The Psychology of Joe Goldberg: Charm, Obsession, and the Dangerous Myth of the ’Misunderstood’ Man

By Trinity Barnette

“I know what you’re thinking. But you don’t know me.”

Spoiler: we do. And what we know is terrifying.

Joe Goldberg is one of the most dangerous men on television—and somehow, he’s still being romanticized.

From the very first episode of You, Joe’s voice narrates every move with a kind of brooding poetry. He speaks softly about love, trauma, and protecting women. He quotes literature like it’s scripture. And with each slow, deliberate monologue, we start to see him less like a predator… and more like a man in pain.

That’s exactly the point.

You doesn’t just follow a killer—it follows the internal script of a man who genuinely believes he’s the victim, even as he becomes the villain. Joe’s voiceovers are a psychological trap. They lull you into sympathy. They frame his stalking as devotion, his murders as mercy, and his control as care. And because we hear his thoughts before we see the harm, we’re manipulated right alongside his victims.

This article isn’t about defending Joe. It’s about understanding him. Because Joe Goldberg is not an anomaly—he’s a reflection. Of toxic romantic tropes. Of male entitlement disguised as sensitivity. Of a culture that still treats a man’s pain as more important than a woman’s safety.

Let’s break down the psychology of charm, control, and the dangerous delusion of the “misunderstood” man.

Whispers of Control: How Joe’s Voiceovers Manipulate Us Too

One of You’s most brilliant (and sinister) tools is its use of voiceover. From the very first scene, Joe Goldberg doesn’t just narrate—he seduces. His internal monologues are filled with literary references, emotional language, and poetic justifications that make his horrific actions sound… almost reasonable.

He’ll say things like:

“You were special. You deserved to be saved.”

“I had no choice.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I wanted to protect you.”

The show invites us into Joe’s mind like we’re his confidants, his co-conspirators. By filtering the story through his thoughts, the audience isn’t just watching a stalker—we’re inside the stalker. And that changes everything.

Because when someone tells you their pain first, it’s easy to excuse what they do next.

This is where Joe becomes dangerous—not just to the women in his life, but to us, the viewers. The more we hear him, the more we rationalize. The more he explains, the more we empathize. And suddenly, we’re doing exactly what victims of real abusers often do: doubting our instincts.

It’s not until the show flips perspective—when we get to hear the thoughts of Love, Beck, or Marienne—that we see the full picture: Joe is not a tragic romantic. He’s a self-mythologizing manipulator who edits his own story in real-time. And for several seasons, we let him.

The Mask of Vulnerability

Joe Goldberg doesn’t charm women with flowers or grand gestures. He charms them with emotional vocabulary. With his sad eyes, tragic backstory, and endless ability to “understand” their pain. He’s the guy who listens. Who reads the books you love. Who says all the right things and cries in just the right places.

And it’s all fake.

Joe doesn’t love women—he studies them. He becomes exactly what they want, mirroring their interests, repeating their beliefs, and pretending to be the emotionally intelligent alternative to the men who hurt them. But here’s the catch: he’s worse. Because he knows how to perform empathy, but he never actually feels it.

His vulnerability is calculated. A tactic, not a truth. He shares just enough of his trauma to draw women in, then uses their compassion as a weapon. Every story about his childhood, his abusive caretakers, or his past heartbreaks is filtered through a self-serving lens. And once he has their trust, their love, and their location? The real Joe steps out of the shadows.

This is classic manipulative behavior—weaponizing trauma to avoid accountability. In psychology, it’s often seen in narcissistic or antisocial personalities: they know how to mimic emotions, but not truly experience them. They don’t connect. They curate.

And Joe? He curates his entire persona around the idea of being “not like other guys.” But every girl he loves ends up hurt, hunted, or dead.

Because his love isn’t love—it’s ownership wrapped in emotional buzzwords.

Obsession Disguised as Love

Joe Goldberg doesn’t fall in love. He fixates.

From Beck to Love to Marienne, his pattern never changes: spot a woman, idealize her, insert himself into her life, and then dismantle it piece by piece under the delusion that he’s saving her. Every time he says “I did it for you,” it’s not protection—it’s projection.

What Joe calls love is actually obsession laced with control. He doesn’t see women as individuals with autonomy—he sees them as extensions of his fantasy. Once they deviate from his idea of perfection, they become disposable. And if they threaten to leave? They become dangerous. And Joe, in his mind, becomes justified.

This is textbook obsessive love disorder—a psychological condition where the “lover” becomes convinced they are entitled to someone’s attention, affection, and life. It’s also how real-life abusers operate. They isolate, monitor, and manipulate under the guise of “just caring too much.” Joe’s stalking is disguised as devotion. His surveillance is called protection. And his violence? He convinces himself it’s love’s last resort.

“I’d never hurt you.”

Right before he does.

The scariest part is how You presents these moments: through beautifully lit scenes, emotional music, and poetic monologues. Joe doesn’t just kill women—he narrates it like a love song. And because we’ve been conditioned by media to associate grand gestures and jealousy with passion, a part of us still wonders: Is this what it means to be wanted?

The truth is, Joe doesn’t love the women he obsesses over. He loves what they represent—what they give him, how they make him feel, the version of himself he sees reflected in their eyes. When that illusion breaks? So do they.

Why Viewers Still Sympathize

Here’s the unsettling truth: Joe Goldberg gets away with everything—and keeps his fanbase.

Even after four seasons of stalking, lying, and murder, people still tweet things like “but he’s so hot,” or “I could fix him.” There are thirst edits. Fan pages. Think pieces about his “trauma.” And it’s not because viewers don’t know he’s dangerous—it’s because the show makes him relatable before it makes him violent.

From his bookish aesthetic to his tragic backstory, Joe is built to appeal to the exact demographic most likely to excuse him: women who are used to forgiving broken men. His pain makes him sympathetic. His self-awareness makes him human. And his narration makes him feel honest, even when he’s lying.

We hear his regret.

We hear his guilt.

We hear his excuses—before we see the body.

That’s the power of POV manipulation. Joe is the narrator, so we don’t watch him stalk—we “understand” why he’s doing it. And because so many women have been trained to empathize first and protect themselves second, that narrative hits deep.

Joe is the fictional embodiment of the “misunderstood man” myth. The idea that if you just love him hard enough, he’ll stop hurting people. That if you unpack his trauma, you’ll unlock his soul. It’s the same logic real abusers use to keep people trapped—and You uses it to keep audiences watching.

And just like in real life, by the time the mask slips, it’s already too late.

What’s Really Wrong With Joe Goldberg? (A Psychological Breakdown)

Joe isn’t just a bad boyfriend. He’s not just a killer. He’s a clinical case study in untreated trauma and escalating pathology. Let’s break it down:

1. Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD)

• Joe lacks remorse. He repeatedly harms others—physically, emotionally, socially—without genuine guilt.

• He’s manipulative, deceitful, and uses charm to control others.

• His morality is selective—he justifies horrific actions by convincing himself they were “for love” or “for their own good.”

• He has a long-standing pattern of violating social norms and rights.

Joe doesn’t see people as people—he sees them as props in his moral drama. That’s a defining trait of ASPD.

2. Erotomania (Delusional Disorder, Erotomanic Type)

• Joe believes women he barely knows are destined to be with him.

• He interprets neutral behavior as romantic interest (“You left the bookstore without saying goodbye… so you want me to chase you?”)

• He builds entire relationships in his head, often before the first date.

• When rejected, he doesn’t disengage—he escalates.

Erotomania is a rare but terrifying delusion where someone becomes convinced another person is in love with them. In Joe’s case, this delusion justifies stalking, isolation, and murder.

3. Childhood Trauma and Attachment Wounds

• Joe’s backstory reveals abandonment, emotional neglect, and exposure to violence at a young age.

• His need for control and obsession with “protecting” women can be traced back to a childhood where love was conditional and safety was rare.

• He seeks maternal figures in romantic partners, then punishes them when they don’t play the role he needs.

Joe doesn’t know how to exist without control because he never felt secure growing up. His “love” is just an extension of his fear of being powerless again.

Joe Goldberg isn’t misunderstood. He understands himself perfectly—and uses that understanding to manipulate, justify, and destroy. His trauma is real. But it doesn’t excuse the lives he takes or the harm he causes. He is both a product of abuse… and a perpetrator of it. And the scariest part?

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Final Thoughts: Stop Calling Him Misunderstood

Joe Goldberg is not a mystery. He’s not deep. He’s not a romantic hiding behind a broken past.

He is a manipulator who uses his trauma as a tool. A killer who calls obsession love. A man who tells his story so convincingly, we forget to question the damage he causes. That’s what makes him terrifying—not the bodies he leaves behind, but how many people still want to believe he’s redeemable.

The truth is, You was never a love story. It’s a cautionary tale. It’s what happens when we elevate a man’s pain over a woman’s safety. When we mistake control for care. When we confuse “understanding” with “excusing.”

Joe isn’t misunderstood. We just weren’t ready to believe someone that charming could be that evil.

But now we know better.