We often think of murderers as shady, hooded figures stalking deserted alleys. Their identities are shrouded in mystery. We may get a name and an age, maybe an occupation and criminal history if we are lucky.
The lack of information on murderers allows us to put them in a box—‘here lies the worst humanity has to offer, and I am nothing like them.’
Luigi Mangione turned that discourse on its head. After he was revealed as the alleged murderer of Brian Thompson, CEO of UnitedHealthcare, internet sleuths went to work, taking out pieces of his life and fitting them conveniently into their narrative to defend, or worse romanticise him.
In a world where online lives are easily accessible, how we view future criminal suspects has changed. It seems that Mangione’s online persona made him more relatable and forced people to ignore that at the end of it all a father of two was murdered in cold blood on the streets of New York.
For the first time, in true Gen Z style, a murder suspect’s entire life was available online for people to dissect, analyse and speculate over.
Mangione, 26, seemed to have it all—an Ivy-league education, picture-perfect abs and generational wealth, the holy trinity of dating app profiles.
People on the internet thirsted over his Italian genes, full head of hair and million-dollar smile.
A murder suspect was being objectified.
But it wasn’t the surface-level fawning that bothered me so much. After all, the physical appearances of murder suspects have been admired in the past. Remember Jeremy Meeks, the convicted felon and former gang member?
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A level of rationalising
It’s when Luigi’s personality was deciphered from his online presence that left me feeling disconcerted.
From the books listed on his Goodreads profile to his affinity for Taylor Swift and Lana Del Rey, nuggets of information were uncovered and presented to the public as insights into the mind of Mangione. It almost came across as some level of rationalising.
First, it was the motive for the crime—Mangione’s X profile has an x-ray of an alleged spinal cord injury. His Goodreads profile has two books on back pain.
This led people on social media to believe Mangione had a personal vendetta against the health insurance industry. Many people—including myself—empathised with his struggle.
But this deep dive led to people almost making excuses for him based on his taste in books and podcasts.
The books he read on algorithms, productivity hacks, Elon Musk’s biography and Sapiens all made Mangione relatable. His five-star rating of The Lorax, a children’s book by Dr. Seuss, left many confused but appreciative of his softer side. It appeared like a social media trial, except the sympathies lied with the murderer.
His X profile, now at over 400k followers, revealed his interest in popular science. He follows podcaster and neuroscience professor Andrew Huberman, reshares posts on the shortcomings of contemporary society and loves philosophical questions (the trolley problem featured a few times).
He became a folk hero of the far Left overnight, but quickly gained admiration from the Right for his gym-bro aesthetic and podcast tastes.
People across the political spectrum relate to him.
But what I find even more alarming is this cult that has developed around Mangione, based on the overabundance of information about him.
Memes are being created that refer to his namesake—the popular Nintendo video game character. Some have even him photoshopped in religious attire, calling him the patron saint of healthcare justice.
It’s not so much that an alleged murderer is being celebrated or welcomed with open arms into the pop culture hall of fame. High-profile assassinations have been celebrated in the past, albeit not at this scale.
Digital footprints have changed the game.
Views are personal.
(Edited by Theres Sudeep)