Grifters Gonna Grift: Who Needs Facts When You Have Followers?

By Kavisha Pillay

There was a time when con artists had to work for their hustle. They needed charm, a persuasive story, and at the very least, a convincing fake moustache.

Now, all it requires is a ring light and a decent internet connection.

Welcome to the golden age of the grift, a time when deception is dressed up as

empowerment, and scams are sold with a smile. For the uninitiated, a grift is a con with charisma. It’s a confident hustle that packages dreams, ideologies, and questionable products as truth. And in the age of social media, grifters have a global reach.

Today’s grifters don’t hide in the shadows. They livestream. Some wear hoodies and run tech companies. Others recline on yachts, pitch “detox teas,” or yell into microphones about how pigeons are government drones. The con has moved out of the alley and into the algorithm.

Of course, grifting isn’t new. What’s changed is the scale. Social platforms have turned old hustles into glossy, monetised content. Snake oil is now sold as “biohacking supplements.” Pyramid schemes are dressed up as “crypto opportunities powered by community.” Conspiracies are reframed as “alternative truths.” And it all lives on our feeds, rewarded by likes, shares, and the ever-optimised recommendation engines.

The real genius of the modern grifter is that they rarely ask for your trust. Instead, they offer aesthetics, relatability, and vibes. They speak your language. They tap into your fears. They promise wealth, healing, or awakening, for a fee. 

Take the Kardashians, arguably the CEOs of lifestyle grifting. What started as reality TV spectacle has evolved into a multibillion-dollar empire built on hyper-curated femininity. Their products, from skincare to shapewear, sell not just goods, but the illusion of attainability. The real product is the brand of perfection, not the lip kit.

Then there’s Candace Owens, who has turned ideological provocation into an enterprise. Her brand thrives on polarisation, downplaying racism, denying climate change, and questioning public health, all cloaked in a narrative of speaking truth to “woke” power. Her model is simple and effective: provoke, monetise, repeat.

Alex Jones too has long monetised fear, selling supplements to viewers who believe 5G controls their minds and that school shootings are staged. Even billion-dollar defamation rulings haven’t slowed the machinery. His grift works because it sells distrust as identity.

Donald Trump, of course, remains the grifter-in-chief, a man who didn’t just grift from the Oval Office, but into it. His 2016 campaign was less a political movement than a masterclass in branding: building walls he’d never fund, promising healthcare plans that never materialised, and selling voters the myth of a self-made billionaire ready to “drain the swamp.” In reality, Trump monetised resentment, weaponised disinformation, and converted populist rage into merchandise sales. From $99 NFTs and a $TRUMP meme coin to $399 gold sneakers, his grift has only expanded, proof that in the attention economy, spectacle often trumps substance. He’s never been a statesman, he’s always been a salesman.

Meanwhile, in South Africa, groups like AfriForum and Solidarity present themselves as defenders of minority interests, but their real currency is fear. They raise millions by fuelling narratives of white victimhood, framing transformation and equity as existential threats. It’s not advocacy, it’s a business model built on grievance, where every headline is an opportunity to fundraise. The language may be legalistic, but the hustle is pure performance.

The tactics may vary, but the logic remains the same: monetise division, fear, or aspiration. And do it with confidence.

Platforms are part of the problem. Their algorithms reward outrage. Their business models thrive on engagement, no matter the cost. The more clicks a piece of content gets, regardless of its accuracy, the more visible it becomes. It's a cycle: outrage feeds engagement, engagement fuels exposure, and exposure drives profit. While democracies scramble to debunk and regulate, the grifters just keep selling.

Introducing The Grifty Gang

In response to this, the Campaign On Digital Ethics (CODE) has launched The Grifty Gang, a satirical animated series that unpacks various forms of digital deception. From fake wellness hacks and financial fraud to conspiracy content and influencer scams, The Grifty Gang parodies the grotesque theatre of online life. It’s funny, yes, but also revealing. Our aim is to provoke reflection, foster conversation, and boost digital literacy in an era where misinformation moves faster than the truth.

🎬Watch Episode 1 here

The grift economy thrives because it’s no longer the exception, it’s the model. It rewards manipulation, dresses it up as influence, and sells it back to us as entertainment, empowerment, or enlightenment. The result is that we have a digital culture where deception scales, trust erodes, and those with the loudest megaphones are too rarely asked for proof.

We don’t have to accept this as the status quo. But pushing back starts with recognising the con for what it is, and refusing to click, share, or buy into it blindly. That’s why CODE created

The Grifty Gang, not just to entertain, but to empower. Because if we don’t learn how to spot a grift, we risk becoming part of it. 

And so, in the golden age of the grift, discernment will be our greatest form of resistance.