Reflections on CrimeCon 2024: A Year Later

May 29

So, this post is about my experience at CrimeCon 2024 in Nashville. I'm sharing it now because we’re approaching the one-year anniversary of that event, and it’s taken me about a year to really get to this point in the project where I’m processing, reflecting, and writing about it. As I go through my notes, I want to share some thoughts here. This post also corresponds to a series of photos I shared on Instagram, taken during my time at the convention.

I’m also thinking ahead to CrimeCon 2025, which has been moved to the fall. There are a few threads I want to explore because my experience at CrimeCon touches on a lot of the broader questions I've been sitting with—about the true crime community, ethics, and media representation. There are really strong Vanity Fair and Slate articles about the 2023 and 2024 CrimeCons respectively that I recommend as both of them really capture the same tensions I observed. If you’re interested, the links are at the bottom of this post. I also gathered stories from people I interviewed for my research—some of those will show up in future posts.

A Pop Culture Event with a Complicated Legacy

I was drawn to CrimeCon because it’s become a kind of Mecca for true crime fans and creators. But it’s also been the subject of controversy. The earlier iterations of the event had a kind of horror-convention feel—think blood-spatter cosplay, serial killer memorabilia, Ted Bundy fanfare. In the early years, CrimeCon got a reputation as a “splatter” Con…an atmosphere that leaned more toward sensationalism than sensitivity. Over time, there’s been pushback and since then, there’s been a clear pivot toward a more victim-centered, “empathetic” tone. You can see it in the programming, the partnerships, and even the PR. There’s certainly still plenty of tone-deaf material presented at CrimeCon; navigating that balance…between respectful remembrance and murder-as-meme—-is hard.

This is one of the central tensions in true crime: the pull between ethics and entertainment. It’s no secret that violence sells. Just like “sex sells,” gore and sensationalism draw audiences. And when it's fictional—slashers, thrillers, horror—that’s one thing. But when you’re dealing with real people, real suffering, that commodification becomes more ethically fraught.

The Spectacle of CrimeCon

One of the first things that struck me was the sheer scale of the event. I’m a big nerd— I’ve been to academic conferences, fan conventions, anime expos, you name it. But nothing quite prepared me for the scale and energy of CrimeCon. The setting was outrageous, the Gaylord Opryland Resort, a massive 2000 room resort with indoor waterfalls, restaurants, and a gondola ride! Unlike academic events, which draw mostly scholars, conventions bring together fans. And CrimeCon was a fan event certainly. Think thousands of attendees, big-name podcasters, celebrity profilers, meet-and-greets with forensic experts, and a vendor hall shoulder-to-shoulder with enthusiasts…some of whom came dressed in true crime-themed apparel and jewelry. I saw a tote bag that said “I’d kill for a good story” and someone selling candles named after serial killers.

So, CrimeCon is quite over the top.

The vibe was energetic, excited, communal—like any big fandom event. It reminded me of the horror movie conventions and comic conventions I’ve attended, but the content at this convention was crime, murder, and trauma. That juxtaposition is fascinating, and kind of sad. And honestly, CrimeCon is expensive—more so than any other convention I’ve attended. A general three-day pass was nearly $400, with endless add-ons for meet-and-greets, VIP sessions, and so on. Like I said, the 2024 Nashville event was held in this stunning resort—thousands of dollars per night for a room in some cases. It’s incredibly lucrative for the venue and for the organization. They were eagerly advertising a CrimeCon cruise that summer, complete with a mini-convention at sea. That gives you a sense of the scale and profitability.

The Merch, the Vibes, the Cognitive Dissonance

I remember being in an elevator with a group of middle-aged women wearing shirts that said things like “Just here to establish an alibi” and “Murder shows and chill.” They saw me walk in and eyed me suspiciously. And then they laughed, and joked, “Hey, it’s a crime convention—you can’t be too careful.” It was funny, and we shared a laugh, but it also highlighted the surreal atmosphere: we’re joking, we’re bonding, but we’re bonding over murder. Later, they asked me if I had a favorite case. (A favorite case?)

The vendor hall was packed, shoulder-to-shoulder. I got to meet several podcasters I had interviewed, many of whom had deeply personal connections to their work. Some were covering the murders of their own family members. I remember one podcaster in particular…he was telling me about his sister’s case, and getting emotional while doing so. While he was speaking, people were snapping selfies with him, laughing, having a great time. That moment stuck with me. What was that like for him? How would they have felt if they knew he was talking about his murdered sister? Would they have cared?

Black and Missing: The Reality Behind the Entertainment

In the vendor hall, one booth that stood out was for Black and Missing, an advocacy group that brings attention to missing persons of color—people often ignored by mainstream media due to what’s been called the missing white woman syndrome (Sommers, 2016). One of the advocates, a woman of color, was speaking with a group of white women about her work and discussing cases of missing people. I joined the conversation and began asking some questions about the cases. During her discussion, she looked at me and said, “When the victim looks like me, nobody pays attention. But when the victim looks like you…” (she gestured to me, a white man, and the women around us) “…suddenly there are podcasts, media coverage, public outrage.”

It was a powerful moment. And I felt the mood shift. The women who had been actively engaged went quiet and dispersed. It wasn’t hostile…just uncomfortable. A quiet truth had been spoken, and it hung heavy in the air. I remember looking at the advocate once the area cleared out and she smirked sadly. Many of these people were here to have fun, not feel bad.

The John Douglas Experience: When Reality Hits

One of the headline events was an evening presentation by John Douglas, the famous FBI profiler and author of Mindhunter. I grew up reading his books, and the journal article he published strongly influenced my research and early clinical work. Of course, you had to pay extra to see him. I went for the $50 general admission ticket, though there were VIP tiers that went up to $200 for a “drink with Douglas.” Which, I did consider, for scientific purposes of course.

There was a huge line that wound through the empty convention space, full of people, mostly middle-aged women, all waiting to get in (the line was longer than the line at other conventions where I waited to see Chris Jericho and Alice Cooper!). People even wore shirts with Douglas’s face on them.

Over the span of 40 minutes, we were ushered into an absolutely massive room that became packed with 1500 people all eagerly awaiting Douglas’s arrival. When he came on stage, wearing a black, silk, pinstriped suit that reminded me of Hugh Hefner’s smoking jacker, they blasted “Every Breath You Take” by The Police…a song that’s creepy even without the context of it being the intro to a talk on serial murder and assault. However, this didn’t seem to faze anyone and the crowd went wild when Douglas appeared.

To his credit, Douglas was charismatic, if not a little gruff and kind of meandering. He spoke about “hunting monsters,” and the crowd ate it up. He cracked jokes (often at the expense of perpetrators) and mocked his characterization as “Ford” in the Netflix show Mindhunter (which, agreed: Ford’s character was an absolute dweeb). Throughout the talk, there was a celebratory, almost reverent tone, particularly as Douglas talked about working with victims and “chasing bad guys”.

But then came a jarring moment (that I suspect the people had “all been waiting for”): Douglas showed crime scene photos of three cases. The purpose was to discuss the nature and condition of crime scenes, particularly with sexual offenders deliberately arranging the bodies of their victims. But these were graphic ones: naked victims sprawled out humiliatingly on the ground, blood and bruises, decomposition.

The mood instantly shifted. The room, once buzzing, went silent. These weren’t the most gratuitous images I’ve seen, but they were hard enough. And they were real and they were devastating. And I felt that the air went out of the room, like a deflated balloon. Some people began leaving and I remember scoffing. What did you expect? But the truth is I’m sure the vast majority of these people hadn’t ever seen pictures like this. And for that moment, for them, the fantasy broke. It stopped being entertainment.

Ironically, after the photos, the energy returned—but in a different way. As Douglas spoke about catching and punishing perpetrators, the crowd grew more animated, cheering for executions, justice, vengeance. It wasn’t joyful anymore. It was visceral. Mob-like.

A Sobering Wall of Reality

At the center of the resort, amid all the spectacle, there was a wall—a simple, solemn wall covered with photos. Missing persons. Unsolved murders. No crime scene photos, just faces. People. Loved ones. Loss. Strangers walked by quietly, some added photos of their own. No one smiled in front of this wall, no selfies or ghoulish slogans. It seemed to be the one public place where people seemed to remember why we were really there.

I took several pictures of that wall and posted them on Instagram. It stood in stark contrast to the party atmosphere. And honestly, I’m not even sure the wall was meant to be a confrontation…but that’s how it felt. Like a quiet slap in the face. A reminder: this isn’t a game. These aren’t characters. These are lives.

Looking Ahead

So, on this one-year anniversary of my first CrimeCon, I wanted to share some of these reflections. I’ve got more stories—like almost choking to death on a steak (true story)…and I’ll keep digging through my notes and sharing as this project continues. If I’m able to attend CrimeCon in Denver, I’ll have even more to say.

But for now, I just want to leave you with this: true crime is compelling. It’s emotional, disturbing, and often important. But if we’re not careful, if we let ourselves become desensitized, it stops being a tool for justice or empathy and becomes just another form of spectacle.

And that, more than anything, is what I hope to unpack as this work goes on.

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