Deconstructing YOU series - how nice guy turned into serial maniac

You is a disturbing, sometimes funny, sometimes terrifying series about a guy who just wants to love... but does it the way he knows how: through surveillance, manipulation and murder. This is the story of Nice Guy, who gradually turns into a serial killer while managing to remain charming.

The funny thing is that the lead role is played by Pen Begley, the same "Nice Guy" from Gossip Girl, a teen favorite from the early 2010s. There he also followed everyone, but only on the Internet - now his character is not limited to social networks. He hacks phones, hides in the bushes, gets rid of "unnecessary" people and at the same time conducts an internal monologue in which he looks as logical, romantic and vulnerable as possible.

But You is not just a thriller with a charismatic maniac. It is a deeply constructed story, where with the help of storytelling techniques the viewer is forced to empathize with the villain, play with the classic stamps of romantic comedies and turn the very concept of love upside down. Below we will analyze why this series is so captivating - and how it manipulates our perception with the help of a masterful narrative.

At first glance, it may seem like You is repeating the same story over and over again. But that's precisely the strength of its structure. Almost every season follows a recognizable pattern:

For example:

• He compares Beck to Jane Austen's heroines.
• Reflects on crime and punishment.
• He recalls Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Brontë and others.
• He lives as a literary hero, and his actions are an attempt to write "his love story", where the ending is always for him.

This approach makes the series especially interesting for viewers who like to look for depth in a genre narrative. It's not just a thriller - it's also a meta-story about how literature (and pop culture) influences our ideas about love and morality.

Joe Goldberg is a true anti-hero, one of the most charming and frightening characters on modern television. He doesn't hide his dark side - he just doesn't recognize it. And that is his tragedy: he is convinced that he is a good man, and with each new murder he finds a noble justification.

The screenwriters do everything to make it comfortable for the viewer to believe him:

• Joe has a violent past: he was abused as a child, was in the system early, broken and abandoned.
• He has a "code" - he doesn't kill for nothing. Only those he thinks really deserve it. In his head, he's not a killer, he's a savior.
• He cares for the children, knows how to listen, is always ready to help. He is "too good" against the background of the real scoundrels who surround his lovers.

But all these qualities are just a mask. Joe is a hypocrite to the core. He hates those who lie, even though he himself lives a lie. He despises people who manipulate, but he turns other people's lives into a puppet theater. He seeks pure, perfect love - but destroys everything he touches.

A separate irony is his relationship with Love. For the first time, he meets a woman who not only loves him, but is also capable of killing. In theory, it's the perfect match. But Joe can't accept her. Why not? Because he's not ready to see someone as his mirror copy. He wants to be "the one who saves," not the one being saved. He wants to rule, not be an equal.

He falls in love instantly - at the first smile, at the cover of a book, at an image. His love is not about a person, but about fantasy. He composes the story himself, writes the roles himself, and determines the ending himself.

That said, Joe is a magnet for women. And that's part of the irony of the show:

• He's charming, well-read, polite.
• He knows how to listen and say what a woman wants to hear.
• He seems to be "the one" in a world of toxic guys.

And the viewer falls into this trap himself - he falls in love with Joe and then feels guilty, as if he were an accomplice. That's what the whole narrative is built on: we don't just watch the crimes, we forgive them... until it gets too scary.

Why do viewers sometimes confuse love and toxicity?

• Joe's perspective: We see the world through his eyes, so he seems "right" and his victims "ungrateful".
• Charm of the main character: Pen Badgley plays Joe with such charisma that the viewer sometimes forgets that he is a maniac.
• Romantic style of shooting: warm colors, beautiful locations, music - all this creates the illusion of melodrama.

At first glance, it seems that Joe Goldberg evolves: he moves to new cities, tries to start a normal family, even says that he wants to change. However, his development is a reverse arc, where the hero does not grow, but only sinks deeper into his darkness.

What is a reverse arch?

Usually in storytelling, a character goes through a positive arc (e.g. Walter White becomes stronger but loses his humanity) or a negative arc (the character breaks down, like Anabelle Chong in Hard Occupation).

Joe's is more complicated: he tries to believe in his ability to change, but each time he returns to his destructive path.

"Perfect Victim" (Beck, Candice, Marrienne, Kate).
These women become the objects of his obsession. They represent different types of "imperfect love" that Joe cannot cope with. They show that Joe does not know how to love a real person - only his ideal image. Each one forces Joe through a new phase of illusions and disappointments.

"The Female Version of Joe" (Love Quinn).
Love Quinn became one of the most unexpected supporting characters because she flipped the power dynamic. She turned out to be just as much of a killer as Joe, but unlike him, she didn't try to justify herself morally. Their relationship showed that Joe isn't looking for an equal partner - he wants control, not to be part of something honest.

"Voice of Reason" (Ellie, Delilah, Ethan, Henry).
These characters often present a moral alternative for Joe. For example, his care for baby Henry in season 3 shows that he can be a better person, but his inner nature prevents him from changing. Ellie and Delilah are the ones Joe tries to "save" but really only ruins their lives.

"The Real Villain" (Henderson, Reese, Ron, Tom Lockwood).
These characters are important because they allow the audience to compare Joe to even worse people. When a real abuser (Ron) or criminal (Henderson) appears nearby, Joe seems less awful. However, this is a narrative trap: we forget that Joe himself is a manipulator and murderer, it's just that his victims are the protagonists of the story.

It is this image that becomes the perfect bait for Joe. He both despises her (calling her "superficial," "cheap") and idolizes her. He tells himself that he "sees the real Beck", but in reality he just creates her in his head, ignoring everything alive and real about her. He literally falls in love with the image he's put together from posts, photos, and google queries.

A Season with Beck is both a sharp satire on the digital age and an alarming warning. Media here is not just a backdrop, but an instrument of violence. The phone is a source of information. Likes - location signals. Passwords are keys to souls. We see how Beck's openness online becomes her curse.

The irony is that she's not doing anything "wrong." She's just living her life the way most people do: posting photos, writing in notes, going on dates. But in this world - where someone like Joe is watching your every move - your ordinary digital life can be a card for a predator.

Beck fulfills an important function in the story:

• She is the first "victim of Joe's fantasy," the catalyst for his mania.
• Her death is not just the end of the story, but the beginning of a cycle that will repeat itself over and over again.
• Through her, we feel cheated for the first time: we, too, wanted to believe that they would succeed.

Culturally, Beck is a modern variation of Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby: glamorous, slightly vacant, with a fragile soul and great social distance. But Joe is not Gatsby. He doesn't destroy himself for love. He destroys those he loves.

She was the first "no" he couldn't ignore. The first woman who didn't dissolve into his fantasy, but stepped out of it and showed him who he really was.

Scripturally, Candice is an ommage to the classic "ghost of the past" motif. The second half of the first season and the entire second season work as an escape story: Joe wants to start over, but he's haunted by someone who knows the truth.

She shatters his comfortable picture of the world.

Candice's appearance is the moment when the viewer first seriously questions Joe's words. Before that, he seemed slightly toxic, but still "not that bad." Candice breaks that myth. She says, "He did the same thing to me. And he can do it again."

The irony is that Joe still sees himself as a victim. He justifies himself:
"She manipulated me."
"It was all because of her cheating."
"I was just defending myself."

But the more actively he makes excuses, the clearer it becomes: his story is not a drama about love, but a chronicle of violence.

Candace's function is in storytelling:

• She flips perspective: we now see that Joe is not just a "suffering romantic" but a recurring predator.
• She launches the show's theme of payback, even if that payback doesn't fully come.
• Her appearance is an intrusion of reality into Joe's fictional world, and that's what makes season two so tense.

Candice isn't just an ex. She is a symbol that the past cannot be erased, that behind every beautiful fantasy there is a trail of destruction. And while she doesn't become a triumphant heroine, her voice is important: it reminds the viewer that this is not love. This is a cycle of pain.

They are the same - and that is the tragedy.

Love, like Joe, kills "for love", justifies her actions by caring for her loved ones and acting according to "higher logic". She, too, considers herself not a criminal, but a protector. But unlike Joe, Love doesn't pretend to be an angel. She's not a hypocrite. She speaks plainly.

That's what scares Joe the most. He wants to be the one who saves, but he's not ready to be saved. He wants to be stronger, more moral, more pure. But when he is faced with a woman who does everything he does, his mask cracks.

Love is the turning point of Joe's entire story. It is with her that he first encounters not a fragile victim, but an equal. She is a narrative threat: she shatters the myth of "right love" and throws Joe off his usual arc. Her presence in the story is a moment of truth: Joe doesn't want a real partnership. He wants power.

And it all ends tragically - because two obsessed people can't coexist. Their love burns everything around them, including themselves. Joe kills Love because he can't handle the fact that she's just like him. Maybe even stronger.

Marrienne is the mirror in which Joe wants to see not himself, but his version of redemption.
He decides he loves her because with her, he's not the same person he used to be. He doesn't stalk, he doesn't get on his phone, he doesn't kill for her...at first. But as soon as Marrienne refuses him, walks away, says a firm "no," everything goes back to normal.

He steals her, keeps her locked up, and once again comes up with a moral explanation: "I'm not keeping her. I'm saving her from herself.". It is through Marrienne that an important point is revealed: Joe does not know how to love a free man. He only loves someone he can control.

Marrienne is a character who sees through Joe.
She does not romanticize him. She doesn't believe in his "good" motives. She says bluntly: "You are evil. You ruined my life. I don't forgive you.". And that's the biggest blow to Joe's ego.
Marrienne does not become a victim in the classical sense. She survives, frees herself, and that is what makes her special: she is the first who does not succumb to his charms, does not allow herself to be rewritten.

Marrienne's function in the story:

• She is the final test for Joe. Can he truly change? (No.)
• She's a real, living woman, not a projection. And that's why he can't be with her.
• She's a reminder to the viewer that even after everything he's been through, Joe isn't getting any better. He's still destroying the things he wants to love.

And finally, through an arc with Marrienne, the show sort of admits: "It's not about romance anymore. It's no longer about finding love. It's a story about loneliness, obsession and the impossibility of being with another until you know yourself".

And therein lies all of Joe's drama. Kate is the first woman he can't control, can't mesmerize at first sight, and can't "read" like an open book. She keeps her distance, and this attracts him even more than Beck's outward "perfection" or Marrienne's vulnerability.

Joe is no longer a hunter - now he's posing as normal.

The relationship with Kate begins as a game. He wants to appear different: not Joe, but Jonathan. Not a maniac, but a professor. Not a stalker, a partner. But Kate is too smart. She quickly realizes that he's not who he says he is.

And here's where something new happens in the structure of the series: for the first time, Joe himself is willing to be led. Not because he's changed, but because Kate is the only one who doesn't fall for illusion, doesn't need a fairy tale, and isn't afraid of the truth.

Interestingly, Kate is not only a strong character - she also comes from a wealthy family, with a powerful father. She's the very system that Joe despised so much. But at some point he decides: if I can't win, I'll join.

With Kate, for the first time, he doesn't run away, he stays. Not hiding, but becoming part of the elite. It's symbolic: Joe doesn't get better - he just stops pretending and accepts his darkness. And Kate - oddly enough - does, too.

Kate's function in the narrative:

• She is not the "victim" but the ally Joe deserves in his final, monstrous form.
• She is the reversal of the dynamic: no longer is Joe rewriting reality, but reality is rewriting him.
• She is power and legitimacy, something he has always desired but feared.

With Kate, Joe's story enters a new phase: he is no longer a lone stalker with a moral code. He's a systems man. Respected. Rich. And, worst of all, accepted by society for who he is.

One of the strengths of You are the secondary characters, who don't just complement the story, but serve as mirrors, contrasts, and catalysts for the main character. It is through them that we better understand who Joe is - because their reactions, fates and actions reflect his true nature.

These characters are the few people Joe is sincerely (or almost sincerely) trying to protect. They are young, vulnerable, often lonely. He sees them as a part of himself - of who he was before he became a monster.

• Ellie is the younger sister of the murdered Dellayla, whom Joe wants to "save" but in fact, as always, makes things worse.
• Henry, his son, becomes a symbol of hope - but Joe abandons him to "do no harm." In reality, it's another escape.
• These characters show: Joe can care, but is incapable of not destroying.

They are the ones who begin to realize the truth - and suffer for it. They look at Joe without illusions, and for that, they either die or disappear from his life.

• Delilah is the journalist who found the cage in the basement.
• Paco - the boy who saw Joe kill and chose silence.

In all seasons, Joe is confronted by someone objectively worse than him:

• Henderson is a pedophile,
• Ron is a domestic abuser,
• Tom lockwood is a manipulative oligarch,
• Reese is Joe's alter ego in the form of a hallucination.

These characters fulfill an important function: against their background Joe seems "not so bad". The viewer catches himself thinking, "Well, at least he's not like them..." . But that's a dangerous substitution. Because in reality, Joe kills more often and more cold-bloodedly than anyone else on the show.

The writers of You are masterful in their use of tropes - narrative patterns and cultural codes that are instantly recognizable and work on a deep level. But most importantly, they don't just use them, they reinterpret and mock them, creating a unique mix of anxiety, humor, and social satire.

Big Fancy House

A big, beautiful, expensive house is a symbol of success, power, comfort and... absolute isolation.

• Almost all murders take place not in back alleys, but in rich mansions.
• The Quinn family home in season 3 is a typical suburban paradise for the rich, with corpses under the wallpaper.
• The cell in the basement is a metaphor for Joe's inner imprisonment hidden behind the facade of the "good life". This trope is emphasized: in the series, real evil lives in comfortable interiors with designer furniture, not in dark alleys.

Fiction 500

Joe is constantly surrounded by the elite - the rich, the powerful, the soulless.

• A Season in London (4) is almost "Rich Monster Academy": All the characters are members of the fictional Fiction 500 list, where everyone has status, money and a terrible secret.
• Joe despises them...and ends up becoming one of them. It's an ironic observation on how an anti-system quickly becomes a system if you give it a suit, a name, and an office.

Granola Girl

This trope is a naive, kind, natural, "eco-friendly" girl who loves children, draws, and believes in energy. In the series, such a function is partially fulfilled by Marrienne.

• She is an artist, a mother, tired of violence, seeking peace and quiet.
• Against her background, Joe looks "calm," "real," "human."
• But the trope is inverted: even such a luminous figure does not save Joe and does not succumb to his "charm".

Birds of Feather

The trope about "the same ones reaching for the same ones". Perfectly revealed in Joe and Love's relationship.

• Both killers.
• Both liars.
• Both are obsessed with the image of the perfect family. Their union is a disaster built on a complete convergence of values, and therein lies the paradox: they are the perfect couple, but precisely because they are equally destructive.

Bookends

The series makes masterful use of a symmetrical structure.

• Almost every season begins with a new woman - and ends with her death, escape or destruction.
• The image of the bookstore and the cage returns again and again - as a visual riff.
• The cycle: love - mania - control - violence - escape. This technique creates a sense of repetition, but with variations - as in a musical theme, where each verse is slightly different from the previous one.

Eat the Rich

Most notably in season 4, when Joe finds himself in the elite of London.

• All around them are the super-rich, the arrogant, the empty, the morally decayed.
• The murders within this circle are like a satire on how easy it is to destroy power when it itself is rotting from within.
• But here, too, the trope is switched: Joe, initially set against the rich, becomes one of them and accepts the rules of the game. In the end, the series doesn't just criticize the elite - it shows how the anti-hero who eats the rich becomes the one he eats.

You is not just a thriller about a maniac with a philosopher's voice. It is a story about what happens when a person falls in love not with another, but with his own shadow.

Joe Goldberg is not looking for love - he is looking for a mirror in which he can see a perfect, purified, luminous version of himself. His women are not personalities, but projections. He doesn't know how to accept reality: as soon as it goes beyond his script, he starts destroying it.

It's as if the series whispers to us, "Be careful when you love someone too much - you might just be in love with your image of love." And this is not a story about passion. It's a story about obsession replacing true intimacy.

At Joe's, love is control. It is absorption. It is the disappearance of the other. He says, "I want to be with you," but what he really means is, "I want to be you, control you, rewrite you."

Joe can't do that. He's forever battling the chaos of reality, falling in love with ideals but clashing with people - and failing every time. He wants to be light, but he loves his darkness more than any woman.

Love without freedom is a cage, even if it is inhabited by flowers and books.
The desire to "fix" a person is the desire to destroy him as he is.
If you are incapable of loving without idealization, you will never know who is really in front of you.

You Are is a storytelling that, under the guise of sweet romance with disturbing undertones, shows the ugliness of modern love, where likes have replaced depth and control has replaced caring.
And if at the beginning of the series Joe seems like a hero, by the end we realize that he is everything we deny about ourselves but sometimes justify. He's our shadow. And it can be charming. Until she starts speaking for us.