My ongoing investigation into Twitter's sugar daddies, sugar babies, and the slightly overlapping financial domination fetish market continues!
This week, I'm talking about what I've learned from messaging some of the so-called sugar daddy accounts.
This post will cover adult themes and concepts. I will try to be discreet and tasteful, but after this point, expect allusions to sexuality and romance. Reader discretion is advised.
I decided to see whether any of the sugar daddies on Twitter are even slightly real. Obviously, this isn't a fully scientifically rigorous test, but a handful of samples is certainly worth more than internet hearsay alone. I've created an alternate Twitter account and even an alternate Paypal and email address to avoid disclosing my own financial information (and also keep my professional life separate from this investigation). Everything I've been doing and talking about has been with my partner Disarcade's consent, permission, and awareness - and much to his amusement. So, with that note out of the way, let's get into the internet's dirt!
Well, as I mentioned before, many people joke about sugar daddies and "glucose guardian" arrangements. At the same time, few people understand how such arrangements are supposed to work. And while they may seem silly on a good day, what we tell ourselves when we have a job and are scraping our way to making ends meet isn't what we tell ourselves at the end of the month when rent is overdue.
Sometimes, we hear the call of the void. And sometimes the way to deal with that call is to throw on a weight-tested nylon harness, clip into some carabiners, tie a securing knot to a rope, and jump over the edge. I wanted to know what would happen, and whether there was even the slightest chance of one of these fellows being the real deal, rather than some fraudulent huckster trolling Twitter for thirsty, curious girls.
Although I fully support sex work and sex workers (which is not the same as trafficking; that's several other blog posts' worth of discussion), I do think it's important to know what you're getting into - and to remember that people on the internet can't necessarily be trusted.
Something we don't talk about when discussing internet fraud is how difficult it is to actually distrust someone. My personal experience of distrust is that it forms a sort of tension in my chest, as though I were holding something in, or bracing for a punch.
So yeah, it's hard to distrust people, and I'm sure I'm not alone in that sensation. I'll probably do a follow-up post with my research about why it's hard to distrust people, but let's keep talking about this one one fraudster for the moment.
One of the interesting things about posing as a sugar baby was that men would be overtly affectionate with much more freedom than, say, they might normally express. Having a pretty good background in the techniques of cult indoctrination and abusive relationships, as well as the recruitment strategies of multi-level marketing companies - I have a deep love of podcasts and dark stories - I couldn't help but wonder if the almost hyperbolic protestations of affection were a form of love-bombing. In a way, it only makes sense, because if you're going to scam someone out of money, you want them to trust you as much as possible first.
Even though I knew I was talking to scammers, it was sometimes difficult not to take their affection at face value - and some of them are very, very good at being sincere, or at least appearing that way. Even haphazard English can't disguise protestations of affection, or completely keep them from landing on their target.
The worst part, perhaps, is knowing that these scammers are doing their utmost to groom you into trusting them - and that they don't actually care or mean anything they say. Th emotional manipulation is easily the most dangerous part of the con, because it sets up such a bad precedent for people in the rest of their lives.
We may all believe we know the internet is full of untrustworthy people - but at the end of the day, we can only sustain the tension of mistrusting someone for so long. And even with strangers, it's difficult not to feel the gravity of emotional obligation pulling one in. But like gravity, we have to resist it. And that brings me to something much funnier.
The gentleman I'm about to reference claimed to be a building supervisor who managed multiple buildings for various industries; he said he was based in Maryland, single with no children, and had three sisters. Of course, he was also quick to protest his deep and abiding love for me, praise my beauty (in a very unexceptional photo, I might add) and say that he wanted to take me on trips, to not talk to any other men on the internet, and that I was the woman for him. (All from a few lines of rather pedestrian Twiter conversation in private DMs, and without any sexual conversation whatsoever...YIKES.)
Hilariously, one of the men who contacted me - asking for my bank card number and password, of course - did reply to my turnabout-is-fair-play request by sending his own login info and a name, but provided a link to a website that immediately set off my fraud detector.
Not the one built into my browser - just the "hmm, this looks like a fake website" one in my own brain. I'm in Canada, so I don't use Bank of America, but I know what a real login website looks like...and this ain't it.
I decided to try logging in through a different link, not one he'd sent - the real Bank of America online site.
And finally, the prestige - once I logged in with his credentials...
the fake site, http://boapa.byethost15.com/ , featured his login name misspelled, a strange landing page with a summary, and none of the buttons on the landing page actually worked. There were other typos on the page, but that was the biggest tip-off.
Mind you, there were other inconsistencies. In addition to the fact that he claimed to be from Maryland, his profile said he was in Ohio; he "will like to get to know me better," of course, and said he had traveled to many places. He was able to name several cities in Nigeria, and claimed to be "a building contractor", "supervising buildings," with work in "agriculture and oil and gas," - but didn't know what the agricultural products of Nigeria were.
This might sound like an overly specific question - but really, everyone I've ever met has been able to tell me what their country produces a lot of and what its industries are. I have friends all over the world, and I love detailed conversations about both emotional things and the minutiae of life - but real people have no trouble coming up with detailed and cohesive explanations about things. That may sound ridiculous, but it's incredibly easy to test, and I would encourage anyone reading this to do so. (Plus, it gives you an excuse to socialise with a friend, and that's good for everyone's health!)
And finally, if anyone feels like actually gracing my account with a tip after reading this series, here is my real Paypal.me.
This week, I'm talking about what I've learned from messaging some of the so-called sugar daddy accounts.
Disclaimer:
This post will cover adult themes and concepts. I will try to be discreet and tasteful, but after this point, expect allusions to sexuality and romance. Reader discretion is advised.
Now, a quick recap
I decided to see whether any of the sugar daddies on Twitter are even slightly real. Obviously, this isn't a fully scientifically rigorous test, but a handful of samples is certainly worth more than internet hearsay alone. I've created an alternate Twitter account and even an alternate Paypal and email address to avoid disclosing my own financial information (and also keep my professional life separate from this investigation). Everything I've been doing and talking about has been with my partner Disarcade's consent, permission, and awareness - and much to his amusement. So, with that note out of the way, let's get into the internet's dirt!
Why are you doing this?
Well, as I mentioned before, many people joke about sugar daddies and "glucose guardian" arrangements. At the same time, few people understand how such arrangements are supposed to work. And while they may seem silly on a good day, what we tell ourselves when we have a job and are scraping our way to making ends meet isn't what we tell ourselves at the end of the month when rent is overdue.
Sometimes, we hear the call of the void. And sometimes the way to deal with that call is to throw on a weight-tested nylon harness, clip into some carabiners, tie a securing knot to a rope, and jump over the edge. I wanted to know what would happen, and whether there was even the slightest chance of one of these fellows being the real deal, rather than some fraudulent huckster trolling Twitter for thirsty, curious girls.
Although I fully support sex work and sex workers (which is not the same as trafficking; that's several other blog posts' worth of discussion), I do think it's important to know what you're getting into - and to remember that people on the internet can't necessarily be trusted.
The tension of distrust
Something we don't talk about when discussing internet fraud is how difficult it is to actually distrust someone. My personal experience of distrust is that it forms a sort of tension in my chest, as though I were holding something in, or bracing for a punch.
So yeah, it's hard to distrust people, and I'm sure I'm not alone in that sensation. I'll probably do a follow-up post with my research about why it's hard to distrust people, but let's keep talking about this one one fraudster for the moment.
One of the interesting things about posing as a sugar baby was that men would be overtly affectionate with much more freedom than, say, they might normally express. Having a pretty good background in the techniques of cult indoctrination and abusive relationships, as well as the recruitment strategies of multi-level marketing companies - I have a deep love of podcasts and dark stories - I couldn't help but wonder if the almost hyperbolic protestations of affection were a form of love-bombing. In a way, it only makes sense, because if you're going to scam someone out of money, you want them to trust you as much as possible first.
Even though I knew I was talking to scammers, it was sometimes difficult not to take their affection at face value - and some of them are very, very good at being sincere, or at least appearing that way. Even haphazard English can't disguise protestations of affection, or completely keep them from landing on their target.
The worst part, perhaps, is knowing that these scammers are doing their utmost to groom you into trusting them - and that they don't actually care or mean anything they say. Th emotional manipulation is easily the most dangerous part of the con, because it sets up such a bad precedent for people in the rest of their lives.
We may all believe we know the internet is full of untrustworthy people - but at the end of the day, we can only sustain the tension of mistrusting someone for so long. And even with strangers, it's difficult not to feel the gravity of emotional obligation pulling one in. But like gravity, we have to resist it. And that brings me to something much funnier.
I ain't freaking...
The gentleman I'm about to reference claimed to be a building supervisor who managed multiple buildings for various industries; he said he was based in Maryland, single with no children, and had three sisters. Of course, he was also quick to protest his deep and abiding love for me, praise my beauty (in a very unexceptional photo, I might add) and say that he wanted to take me on trips, to not talk to any other men on the internet, and that I was the woman for him. (All from a few lines of rather pedestrian Twiter conversation in private DMs, and without any sexual conversation whatsoever...YIKES.)
Hilariously, one of the men who contacted me - asking for my bank card number and password, of course - did reply to my turnabout-is-fair-play request by sending his own login info and a name, but provided a link to a website that immediately set off my fraud detector.
Not the one built into my browser - just the "hmm, this looks like a fake website" one in my own brain. I'm in Canada, so I don't use Bank of America, but I know what a real login website looks like...and this ain't it.
 |
This is what all my bank login pages look like. Yep. |
 |
This is definitely the same, right? |
I decided to try logging in through a different link, not one he'd sent - the real Bank of America online site.
 |
For comparison's sake, this is the real Bank of America landing page. Keep that in mind. |
And finally, the prestige - once I logged in with his credentials...
the fake site, http://boapa.byethost15.com/ , featured his login name misspelled, a strange landing page with a summary, and none of the buttons on the landing page actually worked. There were other typos on the page, but that was the biggest tip-off.
 |
Oh yes. Drink it in. Just look at that bad, bad fakery. |
I ain't fakin' this
Mind you, there were other inconsistencies. In addition to the fact that he claimed to be from Maryland, his profile said he was in Ohio; he "will like to get to know me better," of course, and said he had traveled to many places. He was able to name several cities in Nigeria, and claimed to be "a building contractor", "supervising buildings," with work in "agriculture and oil and gas," - but didn't know what the agricultural products of Nigeria were.
This might sound like an overly specific question - but really, everyone I've ever met has been able to tell me what their country produces a lot of and what its industries are. I have friends all over the world, and I love detailed conversations about both emotional things and the minutiae of life - but real people have no trouble coming up with detailed and cohesive explanations about things. That may sound ridiculous, but it's incredibly easy to test, and I would encourage anyone reading this to do so. (Plus, it gives you an excuse to socialise with a friend, and that's good for everyone's health!)
And finally, if anyone feels like actually gracing my account with a tip after reading this series, here is my real Paypal.me.
***
Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer and editor. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partner-in-crime and Max the cat. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and learning too much. She is currently working on other people's manuscripts, the next books in her series, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible.
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