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Perhaps you are wondering how much perpetrators know about overcoming cybersecurity systems that are supposedly protecting you, me, and everyone else—our bank accounts, personal data, computer integrity, and mobile security.
Let me take you back in time. In the 1970s, a criminal had to be physically innovative—picking locks, cutting wires, or cracking safes.
Back then, there was no manual or YouTube tutorial for bypassing alarms. But today? Criminals read. For free. With precision.
Please don’t tell yourself it’s not true—because it is. Scammers, fraudsters, and so-called influencers no longer need mentors.
All they need is Wi-Fi. They scroll TikTok, browse Telegram, and skim LinkedIn for tactics on how to bypass fraud detection, spoof credentials, and recover hacked accounts.
They don’t just hide in basements; they attend networking events, sipping cocktails and collecting insider knowledge from the very people they’re targeting.
In our last investigation, we explored the criminal’s evolution—from pickpockets in crowded city streets to deepfake engineers operating across international borders.
But now we confront a more unsettling truth: the next generation of scammers, fraudsters, and manipulators isn’t hiding in the dark—they’re being trained in plain sight.
Welcome to the feed—where influencers, algorithms, and digital platforms double as criminal classrooms.
You don’t need to know a hacker to become one. All you need is curiosity, a device, and a social platform.
Telegram channels offering step-by-step fraud tutorials now boast hundreds of thousands of members.
Discord servers walk users through phishing software setups.
TikTok influencers (some just teenagers) offer content on how to create fake IDs, build drop-shipping scams, or manipulate bank verification systems.
Cybersecurity firm NortonLifeLock reported in 2023 that instructional scam content on social media increased by 200% in just one year.
Europol has warned that recruitment into cybercrime syndicates via Instagram and Telegram has risen more than 300% since 2021.
Even Quora and Reddit host discussions that border on criminal guidance. What was once whispered in prison yards is now explained—complete with hashtags and how-to videos.
What’s the most concerning aspect? Much of it isn’t even illegal until it’s acted on.
Some of the internet’s most adored influencers are pushing products, advice, and personas rooted in deception.
Fitness influencers are among the most trusted and widely followed personalities online. They post inspirational before-and-after photos, sell personal training programs, and pitch supplements promising rapid transformation.
But behind the six-packs and smiling selfies lies a far more dangerous reality.
Many of these influencers sell unregulated and untested products—from pre-workout powders laced with stimulants to steroids promoted as “natural hormone boosters.” Some fabricate their credentials.
Others steal transformation images or run fake coaching businesses using AI-generated testimonials.
The tragedy is evident in high-profile deaths:
Jaxon Tippet, a well-known Australian fitness influencer, died of a heart attack in 2024 at just 30 years old. He had publicly battled steroid addiction and promoted various products on Instagram.
Chris O’Donnell, also known as “Creeohdee,” took his life in 2025 after months of expressing mental health struggles linked to social media pressure and image obsession.
Yanary Befort, a fitness coach, passed away in early 2025 due to complications from bowel cancer—after years of selling diet plans and fitness regimens online.
These aren’t just personal tragedies—they’re signals of a broken system, where deceit is rewarded, pressure is monetized, and followers learn that lying pays.
Scammers observe these influencers and mimic them. They learn how to build trust, create emotional hooks, and sell stories.
When they pivot to fraud—selling fake crypto, falsifying investment portfolios, or launching pyramid schemes—it’s just a change of costume, not of strategy.
While TikTok and Instagram provide glamor, LinkedIn provides access.
For cybercriminals, LinkedIn is a goldmine of intelligence: job roles, contact lists, company hierarchies, tech stack tools, and even security vendors.
Every polished CV and open brag post offers social engineers a clearer map of how to exploit organizations.
According to a 2024 Tripwire report, LinkedIn is increasingly targeted for phishing and impersonation scams, particularly in the finance and tech sectors.
Criminals mimic recruiters or vendors, using cloned profiles and fake job offers to launch attacks. Some offer malware-laden PDFs disguised as business proposals.
Others build trust over weeks—chatting professionally before making the strike.
And the irony?
Many of these criminals learned their tone, language, and approach by scrolling the platform itself.
The internet has rewired morality.
Today, deception isn’t just tolerated—it’s celebrated. People idolize influencers who become wealthy quickly, even if they later come under scrutiny.
Audiences admire audacity more than honesty. And in a gamified economy of likes, followers, and algorithmic rewards, cheating the system becomes a skill, not a sin.
Psychologically, this taps into a dopamine feedback loop. The same neurological high that makes social media addictive also makes deceptive behavior addictive, especially when rewarded publicly.
Studies from the American Psychological Association show that constant digital validation alters our moral compass, especially in young adults.
Add financial incentive to the mix, and it’s easy to see why crime has evolved into content.
Victims Train Their Attackers
In the age of oversharing, privacy isn’t breached—it’s volunteered.
People routinely post their:
Daily routines
Family members’ names
Favorite brands
Locations and travel itineraries
Business deals and internal promotions
Each post contributes to the overall picture. Scammers use these to personalize attacks, guess passwords, or manipulate emotional context.
It’s not just individuals. Corporations post org charts, employee milestones, and infrastructure updates—giving cybercriminals exactly what they need to strike.
In effect, we’re building the playbook our attackers follow.
One of the most dangerous lies of social media is that being part of a large digital crowd equals protection. But the opposite is true: it creates complacency. When we see others doing it, we assume it’s safe.
This herd behavior fuels a variety of fraudulent activities, from fake investment booms to viral health scams, and it has played a significant role in transforming Instagram and TikTok into sophisticated tools for fraudsters.
In professional settings, this manifests as trust in third-party vendors or partnerships that were only vetted via social networks—not formal due diligence.
We built the school.
The truth is stark: we didn’t just let this happen—we built the ecosystem that made it possible.
We built platforms that reward exaggeration. We created economies of attention. We normalized deceptive branding. And now, criminals are simply using those same mechanics better than most businesses do.
The fitness influencer lying about their supplement isn’t far removed from the scammer running a crypto Ponzi scheme—they both studied the same lessons:
Build trust.
Sell hope.
Fake proof.
Choose to withdraw when discovered or alternatively, rebrand and continue.
As investigators, business leaders, and citizens, we can’t afford to be passive observers anymore.
Understanding how deception spreads is the first step.
But next, we must build resilience—teach digital hygiene, vet our sources, and challenge what we consume. Companies must train staff to spot social engineering not just in emails but also in DMs, comment threads, and influencer pitches.
Because the feed isn’t just where crime happens—it’s where it’s taught, practiced, and perfected.
If we want to stop the next wave of deception, we must first understand what we’ve helped design.
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