The Fake Fame Catastrophe: Schmutz Gets Scammed, Franzi Investigates
It was a day like any other….Me, I watched Schmutz circling the living room, tail high, voice high-pitched with urgency approaching Ann. “Mum, I need 50 euros! It’s a one-time offer! They said my profile has ‘high potential’ and with just a little boost, I could finally get the audience I deserve!”
I, from my vantage point on the windowsill, went cold.
“Schmutz,” I asked slowly, “who is ‘they’?”
She turned to me, her crooked tail twitching. “The social media growth experts! They sent me a personal message—PERSONAL, Franzi!—saying my content is so good but it just needs that extra visibility. And for a small fee, they’ll share my photos with ‘targeted audiences who will love me.’ It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance!”
Ah. One of those.
I leapt down, ears flattened. “Schmutz. That’s a scam. A catfish, if you will.”
Mum, who had been half-listening, shrugged. “Eh. 50 euros is just a dinner out. If it makes Schmutz happy…”
My tail puffed to full pinecone mode. “If it makes her happy? We are standing at the precipice of digital fraud, the commodification of illusion, the active exploitation of dreams—and you’re justifying it as a cheap dinner?”
Schmutz rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Franzi.”
“No,” I hissed, “you know what’s dramatic? Paying a faceless internet ghost to pretend people care about you.”
Thus began my deep dive.
The Business of Fake Validation
I spent the next several hours investigating. It was worse than I thought.
There were bot farms, fake comments left by nameless, soulless accounts, “growth experts” promising instant success if only you forked over a little more money. The entire system was a parasite feeding on insecurity, whispering, You are almost enough. Just pay a little more.
Schmutz, bless her naïve heart, had walked right into it.
Before the 50-euro request, Schmutz’s DMs had been a masterclass in social engineering. It started with a friendly message from an account encouraging her to submit her photo to a bigger, more “influential” page. (what a surprise the user was a throwaway account and is already deleted). The bigger account then reassured her that her profile had strong potential, but when she inquired about guaranteed followers, the conversation became oddly evasive. Soon after, a third account slid into her inbox, claiming the main page was “temporarily unavailable” and directing her to send money via PayPal to secure the promotion. Schmutz, blissfully unaware of the grift, had just left for dinner when I intervened—stopping the scam moments before she made the transfer.
By evening, I had a full presentation prepared. Schmutz and Mum sat before me as I laid out the cold facts. The fake profiles. The psychological tricks. The endless cycle of “just one more payment” that never leads to real success. Finally, I closed with the ultimate mic-drop: “If people only see you because you paid them to, do they really see you at all?”
Schmutz was stunned. Mum gave me a slow clap. “Alright, you win. No fake followers.”
Victory.
But then—disaster.
The Next Horror: Social Media Agencies
Just as I was about to bask in my intellectual triumph, Mum casually said, “Though, I have been thinking about hiring a social media agency for Schmutz. You know, for engagement building. So she feels more recognized.”
I froze mid-tail flick. “What.”
“You know,” Mum continued, scrolling her phone, “to help her reach a real audience. Strategic growth. Authentic visibility.”
My fur stood on end. It was the same scam—just wearing a suit.
The Existential Defeat
I had fought so hard, unraveled the tangled threads of deception, only to see the same game repackaged with a bow and sold under the banner of legitimacy.
Schmutz beamed. “Ooooh, that sounds fancy! Maybe they can get me a brand deal!”
I climbed back onto the windowsill, curled my tail around myself, and stared into the abyss of the night. I had won a battle, but the war against performance culture? It never ends.
