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True crime has become a cultural mainstay, especially among women who say it helps them process fear, find recognition, or imagine justice. Popular series and podcasts—from Making a Murderer to newer documentaries—feed that demand while prompting debate about ethics and impact.
Why many women are drawn to true crime
Streaming services and podcast charts now crowd with criminal cases, reinvestigations, and documentary series. For a large portion of the audience, the appeal goes beyond morbid curiosity: these stories can feel like a way to make sense of personal or collective vulnerability.
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Women disproportionately make up the genre’s audience and are reported to be about twice as likely as men to listen to true crime podcasts regularly. That pattern has prompted creators and commentators to ask what emotional needs the genre serves.
Validation, preparation and moral clarity
Listeners and producers describe multiple, sometimes overlapping reasons they consume true crime. Some find it cathartic, a form of validation that acknowledges experiences often minimized in daily life. Others say it helps them anticipate danger and think through safety strategies.
Psychiatrist Dr. Jean Kim has suggested a mix of self-preservation and vicarious participation: viewers may confront their fears indirectly, watching scenarios that feel forbidden or horrifying while remaining physically safe. She has also noted that these narratives can offer a clear moral frame—an uncomplicated sense of right and wrong that can be reassuring.
The darker side: sensationalism and victim-blaming
Not everyone sees the genre as benign. Ruth Davison, former chief executive of the domestic abuse charity Refuge, warns that true crime can unintentionally harm survivors and distort public understanding. She points out that reporting frequently dramatizes events, fictionalizes victims, or even generates sympathy for perpetrators.
Viewers may slip into an outsider’s judgment—asking what they would have done differently—without grasping the full complexity of abuse situations. Davison stresses that violence against women and girls is a crime, not entertainment for “armchair detectives,” and that perpetrators make an active choice to harm.
Guidelines for responsible storytelling
Advocates and service organizations have pushed for more careful approaches. Solace Women’s Aid developed the Solace Test to help creators evaluate depictions of violence against women and girls. The test asks three questions: is the inclusion necessary to the story, does it present the truth rather than reinforcing cultural myths, and does it avoid victim-blaming?
How creators and researchers read the genre
Journalist Rachel Monroe, in her book Savage Appetites, links interest in forensic and criminal storytelling to personal histories. Research she cites found that some women entering forensic fields point to previous trauma as a motivating factor. Monroe writes, “Pain doesn’t have to be motivational to be a motivating force,” suggesting collective and individual wounds can both drive curiosity.
Podcasters and producers who began as consumers often bring that perspective into their work. Charlie Webster, host of the true crime podcast Scamanda—which examines the case of Amanda Riley—says she originally turned to the genre as escapism, but later recognized how listeners identify with the stories. For Webster, hearing others say “this happened to me” or “I see you” is a measure of responsible storytelling.
A shift away from the perpetrator gaze
In recent years, some projects have moved the focus from perpetrators to victims and communities. Documentaries now more frequently center survivors, families, and the social consequences of violence.
One example cited by producers is the 2025 film The Perfect Neighbor, which examines the killing of Ajike “AJ” Owens and emphasizes the impact on her family and neighborhood. Made with the support of Owens’s mother and drawing on police bodycam footage, the film aims to show the human consequences rather than turn the case into spectacle.
Survivors shaping the narrative
That perspective is also visible in work by survivors who become storytellers. Webster’s 2021 documentary Nowhere to Run recounts the abuse she experienced from a running coach in Sheffield and reflects a commitment to handling such stories with care. Producers who are survivors often speak of a duty to center victims and avoid gratuitous reenactment.
Some fiction writers have echoed this shift. In her debut psychological thriller, The Quiet Tenant, the author deliberately told the story from the vantage point of those harmed rather than giving the killer a voice—an editorial choice meant to prioritize the lived experiences of victims over lurid details about the perpetrator.
