Everyone is talking about the new documentary, You Can See Everything. There’s no escaping it. Many armchair psychologists, with or without successful online platforms, are weighing in on what Elizabeth Holmes is truly suffering from. Or, the film often asks, is there no underlying condition at all?
Most prominently, social media has taken to the debate over whether Holmes is on the autism spectrum. It seems evident in the film that perhaps Holmes, her partner, Billy Evans, or maybe even the filmmakers were inferring this as a way to explain some of her unethical behavior and her “neurodivergent” way of communicating her thoughts. In other ways, the film exposes her propensity for lying with no subtlety. Or is she telling the truth?
Viewers scratch their heads. Was the bewilderment a deliberate narrative hoax, or just a story of a fraudster who got exposed? For now, the court of public opinion seems to agree that, if anything, Elizabeth Holmes has undeniable personality disorder traits; this is not a new revelation.
Psychiatric Assessments of Holmes Remain Speculative
However, without an official clinical diagnosis, which we may never get, any psychiatric assessment remains purely speculative. We don’t know.
I have seen both the Alex Gibney HBO documentary, Inventor: Out for Blood in Silicon Valley, and You Can See Everything. And after reading John Carreyrou’s book, Bad Blood: Secret and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup, the neurodivergent narrative seems like a premeditated ruse. Perhaps it’s a strategic attempt to rebrand her deliberate fraud as communication gaps and blame a mental health condition. Maybe by leaning into the “autistic tech mogul” archetype, she may be fishing for sympathy and trying to rehabilitate her image?
I want to be clear that this is all theoretical. Her behavior appears to resemble traces of narcissism (self-entitlement, the need for admiration), sociopathy (lack of empathy, indifference to causing harm), and a Messiah complex (believing she is destined to save global healthcare).
Her refusal to take accountability for actions that put real lives at risk is true. There is no denying that. But attributing past actions to “thinking differently” than the average person and an inability to process social cues doesn’t hold up. She does not seem naive; she can probably distinguish right from wrong. In her mind, she may have had too much to lose, so she doubled down on the fraudulence, even to her own detriment.
Conceivably, Elizabeth Holmes isn’t a target of her own mind but a prisoner of her own unrepentant deceptions. Call it neurodivergence if you want, but we don’t have enough hard evidence. Or, a con-artist is just a con-artist.
How Might the Messiah Complex Relate to Holmes?
Another crucial psychological element that is frequently overlooked is the potential Messiah complex:
A Messiah complex is not an official DSM 5 diagnosis. It’s an informal cultural term describing a delusional state characterized by the profound conviction of being divinely chosen to change the world. Elizabeth Holmes often positioned herself as an altruistic visionary destined to save lives. This elevated sense of moral superiority arguably justified unethical behavior, including misleading investors, bypassing safety measures, and ignoring hard facts. Are these delusions of grandeur? Or is it overconfidence?
In Bad Blood, the definitive book that fully unraveled Holmes’ fraud, Wall Street investigative reporter John Carreyrou cited how Holmes required unqualified loyalty from her staff to underpin her deific mission: “If anyone here believes you are not working on the best thing humans have ever built, then you should leave.”
When you mix self-absorption, zero remorse, and a savior complex, it creates an explosive dynamic where the hero narrative grants total moral permission to commit fraud, guilt-free. A Messiah complex can stem from grandiose narcissism: an inflated sense of importance, a craving for praise, a need for control, and a disregard for others disguised as self-sacrifice.
Why This Captivates the Public
Finally, you have to wonder why we—including myself—are so infatuated with Elizabeth Holmes and the Theranos crash. Beyond the simple voyeurism of letting cameras into her home before prison, I also see a few other reasons why we are so captivated by this story.
First, there’s the absolute weight of cosmic justice. Holmes completely manipulated military generals, billionaire investors, and media giants. She made fools of them. Watching her face actual prison time proves that no matter how much power and status you accumulate, the truth eventually catches up to everyone.
Also, when the tech industry’s “fake it till you make it” attitude starts threatening real lives, seeing that deception unravel satisfies our craving for fairness and accountability. Plus, her massive fall serves as the ultimate true-crime drama, letting us play amateur detectives and satisfying our urge to see wrongdoers held responsible. But in this true-crime drama, the truth finally wins.
In the end, we aren’t just staring at a train wreck; we’re looking for proof that certainty ultimately prevails over even the craftiest sham. We stay captivated because we want to identify future con artists before they fool us again.
