The first point to bear in mind is crucial: not all women in a relationship with a prisoner obviously fit the same psychological profile. Some knew their partner before he was imprisoned. Others sincerely believe that he has changed, that he deserves a second chance, or that he was wrongly convicted. And loving someone despite their criminal past is not the same as being attracted specifically to their criminality.
It is in the latter case that a term appears in psychiatric and criminological literature: hybristophilia. The psychiatrist Michel Bénézech rightly distinguishes it from the love felt for someone in spite of their crime: in hybristophilia, the transgressive or criminal nature of the person is itself a factor in the sexual or romantic attraction.
However, this mechanism explains only part of the phenomenon. One of the few studies devoted specifically to women seeking incarcerated men examined 89 participants who had voluntarily entered into a relationship with a prisoner. The researchers emphasise, above all, the diversity of these women. Two personality profiles stood out most clearly in their sample: one described as pragmatic/manipulative and another that was more anxious and introspective. The study also noted that some of the participants had experienced difficult circumstances during childhood or within their families. These findings are interesting, but the sample size is small and does not in any way allow us to draw up a composite sketch of ‘the woman who loves criminals’.
Rather, there are several psychological motivations that may overlap.
For some women, there is, first and foremost, a fascination with power and transgression. The violent criminal represents someone who has crossed boundaries that the majority of people would never dare to cross. Paradoxically, his dangerousness becomes part of his power of seduction. In its clearest form, this is precisely where we come close to hybristophilia: crime is no longer an obstacle to attraction; rather, it contributes to the eroticisation of the man.
Another profile is almost the opposite: the saviour. She does not fall in love with the monster described in the court file, but with the man she believes she is discovering behind him. She sometimes convinces herself that she alone can understand his suffering, his childhood, his wounds or his motivations. ‘With me, he would be different’ then becomes a core conviction. The offender is gradually reimagined as a victim, a misunderstood man or a person whom love could heal.
This mechanism can lead to a striking dissociation between the man she loves and his actions. Some partners of sex offenders studied in a qualitative research project downplayed or reinterpreted certain aspects of their partner’s offences in this way. The researchers also observed, in some cases, insecure attachment and a power imbalance within the relationship. Again, this is not a rule that applies to all such relationships.
There is also a rarely discussed paradox: prison can make a dangerous man psychologically reassuring.
He is locked up.
We know where he is. Visits are scheduled. Calls are regulated. The relationship is built primarily on conversation, letters and waiting. There is no domestic routine, no socks left lying about, no trips to the supermarket, and no real, constant confrontation with the other person. Each person can present an extremely controlled version of themselves.
A prison relationship can thus foster extraordinarily intense intimacy whilst maintaining considerable physical distance. Research carried out with women visiting their imprisoned partners shows just how much the prison environment transforms the way intimacy is formed and sometimes heightens romantic and sexual tension precisely because contact is restricted.
For someone who fears abandonment or, conversely, daily closeness, this type of relationship may unconsciously offer a surprising advantage: the man is emotionally present but physically absent.
There may also be a form of narcissistic validation. Being ‘the one he has chosen’ from among all his pen pals can become extremely gratifying, especially when the prisoner is famous. Proximity to a high-profile criminal then offers a sense of exclusivity: the whole world knows the murderer, but I alone know ‘the real man’. The more inaccessible the figure is to others, the more precious this privileged position may seem.
Fame obviously amplifies the phenomenon. High-profile criminals are transformed, despite themselves — and sometimes with their own involvement — into public figures. Photographs, documentaries, court reports and TV series build a mythology around them. The real person gradually risks disappearing behind a persona. The danger becomes an abstraction, almost fiction.
Another driving force is social rebellion. Maintaining a relationship with someone whom the whole of society condemns is sometimes tantamount to declaring: ‘I don’t think like you.’ ’ Family or social disapproval can even strengthen the couple’s bond. A study of women with partners in prison shows that they may suffer what researchers call ‘stigmatisation by association’. Some therefore hide their relationship; others, on the contrary, assert it all the more.
Finally, we must consider something far more mundane: loneliness. A prisoner sometimes has long hours to write, make phone calls, listen and reply. Someone who feels largely overlooked in their daily life may suddenly receive letters several pages long, passionate declarations and daily attention. The relationship very quickly takes on an intensity that many ordinary relationships only achieve after several months.
This is also why it would be wrong to systematically speak of madness or pathology. The available research is limited and describes very different situations. Personal history, attachment, the need for recognition, idealisation, sexuality, loneliness, a fascination with danger or the desire to save someone may all play a part to varying degrees.
Hybristophilia remains, however, the most spectacular case: when it is no longer the man who seduces despite his crime, but the crime itself that contributes to his power of seduction.
It is probably this reversal that unsettles us so much. Where violence should provoke flight, for some people it becomes an element of desire. And behind prison walls, a strange romantic construct then emerges: a man who is potentially dangerous but rendered inaccessible, a passionate relationship free from the trappings of everyday life, and sometimes the fascinating illusion of being the only person in the world capable of seeing the human being hidden behind the criminal.
