I was 12 when I first heard Ted Bundy’s name. My mom caught me reading about him and promptly confiscated the book—which obviously made me want to read it even more. (Sorry Mom, but that backfired spectacularly.)
Decades later, I’m still fascinated by America’s most notorious charmer-turned-killer. And I’m definitely not alone.
Ted Bundy has morphed from serial killer to cultural phenomenon in a way that few murderers ever have. His handsome face, law school background, and that infamous charisma created the perfect storm for public obsession. But how exactly did this monster become an icon?
The Perfect Predator: Charm as a Weapon
Bundy wasn’t just another killer lurking in shadows. He was the guy you’d trust to help carry your groceries, the charming law student who volunteered at a suicide hotline, the handsome stranger who needed “help” with his sailboat.
His weapon wasn’t just physical strength—it was his ability to seem utterly normal. Trustworthy. Safe.
When I look at photos of Bundy, I still catch myself thinking, “He doesn’t look like a killer.” And that’s exactly what made him so dangerous. He exploited our collective blindspot: the belief that monsters look monstrous.
The FBI’s analysis of Bundy’s crimes reveals how he weaponized his appearance and charm to gain victims’ trust before attacking. His methods were so effective that he managed to abduct multiple women in public places, sometimes in broad daylight.
Media Darling: The First Celebrity Killer
Bundy’s 1979 murder trial was the first to be nationally televised, turning criminal proceedings into must-see TV before Court TV was even a thing. Newspapers couldn’t print stories about him fast enough. Women lined up outside the courthouse, some sending love letters and marriage proposals.
(Ryan always says this is the creepiest part of any true crime story I tell him. He’s not wrong.)
The historic newspaper coverage of Bundy’s case was unlike anything before it—simultaneously horrified by his crimes and fascinated by his persona. Headlines vacillated between calling him a “killer” and a “handsome law student,” creating a bizarre dichotomy that persists today.
Bundy knew exactly what he was doing. During his trial, he fired his lawyers to represent himself, ensuring maximum camera time. He performed for the media, using his law school knowledge to create dramatic courtroom moments. The cameras ate it up, and so did America.
The Bundy Effect: Why We Can’t Look Away
What is it about Bundy that keeps us coming back decades after his 1989 execution? I’ve spent countless nights diving into this case (much to my husband’s concern), and I think it comes down to the cognitive dissonance.
We want killers to be obviously monstrous. We want to believe we could spot danger from a mile away.
Bundy shatters that comforting illusion. If someone who looks and acts like the perfect gentleman can be hiding such darkness, how can we ever truly feel safe?
His story taps into our deepest fears about deception and betrayal. The idea that evil can wear a charming face is terrifying—and apparently irresistible to our collective psyche.
From Netflix to TikTok: The Modern Bundy Industry
Netflix’s “Conversations with a Killer” and Zac Efron’s portrayal in “Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile” introduced Bundy to a new generation. TikTok is filled with videos analyzing his psychology, his crimes, and yes, occasionally his looks.
The Bundy industry is booming, and it raises uncomfortable questions about our consumption of true crime. When does interest become idolization? At what point does fascination cross ethical lines?
I’ve caught myself going down Bundy rabbit holes for hours, completely absorbed in the details of his case. It’s easy to forget that behind the fascinating psychology and courtroom drama are real victims with families still grieving their losses.
The Victims We Forget
This is where I think we need to check ourselves as true crime enthusiasts. While Bundy has become a household name, most people can’t name a single one of his victims.
Lynda Ann Healy. Donna Gail Manson. Susan Elaine Rancourt. Roberta Kathleen Parks.
These women—and dozens more—had lives, dreams, and futures that were violently stolen. Their stories deserve to be remembered just as much as the man who took them.
When we focus exclusively on Bundy’s charm or courtroom antics, we risk continuing the same problematic narrative that he himself created—one where he’s the star and his victims are merely props.
The Uncomfortable Truth
Our fascination with Bundy says as much about us as it does about him. We’re drawn to the contradiction, the mystery, the performance. We want to understand how someone so outwardly normal could be so inwardly monstrous.
Maybe that’s the real reason Bundy endures as a true crime icon. He forces us to question our own judgment, our own ability to recognize danger, our own vulnerability to charm.
And that’s a terrifying thought to sit with—even for a true crime junkie like me.