The halo effect on trial: Luigi Mangione and Gen Z’s obsession with looks

When Luigi Mangione’s chiselled jawline first graced the collective consciousness of the internet, it wasn’t in a Calvin Klein or luxury fragrance advert, but on grainy security footage accompanied by an announcement from the NYPD (New York City Police Department). The Ivy League-educated 26-year-old was arrested for the murder of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson, a crime described as an act of terrorism. And yet, rather than universal condemnation, what followed was a tsunami of TikToks thirsting after Mangione, Instagram accounts dedicated to him, and even Luigi Mangione look-alike contests held at universities across the US.

The case has become a masterclass in a cognitive bias known as the halo effect, where one positive trait which in this case, physical attractiveness, casts an irrational glow over everything else. What should be a sober discussion about justice has become a chaotic blend of fan fiction, political commentary, and ironic memes. The legal trial might take place in a courtroom, but the cultural battle is playing out on social media where the jury of public opinion seems to be far more interested in Mangione’s smile than in the damning evidence against him.

In Mangione’s case, the halo effect has created a narrative where his education, his symmetrical features, and his brooding mugshot have turned him from an alleged criminal into a misunderstood anti-hero. This bias reveals a deeply ingrained societal flaw: we struggle to hold attractive people accountable.

First identified by psychologist Edward Thorndike in 1920, the halo effect explains how physical attractiveness can distort our perceptions, causing us to assign unrelated positive traits such as kindness, intelligence, or moral integrity to someone based purely on appearance. Studies consistently show that attractive people are more likely to receive favourable treatment in job interviews, academic assessments and most critically, in courtrooms. Jurors are less likely to convict attractive defendants and when they do, are more inclined to hand down lighter sentences. In Mangione’s case, the halo effect has created a narrative where his education, his symmetrical features, and his brooding mugshot have turned him from an alleged criminal into a misunderstood anti-hero. This bias reveals a deeply ingrained societal flaw: we struggle to hold attractive people accountable.

If the halo effect is the bias, then social media is the megaphone. Social media platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter are optimised for virality whilst beauty has always been one of the most valuable currencies, meaning that Mangione’s sharp cheekbones and icy blue stare make him algorithmic gold.

On TikTok, videos featuring Mangione’s face garnered millions of views while Instagram accounts popped up overnight, dedicated to posting curated collages of his images with romantic or rebellious captions. Users debated his motives, speculated about his backstory, and expressed everything from admiration to infatuation. Some even dismissed the gravity of his alleged crime, posting comments such as, “Who cares if he did it! Is he single?” under his images.

This phenomenon isn’t new. Social media has been turning criminals into viral sensations for years. Jeremy Meeks, who was convicted on grand theft and weapons charges, leveraged his viral mugshot into a successful modelling career with many famously dubbing him the ‘hot felon’. However, Mangione’s case takes on a more troubling dimension due to his crime, a targeted killing of a high-profile public figure, being reinterpreted by online users as a symbolic act of political defiance. The narrative surrounding Mangione resonates deeply with widespread frustrations about systemic inequality, allowing his alleged actions to be framed as a statement rather than a crime. Mangione’s alleged crime targeted one of America’s most controversial institutions: the healthcare system. Psychologist Dr Elena Touroni explained that social media amplifies these emotional narratives as people are drawn to symbols of rebellion, which is exactly what Mangione has become – a flawed hero for a generation tired of systemic failures. Whether Mangione intended for his actions to be perceived in this way or not is almost irrelevant; the internet has decided that he’s a modern-day Robin Hood, albeit with better abs. Nonetheless, this digital romanticisation comes at a cost as victims are reduced to footnotes, moral complexities are erased, and the conversation shifts from accountability to aesthetic appeal.

The fascination with attractive criminals isn’t unique to Luigi Mangione. History is littered with examples of lawbreakers whose looks turned them into pop culture phenomena. Ted Bundy remains the most infamous example as in the 1970s, Bundy’s charm and good looks played a significant role in his ability to lure victims. Even after his arrest, women flocked to his trial, some writing him love letters and others proposing marriage.

What sets Mangione’s case apart from the others is the way in which the narrative has been supercharged by the power of social media. Unlike Bundy or the Menendez brothers, Mangione exists in a hyperconnected world where content spreads globally in seconds.

To this day, documentaries and movies continue to perpetuate Bundy’s image as a ‘charismatic’ monster, often glossing over the horror of his crimes. Similarly, the Menendez brothers, who were convicted of murdering their wealthy parents, became teenage heartthrobs during their trial in the early 1990s. Fans attended court proceedings, sent them gifts, and wrote them letters with both brothers eventually marrying women they met while incarcerated.

What sets Mangione’s case apart from the others is the way in which the narrative has been supercharged by the power of social media. Unlike Bundy or the Menendez brothers, Mangione exists in a hyperconnected world where content spreads globally in seconds. His curated online persona consists of stylish outfits, gym selfies, and carefully selected Spotify playlists, feeds directly into the halo effect.

The archetype of the attractive, morally ambiguous antihero has become a cultural obsession, blurring the line between hero and villain. But why? Our fascination with these figures possibly stems from a mix of psychological bias, media influence, and societal disillusionment. Attractive antiheroes challenge our expectations of what a ‘villain’ should look like, creating cognitive dissonance that we attempt to resolve by assigning them redeeming qualities. Mangione and his case reveal how deeply implicit biases influence our perceptions of guilt and danger. Part of this stems from an innate desire to understand and humanise those who commit crimes. This inclination is often tied to the saviour complex, where individuals convince themselves that they can reform or redeem the offender. Social media amplifies these narratives, turning real crimes into gripping stories where beauty, rebellion, and tragedy collide, distorting our ability to see the truth clearly. However, these narratives, while emotionally compelling, rarely align with reality.

At the intersection of true crime, social media and the halo effect lies an ethical minefield. When we turn alleged criminals into viral celebrities, what happens to justice?

The glorification of Luigi Mangione has already begun to shape public opinion, and it could influence the outcome of his trial. Jury selection in high-profile cases is already a delicate process, but the Mangione phenomenon has raised new concerns. How do you ensure a fair trial when half the jury pool might have seen TikToks declaring him a misunderstood hero? In addition, the focus on Mangione’s physical appearance sidelines the victim, Brian Thompson, whose life was abruptly and violently cut short. His family’s grief, the circumstances of his death, and the broader societal implications of the crime are reduced to mere footnotes in a story dominated by memes and viral thirst traps. In the age of clickbait headlines and viral content, sensationalism often eclipses substance. The Luigi Mangione case is a grave reminder of how easily digital culture can distort reality, trivialise tragedy, and warp our understanding of justice, raising serious ethical questions regarding the way in which we consume, share, and react to crime stories in the digital age.

Mangione’s trial will conclude in a courtroom. But the cultural phenomenon he represents, with our obsession with beauty, our love of rebellion, and our willingness to turn tragedy into content, will linger far beyond the final gavel.

The case of Luigi Mangione is not just a trial of one man; it is a trial of us, the audience. Are we capable of separating fact from fiction and evidence from aesthetic? And are we okay with living in a world where someone can literally become famous for murder, as long as they look good doing it?

Mangione’s trial will conclude in a courtroom. But the cultural phenomenon he represents, with our obsession with beauty, our love of rebellion, and our willingness to turn tragedy into content, will linger far beyond the final gavel.

If the Luigi Mangione saga teaches us anything, it’s this: We might be infatuated with a killer, but the real crime is how willingly we let ourselves fall for the fantasy.