The conviction of Erin Patterson for the mushroom poisoning deaths of three family members, and injury to one, has transfixed the country and made headlines across the world.
But beyond the courtroom, another story has unfolded—one not of justice, but of spectacle. Of gendered vilification. Of a media machine hungry not just for facts, but for a villainess it could dress up, strip down, dissect, and destroy.
This article is not about denying the seriousness of the conviction, nor the pain of the victims’ families. But there is something chilling in the way the media has treated Patterson—not just as a “murderer”, but as something else entirely: a woman who defied femininity, and so had to be made monstrous.
The reporting has been laced with gendered language and tropes more suited to a tabloid noir than a criminal trial. Patterson has been dubbed “Funghi Fatale,” reduced to a pun that trivialises death and dehumanises her in the same breath. She’s “Evil Erin,” a cartoon cut out of wickedness, evoking the same moral panic once reserved for witches and “hysterical” women. Scholars Easteal, Bartels, Nelson and Holland have written that women who kill are seen as “extra deviant,” because their violence is “incompatible with our conception of ‘good’ women who are nurturing and emotional mothers and/or passive and cooperative wives.” In this framing, it’s not enough that Patterson stands convicted of murder—her real crime, as the media presents it, is the betrayal of gendered expectations.
The media has long named cases in ways that capture public imagination—the “bodies in the barrels,” the “Claremont killer.” But in Erin’s case, the shorthand seems to serve a different purpose. It isn’t about the crime—it’s about the woman. It’s about punishing her for who she is, not just what she’s done. And in doing so, the victims are pushed to the margins—flattened into backstory for the creation of a media villain. Their lives become secondary to the spectacle. Their pain and humanity are obscured beneath headlines that centre not on justice, but on performance.
Nowhere is this clearer than in the tone and language of the reporting itself. The Herald Sun quoted a witness saying, “You crazy bitch, you poisoned them all.” That line was printed without pause, as if such misogynist vitriol were just another colourful quote. Another article asked why a “quiet country mum turned killer,” dripping with the suggestion that women should be nurturing, gentle—incapable of violence unless something has gone terribly wrong. News.com.au ran with the headline “Scutter the Nutter,” a schoolyard taunt masquerading as journalism. The accompanying article quoted former colleagues describing her as “a ritual, habitual and pathological liar.” These character assassinations are not subtle—they are deliberate. Instead of centring the gravity of the crime or the lives lost, the media has chosen to obsess over Patterson’s perceived psychological aberrance, as though the real story lies not in the deaths themselves, but in the failure of a woman to conform to the myth of maternal innocence.
Even her continued role as a mother has not been spared media scrutiny. The Daily Mail breathlessly reported that Patterson’s children continued to visit her in prison, “unwilling to accept she could murder their grandparents and aunt,” and described her quietly asking during a break in proceedings that her teenage son be given “extra hugs.” Rather than portraying this as a moment of quiet humanity in the midst of tragedy, the coverage leaned into suspicion—presenting maternal concern as somehow contradictory or manipulative. Patterson did not cease to be a mother the day she was charged, and the aspersion that she should have, or that her ongoing care for her children is evidence of denial or duplicity, reflects a deeply gendered misunderstanding of what it means to mother under extreme circumstances.
This relentless personal dissection is part of a wider media pattern—one that doesn’t just report on women like Patterson, but seeks to morally indict them on every front. We’ve seen commentators—radio shock jocks, no less—openly insult her. “Just lock that bitch up,” Kyle Sandilands spat, delighting in the public’s bloodlust. Others speculated about her mental health without assessment, with psychologists diagnosing her through TV screens. Network Ten aired an expert suggesting she showed signs of “several personality disorders.” The Age ran a piece declaring she “exhibited the traits of a narcissistic personality”—while admitting the author had never actually met her.
Patterson’s clothing has been described in minute detail: paisley blouses, spotty shirts, a grey coloured one and a pink striped one. Her courtroom presence reduced to costume with The Australian reporting on her wardrobe like it was covering Fashion Week. The Herald Sun said “wearing a paisley blouse, Patterson cut a lonely figure”, fixating on how she sat, how she looked, how she glared.
Reactions were policed, too. If she cried, she would have been manipulative. If she didn’t, she was cold. The Daily Mail ran clips of her outside court, accusing her of putting on a “dramatic show,” and then later described her as “defiant,” “glaring at the media and family… with callous disregard.” Another outlet said she stared at the jury, emotionless. It’s the same impossible bind women always find themselves in: show emotion and you’re unstable; show none and you’re inhuman.
What becomes clear is that this is not simply journalism—it’s a morality play, with Erin cast as the villain not because she is guilty, but because she is a woman who confounds our expectations. The crime is real. The conviction has weight. But the reporting has become theatre.
And while the internet may be having its fun at Erin Patterson’s expense, there are no winners here. Social media has been flooded with memes and jokes—about Patterson working in the prison kitchen, about her cooking for the judge, about mushroom-themed revenge fantasies dressed up as comedy. But this jesting does not serve justice. It does not serve the victims. And it certainly does not ensure a fair and impartial sentencing process for Patterson, who is yet to face the outcome of what will likely be a lengthy term of imprisonment.
When the lines between journalism, entertainment, and internet spectacle blur, the legal process itself is at risk of being undermined. The media is not neutral. It shapes public sentiment. It reifies norms. It teaches us who to fear, who to pity, who to hate.
And in the case of Erin Patterson, it has taught us something unsettling: that even in the face of so-called justice, misogyny always finds a way to claw its way to the surface. In the public theatre of crime and punishment, women are still expected to play their part—remorseful, emotional, broken—or else risk becoming caricatures of evil. And when they don’t, they are turned into punchlines. But this isn’t a joke. It’s a tragedy—for the victims, for their families, and for a society that still struggles to see women as complex, fallible human beings rather than monsters or martyrs.
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