Stress. It’s that universal human experience we all know too well. A guy steps outside after a brutal day at work, flicks his lighter, and takes a long drag off a cigarette. In that moment, everything feels lighter—the crushing weight of his boss’s demands, the endless emails, Karen from HR—all of it disappears with the smoke. Dopamine rushes in, giving him a fleeting sense of calm. But then his phone buzzes: it’s his boss. Another all-nighter. His stress rockets back to a hundred, but instead of screaming into the void or smashing his phone, he lights up another cigarette. The cycle repeats: stress, relief, stress again, rinse and repeat. It’s an all-too-familiar spiral.
But let’s switch gears. Imagine a young man walking into a store. He spots a bracelet he’s been dreaming about for weeks, finally on sale. There’s a catch: he forgot his wallet. At first, he decides to leave it, but then his phone buzzes. It’s a text from his dad: “We need to talk.” Suddenly, his mind is flooded with dread. “Why bother doing the right thing if life’s going to kick me down anyway?” he thinks. Impulsively, he pockets the bracelet and walks out.
But guilt is sneaky. It creeps in, whispering, “This isn’t who you are.” So, he decides to return it. Then his phone buzzes again: four missed calls from Dad. Stress reignites, guilt takes a backseat, and instead of returning the bracelet, he takes another item. And another. What started as a single act of rebellion snowballs into a cycle: stress, theft, fleeting relief, repeat.
Here’s where things get interesting. This seemingly small moment mirrors larger patterns of criminal behavior. It’s not always about greed or malice; sometimes it’s about stress, impulse control, and the need to feel in control when life feels unmanageable. Just like the guy and his cigarettes, this young man’s actions reflect a way to cope—albeit a deeply flawed one.
Now, I’m not a psychologist or criminologist. I don’t have a degree in behavioral sciences or a lab full of data to back this up. But isn’t it worth pondering why we sometimes find ourselves empathizing with fictional villains? Why do we root for the Walter Whites, the Jokers, the antiheroes of the world? Maybe it’s because, on some level, we recognize their struggles. We see their humanity buried under bad decisions and questionable morals. We’ve all felt stressed, wronged, or trapped by circumstances beyond our control. Sure, most of us don’t turn to crime—but we understand the “why” behind it.
And maybe that’s the real hook. Villains often represent what happens when stress, frustration, and impulse collide unchecked. They’re cautionary tales, yes, but also deeply relatable ones. They remind us of the thin line between hero and villain, between coping and spiraling. So the next time you’re rooting for the bad guy, ask yourself: is it because you love their story… or because you see a little piece of yourself in them? I may not have all the answers, but I'll definitely give you one that sounds convincing. Until next time! This is Trickster, signing off.
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