Viewers or Villains?

I’m addicted to true crime, and chances are so are you. But it’s time for us to sober up.

With every new film, episode or podcast release, the public debates true crime’s exploitative nature, often blaming the producers. But I see it differently. 

The real distortion between entertainment and reality lies in the consumer's relationship with the content. Producers aren’t the only ones turning victims into mere plot points; so are we.

This realization hit me during a recent bedtime binge on TikTok. I stumbled upon a video by Katie Santry, an ordinary Columbus, Ohio mom who found herself at the center of  a DIY homicide investigation.

It started in late September when Santry discovered a rolled-up rug buried in her backyard. In a lighthearted video, she jokingly asked TikTok for paranormal advice, blaming strange activity on her eerie find.

The video hooked her 21 million viewers —including me— who couldn’t help but wonder: could there be a body in there? Overnight her comment section exploded with theories and demands, birthing her series “What’s in the rug?”

The lighthearted tone didn’t last though. Consumers’ excitement quickly changed from honest concern to entertainment fantasies. The purpose of true crime was completely diminished.  

Although reluctant to “just do it for the plot,” Santry felt “high school peer pressure”  to dig deeper – literally and figuratively, for their entertainment. After a few days, TikTok's obsession drew Columbus police, investigators, cadaver dogs and an extraction team to flood her home.

It was like “watching the plot of a movie unfold” one commenter wrote, confirming the disconnect between on- and off-screen violence.

It made me question everything about true crime entertainment—and myself. Morbid curiosity is normal, but Santry’s viewers prove our infatuation with true crime is what’s creating the unethical situation.

Police advised against Santry livestreaming the investigation, and she finally denied the audience of what they wanted. 

 She recognized this decision might “disappoint a lot of you … but imagine there [was] something there and someone has to see that as a relative.” 

Fortunately the rug held nothing more than dirt, but viewers weren’t satisfied with this conclusion. Even with no crime committed, they continued to glamorize the potential violence fueled by their desensitization and addiction to thrills.

One comment that stuck with me: “Why am I bothered that there wasn’t a body?” It was a grim reality check. Are we consuming these stories responsibly, or have we reduced them to mere entertainment?

True crime has become one of the most addictive genres in modern media – and it’s everywhere. Edison Research found 84% of Americans consume true crime content starting as young as 13-years-old. But if we changed our habits, maybe the issue could be resolved.

Admittedly, these problems wouldn’t exist without true crime creators, but they wouldn’t be glamorized if consumers didn’t eat it up.

Fans like Liam Smart, a Loyola University Chicago film studies graduate, recognize the uncomfortable hyperfocus on killers, often at the expense of victims. Smart argues this glorification isn't just about morbid curiosity – there are meticulous storytelling choices.

“You need views to get money, and people are always going to pick the story about a monster over an average joe,” he said. “So that’s what they make.” 

Smart noted how consumer demand drives sensationalism and unknowingly influences production decisions, similar to Santry’s case. His biggest concern is how this morbid curiosity desensitizes us.

“I started listening to true crime podcasts when I worked alone in a warehouse … at first they really freaked me out, but by the end of that summer I was falling asleep to them,” he said.

Santry’s story follows the same desensitized pattern. Her audience was only hooked on the thrill of solving a cold-case. 

“People gobble up this type of content,” Smart said , “usually without considering its impact on those involved, or on ourselves.”

The surplus of crime content is normalizing horrific stories and packaging tragedy as entertainment, but instead of pointing fingers at the producers we need to have a reality check.

Santry and Smart left me questioning my own habits as a true crime consumer – I can’t control what the media produces, but I can control my relationship with it.

So I leave you with this …

Any true crime junkie can probably name five or more serial killers without hesitation. But how many victims can you name?