Who Was Ed Gein’s Girlfriend? The Chilling Truth About Adeline Watkins

Upon the release of Netflix’s Monster: The Ed Gein Story, viewers were both appalled and fascinated by a new character in the story of the notorious murderer: Adeline Watkins. The depiction of Gein’s purported girlfriend rekindled long-standing conjecture regarding whether the quiet farmhand, whose atrocities stunned the nation, ever felt anything like love.

Days after Gein’s arrest, in November 1957, The Minneapolis Tribune published an interview that would make headlines across the country. In the interview, Adeline Watkins, a 50-year-old Plainfield, Wisconsin resident, stated that she and Ed Gein had been romantically involved for 20 years. She characterized him as “good and kind,” a man who liked to drink milkshakes instead of whiskey and read books about distant places. Her description was incredibly gentle, depicting Gein as a quiet friend rather than a murderer.

Watkins claimed that their relationship had lasted for decades. She recalled movie dates, late-night chats, and even a marriage proposal that she said she turned down. According to reports, she stated, “I turned him down because there was something wrong with me, not because there was anything wrong with him.” She spoke with an odd warmth that seemed remarkably inconsistent with the crimes he had committed.

Ed Gein – Key Facts and Background

But a few days later, she took back what she had said. Watkins maintained in a follow-up interview with the Plainfield Sun that there had only been a friendship founded on kindness rather than romantic involvement. She explained, “There was no 20-year romance.” “We just went to the theater a couple of times.” Her quick reversal sparked debate about sensationalism in the media and how people often look for humanity in the most sinister people.

As time passed, Adeline’s contradictory stories were incorporated into the Ed Gein mythology, creating a spooky side plot in an already insane tale. What police later discovered inside Gein’s farmhouse—human remains transformed into furniture, clothing sewn from skin, and proof of horrific acts that characterized an era of American horror—stands in stark contrast to her initial description of Gein as “sweet and gentle.” Nevertheless, her viewpoint, despite its naïveness or exaggeration, highlights a profoundly unnerving aspect: the thin boundary between empathy and denial.

Suzanna Son plays Adeline in the Netflix version, which dramatizes this relationship as a complicated and tragic bond. It reimagines her as a symbol of misguided compassion, a woman attracted to a man whose loneliness reflected her own, rather than just as a supporting character. Though historically unconfirmed, the fictionalized depiction of their bond gives Gein’s character more depth by emphasizing how loneliness can skew morality and impair perception.

According to Adeline Watkins’ interviews, Gein’s quiet manner belied something much darker. She explained how he would frequently analyze murder cases in local papers and talk about crimes with an odd fascination. She recalled, “He told me what the killers did wrong, what mistakes they made.” In hindsight, those casual conversations show how his fascination with death was already developing beneath a façade of curiosity.

Gein’s crimes had already become legendary by the time of his arrest. Although authorities suspected many more victims, he was charged with the murders of hardware store clerk Bernice Worden and tavern owner Mary Hogan. Still, he had been regarded as a trustworthy employee and a curiously helpful neighbor in Plainfield, a small, close-knit community. Sadly, Watkins’ description of him as “kind” was not unusual among his acquaintances.

Her story is especially intriguing because it reflects society’s persistent fixation with showing empathy for darkness. From Charles Manson’s prison letters to Ted Bundy’s courtroom admirers, there is a recurring trend of people, frequently women, being attracted to notorious people. This is referred to by psychologists as hybristophilia, or the urge to feel near authority and peril. In this way, the desire to comprehend or even redeem the irredeemable feels remarkably similar to a larger cultural phenomenon in Adeline’s story.

However, it would be inaccurate to portray Watkins as naive or conceited. In a time when true-crime reporting frequently distorted facts for dramatic effect, she might have been overtaken by her unexpected celebrity and misquoted. Her retraction, which is noticeably calm and courteous, points to a woman attempting to shield herself from the turmoil that ensued after Gein’s arrest. She became a victim of her own closeness to horror in that way, someone who would always be associated with a name she probably wanted to forget.

Her fleeting relationship with Gein has changed over time due to public fascination, literature, and television. She is reframed by Netflix’s Monster as a multifaceted emotional counterpart who saw humanity where others saw a void. Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, the show’s creators, have specifically emphasized how loneliness and misdirected empathy can warp reality—a theme that is especially pertinent in a time when true crime narratives are all the rage.

Cultural critics have recently contended that our collective obsession with characters like Gein is a reflection of a deeper social need: the desire to use art to confront the grotesque and to give fear a narrative form in order to make sense of it. This makes Adeline Watkins more than just a character in Gein’s novel; she is a warning that kindness can occasionally bring us perilously close to evil and a symbol of compassion gone wrong.