasts, documentaries and short-form content on social media allow the public to follow a case, discuss it and sometimes even develop their own hypotheses. The viewer is no longer merely an observer: they feel as though they are actively taking part in the search for answers.

These stories also allow for a form of social comparison. By observing what happens to others, we try to understand our own place in the world, our vulnerabilities and our ability to react in similar situations.

Moreover, true-crime productions now borrow the codes of crime fiction: suspense, twists, revelations and complex investigations. The boundary between documentary and entertainment has gradually blurred, making this content particularly compelling.

But this success also raises an important question. Behind every criminal case are real victims and real families. Real crime has therefore become a cultural product and sometimes an object of consumption, which forces us to reflect on the balance between the public’s legitimate curiosity and the respect owed to the people concerned.

The phenomenon is neither entirely positive nor entirely negative. Above all, it reveals something profoundly human: our need to understand what frightens us, what intrigues us and, ultimately, what helps us better understand the society in which we live. As is often the case in the human sciences, it is difficult to adopt a purely binary interpretation of the phenomenon.

The success of true crime also rests on a particular paradox: we can identify with the victims, their relatives or even certain aspects of the story, while remaining at a distance from the event itself. We are both emotionally involved and protected by our position as spectators. It is probably this dual position – between identification and detachment – that partly explains the powerful attraction of these stories.

I think our ‘fascination’ with criminal cases cannot be explained solely by the search for strong sensations. Of course, suspense, mystery and interest naturally capture our attention. These stories trigger an adrenaline rush and stimulate our curiosity, but within a safe setting: we observe danger from a distance, from our living room, without being directly confronted with it.

However, there is also something deeper at work. Human beings are constantly trying to understand what surrounds them. Faced with a particularly horrific crime, we try to answer fundamental questions: who did this, why, and how? Human beings struggle to accept the irrational. Looking for explanations is a way of reducing the uncertainty and anxiety generated by evil.

There is also a protective function. By taking an interest in these cases, we feel that we are learning to identify dangers and to prepare ourselves better for similar situations. We try to reassure ourselves by understanding what happened to others.

Finally, criminal cases confront us with fundamental questions such as responsibility, justice, violence and the limits of human nature. If crime fascinates us so much, it is not only because it frightens us. It is also because it helps us understand human beings, society and, in a way, ourselves.

This phenomenon can largely be explained by the way cases are told. When we look at a criminal’s background, childhood, trauma or the violence they may have suffered, it is natural, within what might be called ‘normal’ functioning, to develop empathy. Understanding what led a person to commit an act is not the same as excusing it, but that boundary can sometimes become blurred in public opinion.

This empathy is often reinforced when the judicial institution is perceived as failing or unfair. In that context, part of the public may be more inclined to give the accused the benefit of the doubt and to question the official version of events.

Social media also play an important role. A video lasting only a few seconds or a viral post cannot convey the full complexity of a case. By simplifying the facts, some content can portray the criminal as a victim of the system, a figure of rebellion or a symbol of injustice. Emotion can then take precedence over legal analysis.

Above all, this phenomenon reveals a clash between two different logics. On one side, judicial logic is based on facts, evidence and the law. On the other, narrative logic is based on identification and emotion. When an individual’s personal story becomes more striking than the offence itself, part of the public may ultimately side with the criminal rather than with the institution responsible for judging them.

This tendency is even more pronounced today because we live in an environment saturated with information. Social media, fake news and now artificial intelligence make access to reliable information even more complex. In highly publicised cases, it can sometimes become difficult for the general public to distinguish established facts from interpretations or misleading content.

That is why it is essential to maintain a degree of distance. Empathy is a human reflex, but it must never replace an analysis of the facts.

Social media have profoundly transformed our relationship with criminal cases. Today, the public is no longer merely a spectator: it sometimes becomes an actor in the investigation by commenting, analysing or sharing information. In that sense, we can indeed speak of a collective, participatory experience.

On the one hand, this is a significant development. Digital platforms allow everyone to participate actively by commenting, analysing and sharing hypotheses. In some cold cases, a fresh perspective, an overlooked lead or collaborative analysis has even helped move an investigation forward. I am thinking of the class of criminology students at the University of Texas who recently solved the 1991 cold case of Cynthia Gonzalez. This shows that collective intelligence can sometimes complement the work of professionals.

But there are also major risks. Social media encourage the spread of rumours, false accusations and conspiracy theories that can harm investigations and damage innocent people. An innocent person identified as a suspect on a social network can be subjected to irreversible public vilification. And we must not forget that justice is not a game: investigators are trained to handle evidence rigorously, not to follow intuitions or the viral trends of the moment.

The real challenge, therefore, is to strike a balance between citizen participation and judicial rigour. Social media can be a valuable tool, provided that everyone remains aware of their responsibilities and of the respect owed both to victims and to those implicated in a case.

Social media have therefore enabled the public, in a certain sense, to take part in cases. But this participation must remain complementary, not a substitute. An investigation is genuine professional teamwork in which each participant is assigned a specific task based on their experience and expertise.

Many cold cases, such as that of little Grégory, continue to fascinate the public. This case combines several particularly powerful elements: the tragic death of a child, the exceptionally complex family dimension of the case, a mystery that remains unresolved more than forty years after the events, and the absence of a definitive answer. The case is all the more striking because it unfolded within an environment usually associated with protection and safety. All these elements naturally generate emotion and curiosity, but also a profound sense of collective frustration at the absence of judicial truth.

One of the most striking aspects of the case is undoubtedly the figure of the ‘Raven’. The anonymous letters, the phone calls and this invisible presence helped establish a lasting mystery. The Raven alone embodies the intrigue surrounding the case, representing all the grey areas that continue to fuel questions. It is precisely this kind of unresolved element that sustains collective fascination.

But that is exactly where the question of the boundary between informing and fascinating arises. To inform is to enable the public to understand the facts, the issues surrounding the investigation and how the justice system works. Fascination, by contrast, begins when attention focuses more on the mystery, the hypotheses or the most spectacular details than on the search for understanding.

The risk is then that we forget this is a human tragedy. Behind every case are victims, families and sometimes people who have been wrongly accused and may endure the consequences of media exposure for years. For relatives, this constant exposure can be extremely difficult to bear.

The media therefore have an important responsibility: to find a balance between the public’s right to be informed and the respect owed to those concerned and to the professionals responsible for the case. Discussing a criminal case is legitimate when it contributes to collective reflection or helps us better understand society. By contrast, when tragedy becomes primarily an object of consumption or entertainment, an ethical line has been crossed.

The real question, therefore, is not whether we should continue talking about these cases, but how to talk about them without losing sight of the human beings and the professionals behind the crime story.

The Dupont de Ligonnès case is, in my view, the perfect example of what transforms a crime into a genuine media legend and collective obsession. And that is no coincidence.

First, mystery and the absence of answers play a central role. Since 2011, the unresolved questions surrounding this disappearance and quadruple family murder have fuelled countless hypotheses: what really happened? Where is the main suspect? This uncertainty sustains a lasting, almost novelistic suspense that captures our attention. The human brain does not tolerate uncertainty well. When a case remains without a clear answer, we naturally tend to search for meaning and fill in the gaps. This is a classic psychological mechanism: we need coherence, organisation and simplification. The more questions a case raises, the more it generates hypotheses, debates and speculation. And the more we speculate, the more deeply it becomes embedded in the collective imagination.

Second, the case has exceptional narrative and symbolic potential. The media often favour complex stories, rich in twists and turns, that resemble the plots of films or crime novels. Here, all the ingredients are present: an apparently ordinary father, an unexplained disappearance, disturbing clues and an ending that remains unknown... In addition, the case touches on collective fears, such as betrayal within the family and the idea that danger can emerge precisely where we feel safest. That is what gives this case a universal resonance.

Finally, this kind of case affects us because we can easily project ourselves into it: ‘What if this happened to my family, to the people close to me?’ The closer a story feels to us, the more deeply it affects us.

Ultimately, if the Dupont de Ligonnès case continues to fascinate even fifteen years later, it is probably because it is not only about crime. It speaks to our fears, our need to understand and our difficulty accepting that a story can remain without an answer.

We are indeed increasingly witnessing a form of parallel trial on social media. Today, internet users no longer simply follow an investigation: they comment on the facts, share their hypotheses and sometimes draw their own conclusions before a judicial decision has even been handed down.

Social media often operate on emotion and immediacy, whereas justice depends on time, evidence and the presumption of innocence. This speed can encourage hasty judgements and expose some people to genuine harassment campaigns even though not all the elements of the case are known.

Social media have also changed the public’s place in judicial cases. In the past, most citizens remained mere observers. Today, anyone can comment, analyse and broadcast their point of view to thousands of people. This evolution has considerably reduced the distance between the actors in a case and those following it, while increasing media pressure and the attention focused on judicial proceedings.

Social media obviously do not replace the courts, but they increasingly influence public opinion. Today’s challenge is therefore to reconcile freedom of expression and public debate with the fundamental principles that guarantee a fair justice system.

Ultimately, social media did not create the desire to judge, but they have given it unprecedented visibility and reach. Where such discussions once remained private, they now take place in full public view, where anyone can feel entitled to judge these cases. Even before a judicial decision is handed down, part of public opinion has often already formed its own conviction.

Reducing fascination with crime to a simple form of voyeurism would probably be insufficient. The phenomenon spans the ages, from ancient tragedies to contemporary podcasts, suggesting that it responds to deeper mechanisms and has always been rooted in our societies. This fascination notably reflects our natural curiosity about what falls outside the norm, what worries us or what exceeds our understanding.

Crime confronts individuals with fundamental questions about good and evil, justice, responsibility and violence. These stories allow us to explore the limits of the human condition and reflect on the values that structure life in society. In this sense, interest in crime is not merely an attraction to the spectacular. It also reflects a desire to understand human beings, their behaviour and the vulnerabilities of the society in which they live.

It also shows that major criminal cases often act as revealing mirrors of the fears, tensions and vulnerabilities of an era. They are not only about perpetrators or victims; they also call into question the society observing them.

Thus, while an element of fascination undeniably exists, the enduring interest in crime seems above all to reflect a human need to understand evil, make sense of violence and question our relationship with justice and society.