True crime, often described as both frightening and comforting, presents a paradox that aligns with our lived experiences. For women, who statistically face a higher risk of violent crimes, true crime media can serve as a form of psychological rehearsal. By hearing others’ stories, they can gain a sense of control, feeling better equipped to recognize warning signs or respond to risk. This is not fear-mongering, but a form of threat management.
True crime also has a strong social dimension. Communities formed around true crime provide spaces for women to share their own stories, feel seen, and connect with others who understand. These communities offer a platform to explore vulnerability, justice, and identity, transforming true crime from mere entertainment into a tool for coping, connection, and collective healing.
There were some excellent books in 2025 that tackled some of our most notorious true crime cases, like Mamie Till-Mobley’s Death of Innocence, and others that took a deeper dive into true crime properties I had already enjoyed, such as Empire of Orgasm by Ellen Huet and Bone Valley by Gilbert King. But my favorite of the year was a smaller, more intimate crimoir: The Dead Dad Diaries by Erin Slaughter. Slaughter’s father was murdered the night before her senior year of high school, and her book elegantly, intelligently, and at times humorously traces her grief while also reflecting on what true crime can and cannot deliver in terms of truth and justice. The form of The Dead Dad Diaries is innovative, using footnotes and primary documents from Slaughter’s “archive of grief” to teach her readers how to engage with her story in a way that is not exploitative, but almost a co-excavation of her emotional past. It’s a remarkable book.
True crime follows a reassuring narrative arc with the promise of justice and resolution. When real-world systems feel chaotic or unjust, these stories offer a sense of closure, moral clarity, control and a little escapism—an antidote to the ambiguity of everyday life.
