The Killing Eve fandom was fiercely loyal—showing up every week, dominating social, evangelizing the series like it was their job. But they were also intense in a way that could turn on a dime (yes, the “Twitter death threats” era was real), so we went into the final season knowing the conversation would be a powder keg.

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Strategically, we didn’t try to calm it down or “brand-safe” it. We did the opposite: we built a campaign that accepted obsession as the thesis. Our job was to validate the fandom’s intensity—romance, rage, humor, darkness and all—and make them feel seen, not managed.

 

The marketing relationship mirrored Eve and Villanelle: messy, magnetic, a little dangerous. So we leaned into that energy and framed the final season as the most dramatic, reverent breakup possible—one that honored the chaos instead of pretending it wasn’t there.

If you asked the fans, the final season didn’t fully pay off. But here’s what mattered: they still couldn’t stop talking. And even six months after the finale, they were still clearing out merch on the AMC Shop.

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That kind of staying power didn’t happen by accident. Over four years, we did intentional community management that gave the fandom a place to live between episodes. As the social manager, I leaned into (and played with) fan theories that the account copywriters were “characters” in the universe—building a real-world narrative layer we eventually turned into merch.

 

And as the strategist, I helped put the final cherry on top: a fan-first campaign built to stay alive even when the season itself was divisive.

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Eight years after the premiere, the fandom is still bringing in new viewers—helped along by Netflix discovery and a social presence that always treated fans like co-authors, not targets.