When Luigi Mangione allegedly shot and killed the Chief Executive Officer of UnitedHealthcare in 2024, media shock centered largely on the crime itself and its political overtones. The targeting of a man seemingly untouchable — armored in wealth and power — was shocking, to say the least. However, parallel to this, a fanatic generational crush was sweeping the denizens of social media off their feet. Mangione’s booking photograph circulated like Brad Pitt on the cover of L’Uomo Vogue: his cheekbones substituted emotional support animals for a younger generation’s politicized distress. Mangione seemed a vessel of outrage at the moral bankruptcy of unequal wealth and corporate power.
It might seem an oddity — this habit of favoring the criminal over the law enforcer, who pursues their career in the name of civil justice. No matter the intuitive nonsensicality, this paradox has become a trend — one illustrating the growing breach between legality and legitimacy.
Consider the Louvre Heist of Oct. 19, when several valuable jewels were stolen from the museum’s permanent collection. In the first days of the museum’s nakedness, the mysterious police officer photographed leaning against his car and his presumed partner, clad in a fedora and a cravat, became synonymous with aloof, intellectual promises of justice, a reputation propelling itself once more through the berceau of social media.
Yet as soon as the suspects were arrested and their booking photographs released, the thirsting internet shifted its attention overnight. What a week to be on Wattpad! (The photos did turn out to be fake, much to my and my sister’s disappointment.)
So, have criminals simply become abnormally attractive? Unlikely. Is it that the image of an underdog has increased in appeal? More likely. Even more so when we consider Generation Z’s deepening disdain for state authorities. In both the United States and France, All Cops Are Bastards has become a leitmotif of protests and dinner-table debates — permeating nearly every facet of public life.
The outrage and sense of betrayal that followed George Floyd’s notorious murder in 2020, and the lack of confidence in police enforcement that ensued were but a drop in the ocean of distrust felt for the very institution designed for civilian protection. It appears that stability, by any means, is the true priority of the judicial branch. A Machiavellian premise in all its glory.
This phenomenon of romanticizing victimhood, I think, is the stifled cry of a youth that draws a harsh line between legality and legitimacy. For truncheons to have replaced flowers, the sphere of acceptability must have shifted — closer to desperation than to protocol. The era of flower power has withered; victimization is now the common moral currency.
This pattern of adoration isn’t exactly new. From fictional characters like Raskolnikov in Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, to real-life perpetrators like Ted Bundy, imaginative infatuation with criminal minds is not unknown. What is a recent development is the way American political discourse has absorbed it, gravitating towards populism — weaponizing the underdog.
During the government shutdown that has saturated the U.S. in recent weeks, elected officials on both sides have continuously vied to cast themselves and their parties as the serfdom of the opposition. On Oct. 12, Vice President J.D. Vance accused the Democratic Party of “hostage-taking,” blaming them for imposing the status quo on a weary American public. The Democrats, of course, say the opposite.
This trend of victimization serves two purposes. First, it convinces the actual victims — American federal workers, and, by extension the broader public — of the virtue these so-called underdogs claim to wield on their behalf. Nietzsche theorized in his On the Genealogy of Morality, an "inversion of values” by which Christian morality redefines the weak as virtuous, conferring moral superiority onto those who suffer. This is an institutionalized mechanism, supported by the dominance of Christianity in this country, and we could argue, by the convenience it offers to the majority. I personally have no desire to partake in a Colosseum duel to prove my superiority through brute strength (I just wouldn’t look good in the sandals).
Now, the second convenience this trend offers is straightforward: laziness. Yes, laziness. Blaming others for what is, if we’re honest, a shared fault allows the self-proclaimed underdog to roll over. J.D. Vance washed the Republicans’ hands of responsibility, just as Ted Bundy’s fan club upheld his innocence regardless of evidence.
Yet, while the aestheticized infatuation with criminals or politicians alike resembles lust, I believe it to be an inquiry into morality itself — and into the legitimacy of institutions that claim to uphold it. Siding with the underdog always entails redrawing the boundaries of right and wrong. Whether that narrowing or expansion serves legitimacy remains up for debate.
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Elise Clifford '29 is an Opinion Columnist and a Philosophy and Russian student in the College of Arts & Sciences. Her fortnightly column, State of Confusion, approaches the liberties and anxieties honed by disagreement, and the responsibility that comes with forming identity. She involves aspects of symbolism and skepticism that accompany the weight of glorification. She can be reached at eclifford@cornellsun.com.
