Why Do Women Love True Crime?

WRITTEN BY HANNAH KINDER

Last year, 74 Australian women were murdered in Australia. So far, at the time of writing, 2020 has seen 37 deaths. Violence against women is one of the greatest, most widely accepted offences pervading our society, and has been described by the World Health Organisation as a global health problem of epidemic proportions. I’d describe it, in decidedly less elegant terms, as reflective of the patriarchy’s kink for control and nicely oppressed (dead) women.

Given these statistics, it may seem strange and slightly masochistic that 75% of all true crime listeners worldwide are comprised of women. Not only that, they are also the leading instigators of this content; hosting, hypothesising, and building cult-like communities fascinated with the savagery statistically skewed to befall them. Shows like the insanely popular ‘My Favourite Murder’ podcast keep listeners company while they fold washing or fill spreadsheets, detailing the precise way in which victims are hunted and killed, relishing in the sheer horror of it all. Why are women obsessed with true crime? The answer to this is unsurprising and comes from a very basic, primitive place: women fear being victims more than men do. By finding fatal faults in the carefully constructed armour other women had built, we can ensure that we do not make the same mistakes ourselves. The more informed we are, the more we’ve examined what set somebody off, what made them kill, what warning signs to look for; the safer and more empowered we feel. That seems like a logical, sagacious reaction, right? It’s just a matter of preparing yourself for your imminent and sadistically-executed death, no big deal. All in a day’s work! Psychologist Dr Aimee Daramus takes it one step further by describing true crime for women as “very much a dress-rehearsal”. I mean, excuse me, while I go and howl into an oblivion upon reading that. Might as well start on my vocal warm ups while I’m there, in preparation for opening night of my imminent assassination.

Of course, there is one gaping flaw in this plan. Or actually, several. For one, it assumes

that wearing your hair in a bun rather than a ponytail, or not hitchhiking on a remote highway will save you, when we both know that’s not the case. People (overwhelmingly men) not killing women will save you. No matter how many safe and sensible decisions you make, how many dark alleyways you avoid, how much you stifle your life; you’re competing against a system specifically set up for your failure.

It also fails to consider the fact that half of all women killed, are murdered at the hands of their partner. Of course, that’s not to say that violent, random acts of femicide don’t happen: Eurydice Dixon, Courtney Herron, Aiia Maasarwe, and the horrific deaths of innumerable other women demonstrate in unforgivable profusion that they do. On average though, one woman a week is killed by her current or former partner in Australia. Romance, it seems, is dead after all; and so are the women.

What this all means to say is, true crime alone cannot save you. If popping a couple caffeine pills six hours before an unwritten essay is due has taught me anything, it’s that there’s a stark difference between feeling prepared and actually being prepared. In this case, dissecting stories of pain and violence will not protect anyone in a system that cultivates this kind of behaviour.

Even so, there’s nothing inherently wrong with true crime. I’m not here to vilify the genre, nor those who enjoy it – in fact, I think I think there is immense value to be found in true crime, particularly given its predilection for prominent female voices. But it is important to recognise that this value isn’t derived from specious survival tips. You’d probably learn far more watching Bear Grylls drink his own urine, than examining Ted Bundy’s strangling technique. Instead, the power of true crime lies in its virality.

Within a culture that values a woman’s silence and submission above all else, mutiny can come in many shapes and forms. Women capitalising on the brutality disproportionately inflicted upon their gender is an especially spicy take, though, and one I completely endorse.

The proliferation of true crime content has given women a voice, and a coinciding platform to use that voice, in a way that has never existed before. It has galvanised us to tell our stories and take back some of the power in an accessible and harmless way. Sure, we can’t seem to stem the surge in belligerence, but we can talk about it! In fact, it’s the only thing we can do (at least our therapists will be proud).

Two women chatting amongst themselves, to an audience consisting principally of other women, may seem silly and superficial on the surface, not unlike most traditionally “feminine” activities (like, you know, communicating). But in reality, it’s an incredibly powerful and liberating practice; a strident display of innovation and rebellion in the face of (not to be dramatic, but) death.

True crime is political. Until we live in a world where Hannah Baxter and Allison Baden-Clay aren’t an anticipated nightly news segment, we will continue to tell their stories. Blood, sweat and tears, whistling past the graveyard.