Lucy Sarret explores how babygirlification meets class warfare in the recent shooting of the UnitedHealthcare CEO

Luigi Mangione is not your typical headline-grabbing suspect. A 26-year-old former Ivy League grad with an apparent disdain for corporate greed, Mangione has been charged with murder and four additional counts, including firearms offences, in connection to the killing of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson.

Yet, before the world even knew his name, the internet had already latched onto something else entirely: his smile.

In a twist emblematic of the chaotic online era, the CCTV image of Mangione, mid-flirt with a Starbucks barista, has sparked a wave of memes and thirst posts. By the time his identity was revealed, he was no longer just a murder suspect; he’d become an enigmatic antihero, adored and debated in equal measure.

The suspected shooter’s alleged actions seem to be rooted in a mix of personal disillusionment and fiery anti-capitalist ideology. A former Ivy League grad turned alleged vigilante, Mangione had apparently grown tired of the healthcare industry's big-money-over-basic-decency vibes. 

Luigi Mangione’s looks lit the internet on fire, turning him from the suspected shooter of a billionaire CEO into an enigmatic sexy antihero with a rapidly growing online following. 

“He opposed wokeism because he didn’t believe it was an effective way to help minorities,” UK-based Substack writer Gurwinder Bhogal, who said he had a two-hour long video call and exchanged twenty emails with the suspected shooter, told The New York Post. “He expressed interest in more rational, evidence-based forms of compassion, like effective altruism.

“Overall, the impression I got of him, besides his curiosity and kindness, was a deep concern for the future of humanity, and a determination to improve himself and the world.”

He also added that while he didn’t remember whether Mangione had mentioned any medical issues, he apparently complained about the expensive American healthcare system and “expressed envy at the UK’s nationalised health system”.

When he was apprehended, police officials told NBC News that he had a handwritten note which read that "these parasites had it coming", and that he "wasn't working with anyone".

While his ideological gripes about systemic greed might resonate with many, the alleged resort to violence complicates the narrative. Whether he saw himself as a lone warrior against corporate overlords or just snapped under the weight of it all, his story has struck a chord in this eat-the-rich-era internet, even as people grapple with the ethics of lionising a guy accused of murder.

This isn’t the first time the internet has turned its attention toward an attractive controversial figure with surprising fervour (remember Jeremy Meeks’ viral mugshot that turned him into a fashion model, and the thousands of thirsty commenters who helped get him there), or twisted the deaths of rich people into a cultural online joke (Titanic submarine jokes, anyone?).

But the "babygirlification" of Luigi Mangione is uniquely tied to his conventional attractiveness, quirky digital footprint, and a growing online subculture that blends irony, rebellion, and romanticisation of morally ambiguous characters – and, most of all, discontent and frustration with a corrupt system that profits off people’s misery.

As details about Mangione have trickled out, his social media accounts have become treasure troves for fans and critics alike. Before his Instagram was taken down, it saw a surge in followers from under 1,000 to tens of thousands. 

His Goodreads reviews went viral, particularly his five-star rating of The Lorax, a posthumous love for Dr. Seuss quotes, and a reading list that included books about back pain – and a few that were just plain bizarre. 

Screenshots of his X (formerly Twitter) posts gained traction too, particularly his tongue-in-cheek "PhD" acronym tweet ("Pretty huge dick") and his apparent Arianator status - oh, and also, he may be a Charli XCX fan. 

But the phenomenon didn’t stop at curiosity. TikTok edits have been making the rounds, casting Mangione in a soft glow with moody indie soundtracks (I personally was shown an edit of him set to Taylor’s Swift’s ‘Getaway Car’ on my FYP, very telling of my online interests), similarly to those weirdly concerning Menendez brothers fan edits a while ago. 

For many, the charm lay in the juxtaposition: a man with anti-capitalist sentiments, a penchant for odd humour, and a connection to a high-profile murder, all wrapped up in conventionally attractive packaging. 

As one tweet summed up, "Is it bad to say he’s kinda babygirl?". Apparently not.

Cultural phenomena like Netflix’s YOU or Dahmer also show how easily charm and good looks can complicate our judgment of even the most heinous actions. In Mangione’s case, the moral stakes are less clear. 

While he’s a suspect in a serious crime, he’s voiced an apparent frustration that many Americans can relate to, and empathise with. This ambiguity, paired with his self-styled anti-capitalist identity and seemingly unremarkable past, has made him a blank slate for projection.

Academics like Jake Pitre have analysed this kind of allure in works like YOU, where viewers grapple with their attraction to problematic figures like Joe Goldberg. Pitre suggests that this tension stems from the way American culture frames charm and danger as inherently intertwined. Similarly, Mangione’s rise taps into the internet’s collective obsession with moral complexity –and its tendency to package it into memes.

It also helps that, much like the Penn Badgleys and Evan Peters of the world, Luigi Mangione is objectively attractive – in a hot white boy of the month kinda way. 

But unlike figures such as Joe Goldberg from YOU or the real-life serial killers with toxic fan followings, Mangione’s story doesn’t fit neatly into the familiar narrative of an unsettling, almost comical villain who becomes the object of fascination due to their darkness alone. 

Where Joe’s story is rooted in a creepy, destructive form of obsession and violence, Mangione’s tale is imbued with a strange, moral ambiguity. He isn’t just another killer; he’s a figure who represents something more complex and relatable. 

Mangione is outspoken about his anti-capitalist views, an ideology that resonates with many people who feel disillusioned by the corporate world. For a certain segment of internet culture, Mangione isn’t just a suspect in a murder; he’s a symbol of rebellion, a modern-day antihero fighting an invisible war against an unfeeling system.

This is what sets Mangione apart. He embodies the tension between idealism and extremism, making him more than just a "bad boy" to idolise. His views – whether or not they align with the truth behind the charges against him – speak to a collective sense of frustration many share. It’s easy to see why some people are drawn to him in a way that goes beyond simple fascination; he’s more human, more recognisable, and far more morally complex than your average killer or fictional villain.

The Titan submersible disaster and Luigi Mangione’s alleged shooting of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson might seem worlds apart, but both have become unlikely fuel for the internet’s collective disdain for the ultra-wealthy. The Titan incident was met with a tidal wave of memes mocking the billionaires who paid a fortune to plunge into the depths of the ocean, only to meet a tragic fate.

Now, Mangione’s case has sparked a similar, if darker, response, with the internet turning him into a sexy hero of the people, complete with “Free Luigi” edits and cheeky commentary like “he’s just doing wealth redistribution, one CEO at a time”.

Amid the humour, there’s an undeniable undercurrent of frustration bubbling to the surface – both incidents have become flashpoints for the growing resentment of economic inequality. Whether it’s billionaires funding reckless ventures or corporations prioritising profits over people, the public seems to be saying, “What did they expect?”. 

The memes may be hilarious, but they’re also a sharp reminder of how deeply anti-wealth sentiment has seeped into online culture, creating spaces where even tragedy becomes a stage for calling out systemic inequality. 

And, to be completely honest, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the countless memes and horny tweets about Mangione. I am, after all, just a girl, and not sure I would resist a Charli XCX-loving, Ivy League grad with an ‘environmentalist and anti-capitalist agenda’, as per news coverage. Although, if I knew he’d shot someone, despite my love for toxicity, I may have to draw the line. 

So why have we gotten to this point, where most people simply do not care that he killed someone? Well, maybe because as the cost of just about everything is rising, the lower income classes are feeling the strain, and healthcare insurance companies like Brian Thompson’s are part of the problem.

Insurance companies deny one in five claims on average, according to reports, all the while making record profits in 2022 – over $41 billion. And it’s also been reported that as these companies are raking in the cash, roughly 530,000 families go bankrupt because of medical bills each year.

On top of that, income inequality in the US was found to have increased by about 20% from 1980 to 2016, and the average income in the highest quintile was 165% higher in 2021 than it was in 1981. So, in essence, the rich are getting richer – which is probably why there are 759 billionaires in the US alone (ew), who have a combined wealth of $4.48 trillion as of November 2022, an amount that has grown a whopping 50% since before the pandemic.

Mangione’s babygirlification is  a strange mix of irony, tragedy, and humanity – one where a man who is said to have been involved in a deadly act is simultaneously being loved and defended by a legion of fans who see in him a reflection of their own desires and discontent.

So, is it wrong to romanticise Mangione? Probably. But it’s understandable. Men of are generation are fucked up enough as it stands (!). He stands as a complex figure, filled with contradictions and relatable frustrations. And his story is far from over, as he’s yet to stand trial. Whether that’s a tragedy, a satire, or just a reflection of a world constantly seeking a hero it can both condemn and love, remains to be seen.