You on Netflix: The Chilling Allure of Obsession

Review

In an era dominated by social media oversharing and digital stalking normalised as “research,” Netflix’s psychological thriller “You” has struck a particularly resonant and uncomfortable chord with audiences worldwide. The series, based on Caroline Kepnes’ novels, presents viewers with Joe Goldberg (Penn Badgley)—a charming, literary-minded young man whose romantic pursuits quickly spiral into dangerous obsession. What begins as a seemingly innocent infatuation rapidly descends into stalking, manipulation, and ultimately, murder.

Now four seasons deep, “You” has evolved from a provocative Lifetime original to a global Netflix phenomenon, compelling millions to confront an uncomfortable truth: why do we find ourselves secretly rooting for a protagonist who embodies the darkest aspects of toxic masculinity and romantic obsession? The show’s brilliance lies not just in its twisting plots or charismatic lead, but in how it forces us to examine our own complicity as we follow Joe’s chilling inner monologue justifying increasingly horrific actions.

Joe Goldberg: The Charming Monster Next Door

Central to the show’s disturbing allure is Penn Badgley’s masterful portrayal of Joe Goldberg. Badgley walks an impossible tightrope—creating a character who is simultaneously engaging, repulsive, darkly humorous, and utterly terrifying. His bookish demeanour, literary references, and seemingly genuine desire for true connection provide a disarming façade that makes his violent tendencies all the more jarring.

Joe represents an exaggerated embodiment of the social media age’s darkest impulses. His character forces us to confront how thin the line can be between romantic interest and unhealthy fixation. When Joe describes his stalking and manipulation as acts of love and protection, the show brilliantly highlights how abusers often reframe control as care.

“I’m not stalking, I’m looking out for you,” Joe’s internal monologue frequently justifies, a chilling rationalisation that mirrors real-world patterns of obsessive behaviour. What makes the character truly unsettling is not how alien he seems, but rather how familiar his thought processes can feel—the way he constructs elaborate narratives that position him as the hero rather than the villain of his own story.

Badgley himself has been vocal about his discomfort with fans romanticising Joe, frequently reminding viewers that his character is not a misunderstood romantic but a dangerous murderer whose perspective should not be trusted. This meta-commentary adds another fascinating layer to the viewing experience, as the actor actively works to counteract the very charm offensive his character so effectively deploys.

The Evolution of You: From Beck to Love to Suburbia and Beyond

Over its four seasons, “You” has taken Joe from New York to Los Angeles, suburbia, and eventually London, each setting offering new victims, new identities, and new justifications for his behaviour. This geographical evolution parallels Joe’s psychological development as he attempts to outrun his true nature, only to find it follows him wherever he goes.

Season one introduced us to Beck (Elizabeth Lail), an aspiring writer whose social media presence provided Joe with the blueprint to become her “perfect man.” Their relationship established the show’s central pattern: Joe’s idealisation giving way to disillusionment when his “you”—the object of his affection—inevitably fails to match the fantasy he’s constructed.

By season two, Joe meets his match in Love Quinn (Victoria Pedretti), whose own dark impulses create a twisted mirror reflecting Joe’s nature at him. Their relationship evolves into one of the most disturbing depictions of toxic partnership in television history, culminating in a suburban nightmare of mutual distrust and shared violence in season three.

Season four’s London setting takes Joe further from his origins while deepening the show’s psychological complexity. His encounter with another killer creates a fascinating cat-and-mouse game that forces Joe to confront his own monstrosity more directly than ever before. The introduction of characters like Rhys Montrose and Kate challenges Joe’s self-perception in new ways, creating fresh avenues for the series to explore obsession’s multifaceted nature.

The Glass Cage: Symbolism and Visual Storytelling

One of “You’s” most effective recurring motifs is the glass cage—Joe’s transparent prison initially housed in the bookshop basement and later reconstructed wherever he goes. This literal container for his victims serves as a powerful visual metaphor for Joe’s worldview: he sees himself as protecting rather than imprisoning, watching rather than violating privacy, all while maintaining the illusion of transparency.

The show’s visual language consistently reinforces themes of surveillance and control. Directors frequently frame shots through windows, from distances, or via screens—positioning viewers as unwilling participants in Joe’s voyeurism. This deliberate aesthetic creates a discomforting viewing experience that forces us to recognise our own role in observing the private lives of others.

Similarly, the series employs social media interfaces and digital communication as both plot devices and visual elements. Instagram feeds, text messages, and email exchanges become windows into characters’ lives, normalising the invasion of digital privacy that facilitates Joe’s stalking. This technique not only advances the narrative but serves as a subtle critique of how willingly we expose ourselves to unknown observers in our daily online interactions.

The Uncomfortable Mirror: Why We Keep Watching

“You” achieves something remarkable by making viewers complicit in Joe’s crimes. Through his continuous narration, we’re trapped inside his perspective, experiencing his rationalisations in real-time. This narrative technique creates an unsettling intimacy—we know Joe better than anyone, including those closest to him in the show.

This forced proximity to Joe’s consciousness raises uncomfortable questions about audience psychology. Why do we continue watching a show centred on such a disturbing character? What does our inability to look away reveal about human fascination with the taboo? The series cleverly examines these questions without offering easy answers.

Part of the show’s compulsive watchability stems from its subversion of romantic comedy tropes. “You” takes the grand gestures and intense focus on the beloved that romantic media typically celebrate and reveals their potential darkness when taken to extremes. Joe’s behaviour often mirrors actions that would be framed as romantic in a different context—moving to a new city to be near someone, learning their interests to form connections, or protecting them from perceived threats.

This deliberate subversion creates cognitive dissonance, highlighting how thin the line can be between romantic dedication and dangerous obsession in our cultural narratives. When Joe declares, “For you, I would do anything,” the statement lands as a threat rather than a promise, forcing us to reconsider similar declarations in more conventional romances.

Technology and Modern Obsession: Social Commentary

Beyond its psychological thriller elements, “You” functions as a sharp social commentary on digital-age vulnerability. The ease with which Joe accesses private information through social media, unsecured devices, and casual conversation highlights real-world privacy concerns that many viewers dismiss in their daily lives.

The series demonstrates how our digital footprints create roadmaps for those with ill intentions. Beck’s Instagram posts reveal her schedule and interests; inadequate password protection gives Joe access to private thoughts; location services betray her whereabouts. These plot points serve as cautionary tales about the information we willingly surrender online.

“You” also examines class dynamics in contemporary urban environments. Joe’s ability to blend into different social circles—from literary New York to wellness-obsessed Los Angeles to privileged London—speaks to how appearances and cultural fluency can mask sinister intentions. His observations on these various subcultures provide biting commentary on privilege, conspicuous consumption, and social performance.

The character’s literary background adds another dimension to this critique. Joe’s bookshop employment and literary references position him as a self-perceived intellectual passing judgment on the cultural vacuity around him. This self-justification mirrors real-world patterns where intellectual snobbery becomes a cover for antisocial behaviour—a particularly relevant commentary in an era of online discourse.

The Psychology of Obsession: How “You” Gets It Right

Beyond its entertainment value, “You” presents a surprisingly nuanced portrayal of obsessive psychology. Joe’s backstory reveals childhood trauma, abandonment issues, and formative experiences that shaped his distorted view of love and protection. While never excusing his actions, these glimpses into his past offer context for his pathology.

The show illustrates classic patterns of obsessive attachment: idealisation followed by devaluation when reality inevitably fails to match fantasy. Joe repeatedly constructs perfect versions of his targets, only to experience betrayal when they demonstrate human complexity. This cycle of idealisation and disappointment drives much of the series’ psychological tension.

“You” also accurately depicts the self-deception inherent in obsessive behaviour. Joe genuinely believes he acts from love rather than control, protection rather than possession. This cognitive distortion—seeing oneself as the hero while committing villainous acts—reflects real psychological mechanisms that enable harmful behaviour in less extreme cases.

The series further explores the relationship to identity formation. Joe repeatedly reconstructs himself to match what he perceives as his current object’s desires—becoming a literary intellectual for Beck, a wellness enthusiast for Love, and adapting to upper-crust London society. This chameleon-like quality suggests an empty core seeking definition through others, a common trait in pathological attachment.

The Female Gaze: Victimhood and Agency

While centred on Joe’s perspective, “You” has evolved to give increasing agency and complexity to its female characters. From Beck’s posthumously published book that nearly exposes Joe to Love’s shocking revelation of her own murderous tendencies, women in the series increasingly refuse simple victimhood.

Season three particularly examines this dynamic through Love Quinn, whose violent impulses match Joe’s own. Their toxic relationship creates a fascinating exploration of gendered expectations around obsession and violence. While Joe methodically plans his crimes, Love acts impulsively from emotional triggers—a contrast that both reinforces and subverts gender stereotypes about aggression.

Later seasons introduce women who see through Joe’s façade more quickly, suggesting an evolution in the show’s treatment of potential victims. Characters like Marienne and Kate demonstrate greater awareness of red flags and self-protective instincts, reflecting perhaps both Joe’s declining ability to maintain his mask and the show’s interest in depicting more empowered female characters.

This evolution reflects thoughtful engagement with criticism of earlier seasons, where concerns about glamourising violence against women were raised. By giving female characters greater agency and awareness, “You” has developed a more nuanced examination of gendered power dynamics without losing its thriller elements.

Cultural Impact: Conversations Beyond Entertainment

Few recent series have generated as much cultural discourse as “You.” Its arrival amid heightened awareness of toxic masculinity and the #MeToo movement created perfect conditions for the show to become a talking point beyond entertainment circles. Viewers and critics alike have used “You” as a starting point for discussions about privacy, consent, and the romanticisation of controlling behaviour.

The series has provoked particularly valuable conversations about how popular culture normalises stalking behaviours when framed as romantic pursuit. From classic rom-coms to young adult literature, many beloved cultural narratives celebrate persistence in the face of rejection or extreme measures to win affection—tropes “You” deliberately exploits and subverts.

Penn Badgley’s vocal discomfort with fans romanticising Joe has added another dimension to these discussions. His consistent reminders in interviews that Joe is not a romantic hero but a dangerous murderer highlight how easily audiences can be manipulated into sympathy for compelling villains, particularly when they fit conventional standards of attractiveness and charm.

This meta-conversation between actor, character, and audience creates a fascinating additional layer to the viewing experience. Few shows have generated such active dialogue about audience responsibility and media literacy, making “You” not just entertaining television but a cultural touchpoint for discussions about narrative ethics.

Conclusion: The Enduring Fascination of “You”

As “You” continues its chilling exploration of obsession, its lasting impact lies in how uncomfortably close it brings viewers to understanding—if never excusing—Joe Goldberg’s twisted mindset. By positioning the audience inside the consciousness of someone capable of terrible acts, the series challenges us to examine the stories we tell ourselves about love, protection, and possession.

The show’s success demonstrates our collective fascination with psychological darkness when presented through an articulate, self-aware perspective. Joe’s continuous narration creates the ultimate unreliable narrator—someone whose observations often contain kernels of social truth even as they justify horrific actions. This tension between insight and delusion drives the series’ compelling psychological horror.

“You” ultimately succeeds by walking an impossible tightrope—creating entertainment that is simultaneously binge-worthy and deeply unsettling, familiar and alien, critical and complicit. It holds up a mirror not just to toxic relationship dynamics but to our cultural consumption of them, asking whether our inability to look away makes us in some small measure participants rather than merely observers.

As Joe Goldberg continues his search for the perfect “you,” we continue watching—both despite and because of the discomfort this causes. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of “You” is not Joe’s capacity for violence but our capacity to understand it—a testament to the show’s psychological acuity and its unflinching examination of obsession’s darkest corners.

In a media landscape often content with surface-level thrills, “You” stands apart for its willingness to explore uncomfortable psychological territory while never losing its grip on compelling storytelling. Like its protagonist, the series knows exactly how to keep us captivated—even when we know we should look away.