Style, Stealth, and Stealing: Pop Culture’s Fascination with Con Men and Women

 If you have gone anywhere near Netflix anytime as of late, it has been almost impossible to ignore the influx of con-related shows, from Inventing Anna to The Tinder Swindler, and Bad Vegan just to name a few. Hulu’s own take on Elizabeth Holmes’ Theranos fraud also just came out last month, which is adding to the ever-growing list of stealing and swindling media available this year. Although the fascination for con men and women is longstanding, with films such as Catch me if You Can, or The Sting among many, there is an undoubtable recent revival of these narratives. So why is pop culture so fascinated with the modern versions of these criminal figures?

Somehow, it is the perfectly consumable narrative for popular entertainment since the genre is basically the love child of true crime and modern-day capitalism chronicles. There is a definite sense of updating the age-old fascination for crime and criminal minds, except we do not just enter their psyche, but their bank accounts as well. Whether we look at Anna Sorokin’s or Simon Hayut’s invented lives, the lavish and seemingly limitless lifestyle is central to their respective personas. This raises two points of interest for the viewer; habits that are inaccessible, but more importantly, a challenge to the notion of hard work pays off. Essentially, con men and women rip the notion of the American dream to shreds, or the more global capitalist view that continuous, endless, hard work is always rewarded in the end. On a surface level, there is something perversely fascinating about watching people acquire more wealth in minutes than most people’s lifetime of work. Arguably, this even creates a temporary sense of awe towards the intricate planning of conning people to such an elaborate degree.

However, using the victim as the narrator, or protagonist of the narration, functions as a reminder that someone’s labour, trust or generosity was destroyed in this often-unbelievable process. Although focussing on the victim can be seen as a default mode of narration for crime stories, there is also an implicit message wrapped up in these narratives of fraudster destruction.

 Sylvie Fleury

The general post-pandemic attitudes towards lifestyle and healthy living, have been all about productivity. We have all seen countless efforts to promote routine, tips to maximize your time, and how to be more efficient, etc. the idea of achieving the most is constantly being articulated in any and every form, from bestselling-books to Instagram ads. Given the prevalence and topical aspect of hustle culture for both Gen Z and millennials, the prominence and ease with which these fraudsters get away with stealing and swindling, almost works as a warning. There is a discernible memo that hard work, and yours in particular, should be protected and shielded at all costs. In many respects, it is not just about being the most productive, effective, and as industrious as you can be, but also how you can protect that. This could appear as obvious, and maybe even common sense, which is why the victims are so easily blamed. In fact, the victim-blaming is covered at great lengths in the Tinder Swindler for the naivety of the women involved, or how embarrassing it was for the representatives of prominent investment bankers that Anna Sorokin managed to con without a cent to her name. But even if we are overlooking the casual misogyny in the difference between implicit stupidity and shame, the idea of failing to protect your legal, well-earned, hard work as a significant shortcoming sets a dangerous precedent.

 It is not just about shielding what is yours, it also suggests that the danger of putting what you have achieved in peril is all around you: your family, your friends, and even your partner. Essentially, boiling this down results in the idea that capitalism needs to be somehow even more individualistic than before, not for economic gain, but for your own safety. In practical terms it suggests that you keep your money to yourself, for yourself, and never let anyone impede in the way of your work. Not only does this isolate us, but also reinforces the narrative of placing your professional life over your private life, because at least at work you can count on yourself. This might seem a bit extreme, yet as humans we are drawn to true crime stories as a survival mechanism; these narratives help us identify potential danger, while gaining relief from the knowledge that we are not those in peril. This is also why the craziest cons, make the best stories: if Bad Vegan’s Sarma Melngailis, a business school graduate, a successful restaurant owner, and beloved family member can be conned out of millions by her partner who convinced her that her dog would live for ever, then who is truly safe?

 So, releasing an array of narratives, where fraudsters con their friends, their partners, established professionals, and even a whole industry if you’re Elizabeth Holmes, is not entirely harmless, and does subliminally let us know that there is potential danger is all around us.