"He's not like that, you don't know him." These are words often whispered by those who find themselves captivated by darkness, women who see a flicker of light in the eyes of convicted criminals. We’ve all heard the stories: letters sent to serial killers, prison-cell marriages, and loyal followers who staunchly believe in the innocence of society's most condemned figures. They challenge court verdicts, professing a deep connection to men whose names are synonymous with cruelty. Is this simple naivety, a profound misunderstanding of human nature? Or does it point to something deeper, a deviation from the norms that guide most of us?

This phenomenon, where attraction blossoms in the shadow of horrific crimes, pushes us to question the very nature of love, morality, and the human psyche.

The Seduction of Infamy

Consider the case of Afton Burton, an ordinary young woman whose life took an extraordinary turn when she encountered the story of Charles Manson. Manson, the infamous leader of a violent cult responsible for heinous murders, became the object of her affection from behind bars. Their correspondence grew into a romance, a story eagerly consumed by the media. She moved to be closer to him, this man condemned to a life in prison. What could possibly draw a person to someone so universally reviled?

This attraction to those who have committed outrageous or violent acts is a form of paraphilia, a condition involving intense sexual arousal to atypical objects, situations, or individuals. It's a phenomenon that more commonly affects women, yet its origins remain a complex puzzle for psychologists. For most, a fundamental sense of morality acts as a shield, an innate barrier against developing feelings for someone like Manson. But what happens when that shield is compromised?

When Morality Shifts

One theory suggests that for some, the normalization of violence can erode these moral safeguards. Morality isn't always a fixed point; it can shift based on our experiences and perceptions. An individual might personally condemn violence, but when it’s distant and not a direct threat, its horror can seem less immediate, less real. Sometimes, terrible acts are even imbued with a twisted sense of purpose. We’ve heard of killers who claimed they were "cleansing" the world. For those who come to believe in such a skewed mission, the violence itself may no longer register as immoral.

This can be seen in the story of a woman named Natalie, who found herself drawn to Alexander Pichushkin, the "Chessboard Killer." Pichushkin saw himself as a judge, deciding who was worthy of life. The court acknowledged his ability to think critically, meaning his cruelty was a deliberate choice. Yet, Natalie, who had been fascinated with true crime stories since childhood, saw something else. After seeing him on television, she wrote to him. Their correspondence blossomed into love, and they even planned to marry. A lifelong interest in the macabre seemed to have crossed a line, evolving into a real-world connection with the very subject of her fascination.

This isn't to say that an interest in true crime inevitably leads to such attachments. For most, the genre serves a different, almost primal, purpose. Our brains are wired for storytelling, allowing us to explore terrifying scenarios from a safe distance. In our minds, we can confront the monster, learn its patterns, and devise an escape. This mental rehearsal can be strangely comforting, creating an illusion of control and safety by turning the horrifying into the familiar.

The Scars of the Past

But what happens when a person's baseline for what feels "safe" is already skewed? The answer may lie in the deep imprints of childhood trauma, particularly disruptions in early attachment. When a child is treated with cruelty by the very people who are supposed to provide safety and love, their understanding of normalcy becomes distorted. To a child's mind, parents cannot be inherently bad. Therefore, if they inflict pain, the child may internalize the belief that they deserve it, that violence is a form of love, and that their role is simply to endure. This early programming can create a blueprint for future relationships, making them susceptible to partners who are controlling or even dangerous.

This is not the only path, however. The allure of the infamous can also be fueled by a powerful, and sometimes pathological, need for attention. Serial killers are objects of intense public fascination. To be linked with one is to be thrust into the spotlight.

This desire for recognition exists on a spectrum. At a healthy level, we seek it through our accomplishments and creativity. At a neurotic level, we might act out for attention but still remain within social and legal bounds. But at the pathological level, a person may be willing to do almost anything for fame. For a narcissist, who is convinced of their own exceptionalism, marrying a notorious killer might not seem like a terrible price for a moment in the sun. The romance between Burton and Manson reportedly soured when he discovered her alleged plan to profit from his corpse after his death—a stark reminder that sometimes, the motivation is not love, but a desperate grasp for significance.

The Charisma of the Psychopath

We cannot discount the powerful, almost hypnotic charisma that some of these men possess. Psychopaths, in particular, are often masters of a manipulative technique known as "love bombing." They overwhelm their target with affection, compliments, and declarations of uniqueness. Phrases like, "I've never met anyone like you," have a potent effect, making the recipient feel seen and cherished in a way they never have before. Richard Ramirez, the "Night Stalker," was known for being polite and charming, despite his horrific crimes. He received countless letters from female admirers during his nearly 24 years on death row.

This speaks to the "halo effect," a cognitive bias where we allow one positive trait, such as physical attractiveness or charm, to create a positive overall impression. A handsome and charismatic person might seem intelligent and trustworthy by default. When someone this appealing offers us something that should be terrifying, our judgment can become clouded. It’s a powerful tool of manipulation, one that makes the unthinkable seem plausible. Ramirez eventually married one of his admirers, Doreen Lioy, who had written him 75 letters. Their marriage lasted for years, a testament to her belief that she knew the "real" man, separate from his crimes. She held on through an attribution bias—the common mental error of thinking, "That could never be me," or in her case, "With me, he would be different." She sincerely believed her love could transcend his darkness. It was only when DNA evidence irrefutably proved his guilt in a case involving a child that the illusion shattered. Some lines, it seems, cannot be uncrossed.

When we fall in love, the analytical parts of our brain quiet down. The frontal lobe, responsible for critical thinking, becomes less active, while the brain’s pleasure centers light up. We are biologically primed to enjoy the moment, to ignore the red flags. For most people, this intoxicating phase eventually balances out. But for someone with a dependent personality disorder, this state of merger can become a permanent way of being. For them, loneliness feels like a catastrophe, and they compulsively seek a strong partner to feel whole and safe.

Combine this deep-seated need with a distorted moral compass, a history of trauma, and the manipulative charm of a psychopath, and you have the fertile ground from which hybristophilia can grow. The stories of women who love monsters are not simple tales of foolishness. They are complex narratives of psychology, trauma, and the powerful, sometimes blinding, nature of human connection. These women often need our compassion and psychological support, not our judgment, as they navigate a reality most of us can barely imagine.

References

• Ramsland, K. (2012). The Mind of a Murderer: Privileged Access to the Demons That Drive Extreme Violence. Pegasus Books.

  This book, by a forensic psychologist, offers deep insights into the psychology of murderers through direct interviews. It explores motivations and fantasies, helping to illuminate the traits—such as manipulative charisma—that admirers may latch onto, providing a framework for understanding how an outsider might form a romanticized view of a violent individual.

• Perri, F. S., & Lichtenwald, T. G. (2010). The Lure of the Killer. Forensic Examiner, 19(1), 26-35.

  This article specifically examines the phenomenon of women who are attracted to incarcerated violent offenders. The authors analyze cases and propose several motivating factors, including the desire for media attention, low self-esteem, and a pathological need to "nurture" a damaged individual, directly addressing the core topic of hybristophilia.

• Cassidy, J. (2016). The nature of the child's ties. In J. Cassidy & P. R. Shaver (Eds.), Handbook of attachment: Theory, research, and clinical applications (3rd ed., pp. 3–24). The Guilford Press.

  This foundational chapter provides a comprehensive overview of attachment theory. It details how early relationships with caregivers form internal models that shape an individual's expectations in future relationships, supporting the article's argument that insecure or traumatic attachments can lead individuals into dysfunctional or dangerous relationships in adulthood.