maybe it's not Joe, maybe it's... You
yes... YOU
I want to start by prefacing that I’ve only watched the first three seasons of the series, and got halfway through the fourth before I put it on hold as life got in the way, and I just forgot to get back to it. I was reminded when I opened Netflix the other day that they were coming out with the final series soon. (It’s out now by the time you’re reading this.)
For anyone unfamiliar, You is a twisted psychological thriller series that follows a charming stalker who spirals into obsession. I personally think that the plot is well-made and 100% gripping, the type that keeps you glued to the edge of your seat. But somewhere between the bloodshed and bookshops, the audience somehow fell in love with Joe Goldberg.
No— not in a “He’s a very compelling character” kind of way, but more of a “Oh! I want a man just like him!” kind of way, and that’s what made it icky for me.
PART I: The “Joe Goldberg” Effect
Joe Goldberg isn’t the first morally bankrupt man to be romanticised in the media, and I’m guessing he won’t be the last. We’ve seen it before: Damon Salvatore (The Vampire Diaries), Chuck Bass (Gossip Girl), and even Tate Langdon (American Horror Story). What do they all have in common?
They’re emotionally volatile, often violent, controlling, and manipulative. But the camera loves them, and so do the viewers. They’re played by attractive actors, lit in soft lighting, given tragic backstories, and written with just enough vulnerability to make us think they’re maybe not so bad.
This is the exact formula that makes Joe Goldberg so dangerous, not just within the world of You, but in ours. He isn’t framed like a monster, even though he is one. He’s charming, literate, wears cosy sweaters, and has a calm voice that masks just how disturbed he is.
It’s not a coincidence. The media has trained us, especially women, to see toxicity as passion, and obsession as a sign of deep, all-consuming love. The more someone breaks the rules for you, the more “romantic” it feels. Joe doesn’t just break the rules… He quite literally murders people, and still manages to have fans wishing they were the object of his affection. That’s not romance. That’s conditioning.
Even Penn Badgley, the actor who played Joe, had expressed multiple times against the romanticisation of this character. He has reminded people again, and again: Joe is not the guy you should want. He’s not dark and mysterious. He’s manipulative, violent, and incapable of real love. And yet, because he’s played by someone conventionally attractive and framed with the lens of relatability, people still fantasise about being the one person who could “fix” him.
What makes it even more unsettling is that this is kind of the watered-down version of Joe Goldberg. I read somewhere that in the books by Caroline Kepnes, Joe is even more twisted— crueller, more manipulative, and far less charming. The show gives him moments of conscience, inner conflict, and even humour that humanise him in a way the books don’t. And yet, even this softened, screen-friendly version is still a stalker and a killer. So why do so many people still want to save him?
PART II: When Delusion Becomes a Trend
Scroll through the You hashtag on TikTok and you’ll find a digital war zone. On one side, fans who thirst over Joe Goldberg like he’s a misunderstood heartthrob. On the other, users calling it what it is: delusional and dangerous. The comments range from “He can stalk me any day” to fancams set to sultry music, romanticising a literal serial killer as if his crimes are just an aesthetic. It’s meant to be funny, maybe even ironic, but the normalisation of it isn’t a joke.
Then comes that final season moment (SPOILER ALERT! I’ve been spoiled, too LOL.) The clip that’s been reposted, duetted, and memed to oblivion, where Joe ends his monologue with the words: “Maybe I’m not the problem. Maybe it’s you.” It’s a genius line because it doesn’t just call out a fictional fan in the series. It’s a meta commentary aimed directly at us, the viewers. It’s not just a play on the title, it’s a reflection of the unsettling way audiences consume and respond to this kind of story.
And what do people do with it? They joke. “Maybe I am the problem,” some say in captions with flirty emojis. Others laugh and call it their Roman Empire. I get it, it’s funny. But it gets to a point. If you’re willing to ignore the murder, stalking, and emotional abuse just because it’s wrapped up in a hot face and a nice voice… that’s not satire anymore. That’s a symptom.
PART III: Why This Isn’t “Just” a Series
Some will say that it’s not that serious, and it’s “just a series.” And technically, they’re right. It’s scripted, fictional, stylised. But dismissing its impact ignores the real ways media shapes how we think about relationships, power, and desire. When a show repeatedly frames a violent, obsessive man as charismatic, tormented, and oddly endearing, it blurs the line between warning and wish fulfillment, especially for young women and teenage girls who are still figuring out what love should look like.
And romanticising characters like Joe Goldberg doesn’t just warp women's expectations of love, but it quietly informs men, too. When boys and young men see that being controlling, possessive, or emotionally intense is what gets attention, they might internalise that as the model. And when they see women praising those behaviours (even jokingly), it reinforces a dangerous belief: this is what women want.
That’s how you get real-life Joes — men who think they’re being romantic when they’re actually violating someone’s boundaries. Men who believe persistence is passion, not a refusal to hear “no.” It’s not that audiences can’t enjoy dark characters or morally complex stories. They can, don’t get me wrong. But when obsession is treated as a love language and red flags are rebranded as devotion, we start treading into dangerous territory.
Obsession is not love. Control is not care. And a man watching you without your consent, tracking your movements, manipulating your life to make himself feel needed. That’s NOT romance. That’s a red flag parade, and it’s illegal for a reason.
The fact that this even needs to be said shows how deeply the media can influence perception. And when fiction spills into fantasy, the line between attraction and acceptance starts to disappear.
CONCLUSION: A Call to Be Smarter Viewers
I’m going to be clear and lay this all out here: this isn’t about banning dark stories or calling for characters like Joe Goldberg to disappear. On the contrary, stories like You serve an important purpose. They’re cautionary tales, meant to provoke discomfort and force us to question what we’re willing to excuse, especially when attraction is involved.
But there’s a difference between watching something critically and glamorising its antagonist. It’s one thing to analyse Joe Goldberg as a well-written character, and another to wish you could date him. When we blur that line, we risk losing the ability to spot real-world red flags. Or worse, teaching others that those red flags are desirable.
So maybe Joe's final line was onto something.
Maybe it’s not just him. Maybe it’s us.
But it doesn’t have to be.