“Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.” — Dorothy Parker
They blow up marathons, execute political opponents, and leave families ruined in their wake. Yet somehow, society finds itself hypnotized by their faces. We make them into icons. We print their likeness on posters, frame them in soft lighting, and argue that they’re more than just what they did.
A disturbing trend has taken root across cultures and generations, from Che Guevara to the Boston Marathon bomber to Luigi Mangione. Evil men, men who commit unspeakable acts of violence, keep being celebrated—not despite their crimes, but almost because of them. And it begs the question: what does this say about us?
Is it mere aesthetics? Is it a rebellion without a moral compass? Or is it a sign of something deeper, hollow, or broken in the modern soul?
Good Looks and Blood-Stained Hands
Che Guevara helped build firing squads in Cuba. He signed death warrants without trial. He loathed freedom of expression, despised democratic institutions, and called for global revolution through violence. Yet his portrait hangs on the walls of college students from Berkeley to Berlin, not as a cautionary tale but as a symbol of resistance.
The problem is that we’ve forgotten what he resisted and, more importantly, what he became. We remember the beret, the beard, and the dark, brooding gaze, but we do not remember the blood.
The same dynamic played out with Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. After he helped plan and execute the Boston Marathon bombing, which killed three people and injured hundreds more, he became the object of teenage obsession. Twitter accounts gushed over his bone structure. Young women mailed him letters, praising his “misunderstood soul.” Tumblr pages popped up to romanticize him as some twisted rebel prince.
And now, Luigi Mangione.
A 26-year-old Italian-American software developer who assassinated UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson in broad daylight, Mangione instantly became a folk antihero online. His actions, some claimed, were a righteous strike against corporate corruption. His image was turned into memes, art prints, and T-shirts within days. People began posting “Luigi Lives” with candle emojis. Never mind the murder. Never mind the violence. He looked good in the mugshot.
Charisma and the Illusion of Strength
Why does this keep happening? One explanation is that charisma is often confused with courage. People, especially young people, are drawn to boldness. To those who speak with conviction, who never seem to doubt themselves. In a world of uncertainty, that confidence becomes its currency.
For those who feel lost, powerless, or voiceless, a man who acts decisively—even violently—can seem like a savior. Especially if he’s photogenic.
Confidence, however, is not the same as character. And strength without virtue is merely domination.
What we’re seeing now is not just misplaced admiration. It’s a cultural hunger for power stripped of its moral guardrails. We long for figures who stand against something, but we’ve forgotten to ask whether they stand for anything good.
The Fatherless Generation and the Appeal of Tyrants
There’s another layer here. A darker one.
In the absence of real mentors—fathers, elders, moral teachers—young people begin to search for edges, for limits, for someone, anyone, who will draw lines and tell them where they are.
Without the guidance of principled men, the door is left open for dangerous ones. When there is no good man to say, “This is right, and that is wrong,” the loudest man in the room takes the microphone.
Some young people see a kind of twisted certainty in men like Guevara, Tsarnaev, and Mangione. These figures seem to know who they are. They speak without apology. They act with purpose, however terrible. And even a cruel truth can feel more comforting than soft confusion for those raised in a fog of moral relativism.
C.S. Lewis warned that we were “producing men without chests”—men without courage or conviction—and then expecting them to show virtue. When the world fails to build men with moral depth, it breeds a hunger for artificial strength. For swagger without soul.
Digital Martyrs and Viral Monsters
The internet has only made the problem worse. Today’s villains can go viral faster than any headline can catch them. With the right lighting, a smirk becomes a symbol, and a mugshot becomes a message. The digital age has turned human lives into avatars and tragedies into merchandise.
In Luigi Mangione’s case, the reaction online was swift and surreal. Some praised him as a revolutionary. Others described him as “a vibe.” Young activists latched onto his story without understanding it, folding his act of violence into broader narratives about healthcare injustice or late-stage capitalism. None of it justified the act. But that didn’t seem to matter.
What mattered was that he looked the part. That he was young. That he was angry. That he acted.
The deeper question is why so many people want to see justice not as a system but as a man with a weapon. Why do they crave not process but punishment, not change but chaos?
The Danger of Misplaced Reverence
The glorification of evil men is not just a cultural quirk. It is a moral hazard. It dulls our sense of good and evil. It teaches impressionable minds that style outweighs substance, that rebellion is its virtue, and that violence is excusable so long as the face behind it is beautiful.
It is not just history repeating itself. It is history being rewritten.
And when we forget what made these men monstrous, we risk creating more of them.
Restoring the Image of the Good Man
What we need is not just better education but deeper formation. We need to raise young people who understand that strength and goodness must walk hand in hand, that charisma without conscience is manipulation, and that the true measure of a man is not how loudly he acts but how rightly he stands.
There are real heroes in this world—men and women who serve others, fight for justice without sacrificing decency and endure hardship without turning cruel. But they are rarely glamorous. They do not have T-shirt lines. They do not trend on TikTok.
We must make those people visible again—not through slogans, but through stories, martyrdom, and meaningful lives.
The Final Reflection
The next time you see a killer’s face on a hoodie or read a tweet glorifying a terrorist, ask yourself what you’re worshipping. Is it courage, or is it merely confidence? Is it justice or just vengeance in disguise?
The seduction of evil is never about facts. It’s about feelings. About images. About the human tendency to confuse attraction with admiration.
But the truth remains. A pretty face does not absolve a violent heart.
If we keep falling for these men, maybe the darkness isn’t just in them.
Maybe it’s in what we choose to see.
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