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Lying for Love: The Psychology of Catfishing

Some are looking for money, others are looking for love under false pretenses. I know because that happened to me.

By Vivien Fellegi

For fifty-nine-year-old novelist Nella Larsen, (her pen name), three years ago the stars finally appeared to be aligning in her search for love. Larsen, then a resident of Joseph City, Arizona, had just become an empty nester after her children and then her niece had fled the coop.

"I was just tired of being alone," she recalls. Larsen went on a diet and lost 100 pounds. "I was feeling really good about myself," she says. Her daughter cheered her on. "Mom, you are so fun," she said. "You have to find somebody."

A man's face obscured by darkness and glow from a computer screen. Next Avenue, catfishing
Many catfish invent a tragedy to evoke sympathy, says neuropsychologist Sanam Hafeez. Then they proceed to love bomb their targets, "overly praising" them, calling them repeatedly, and professing their love quickly.   |  Credit: Getty

Larsen did just that. Shortly after posting a profile on a local dating site, a handsome, "god-fearing" man reached out to her. They communed over their shared knowledge of Scriptures and began logging five hours a day, talking over texts and telephone (but never in person). "I loved the attention," Larsen says. "It was exciting."

"I loved the attention. It was exciting."

But alas, the rapture David (not his real name) incited was all a ruse. Three months into the love affair, when David began pressing her for money, Larsen realized she'd been duped. The sense of betrayal was intense. "It affected me very deeply," she says.

Larsen is not alone. Catfishing — the deliberate falsification of one's social media profile in order to attract a mate — has exploded over the last decade, largely because of increasing use of the internet, says Nicholas Berta at the FBI's Economic Crimes Unit. In 2023, the FBI counted 17,800 victims of romance scams across America, a subtype of catfishing in which victims are wooed solely for their money. These cons cost victims 652 million dollars in the USA last year.

More to the Story

But this doesn't tell the whole story. Besides the catfish dating for dough, another subgroup are just troubled people looking for romance but too insecure to believe they'll find it in their own guise, says Professor Eric Vanman of Australia's Queensland University. "They don't think they're very exciting as they actually are," says Vanman, so they "reinvent a more interesting persona."

Since this form of catfishing isn't technically a crime, it isn't reported and we don't know its prevalence. While their motivations and methods differ from those of romance scammers, the heartbreaks left in their wake are equally devastating.  

Older adults are the hardest hit by romance scammers. Many are empty nesters, widowed or divorced, and hungry for companionship. They're spending a lot of time online, says Berta, but are less internet savvy than the younger generation.

Larsen was lonely when she began her search for love, and David capitalized on her vulnerability. Right away he told her he was widowed. "So your heart already goes out," says Larsen. He softened her up with compliments, calling her "bright and funny," and plied her with gifts of flowers and teddy bears. David also claimed to share her dream to build a farm and fill it with dogs and horses. He proposed marriage within three months.

They proceed to love bomb their targets, "overly praising" them, calling them repeatedly and professing their love quickly.

David's tactics were textbook. Right off the bat, many catfish invent a tragedy to evoke sympathy, says neuropsychologist Sanam Hafeez. Then they proceed to love bomb their targets, "overly praising" them, calling them repeatedly, and professing their love quickly.  

Mirroring, when the predator pretends to share victims' passions, is another tool of the romance scammer, says Hafeez, the director of Comprehend the Mind in New York City. "We're naturally drawn to people like us," she says. Once you're hooked, the swindler begins to reveal his true colors, demanding ever-increasing sums of money.  

There were, however, several worrisome aspects to David's story. He supposedly lived in a nearby town called Flagstaff, but he didn't know any of its restaurants. Then there were David's endless excuses for not meeting. At one point he claimed to be in China on business, where he struggled to find first an interpreter, then a driver. After that he came down with COVID. But Larsen chose not to pay attention to her nagging doubts. Because she was so invested in the relationship, "I waved away some of the red flags," she says.

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My Experience With a Catfish

I too suppressed my misgivings when I fell for a charming catfish two years ago. At age 58, I was having a hard time finding available men, so I hired a photographer and put up a profile on OK Cupid. My connection with Michael (not his real name), an architect who played two instruments, was so powerful I didn't doubt its authenticity. The fact that he never asked me for money also lulled me into a false sense of security.

According to Vanman, these catfish, looking for love rather than lucre, are not, actually, malicious. Unlike the romance fraudsters, many become emotionally invested in their victims."(These catfish) certainly do feel like they have a real relationship," says Vanman.

We talked almost daily, and I'd clasp the phone to my heart every time his name was displayed on caller ID. "I missed you," he'd always declare.

I was immediately entranced by the artist with a lopsided grin from OK Cupid. During our initial conversation, he told me he was feeling overwhelmed by his first foray into online dating. I felt immediately protective towards this shy man with an elegant British accent and soft chuckles. I was flattered when he seemed to reciprocate my interest. "You're captivating," he told me.

In spite of his lack of experience, Michael was a master of communication. He emailed me his playlist of favorite tunes, and we sang a lullaby to each other over the phone. I shared my photos and poems; he sent me a painting. We talked almost daily, and I'd clasp the phone to my heart every time his name was displayed on caller ID. "I missed you," he'd always declare.  

A few weeks into our relationship, he signed off by calling me "Love." "A bit premature," I told him. But secretly I was thrilled. Nobody had called me that for a very, very long time.

There were, however, warning signs. He claimed to be a world-class architect, yet I couldn't find any trace of him on the internet. David was elusive in real life, too, concocting one reason after another for not meeting. But it wasn't until he called me coughing, feigning congestive heart failure, that the penny fell. He claimed he was getting needles to clear his chest of fluid, but, as a former physician, I knew this treatment was bogus. A few days later, I found that the architectural plans he'd sent me earlier were stolen from a Google file.

There were, however, warning signs. He claimed to be a world-class architect, yet I couldn't find any trace of him on the internet.

It took me months to recover. I abandoned the online realm and immersed myself in hiking and photography. When I was finally ready to date, I maintained a healthy skepticism. One day a new suitor from OK Cupid called me, identifying himself as Connor, an architect from Ireland. I gasped when I heard his voice — it was undoubtedly Michael's. I asked him for the name of his company, and he gave me a firm which didn't exist. I told him "Hi Michael, I recognize you." He unmatched us immediately.

Demands for Money

Larsen's romance also unravelled. One day her boyfriend called her in a panic supposedly from China — he needed $8,000 to pay tariffs on the goods he was exporting from there. If he failed to make this payment, he would wind up in prison. Larsen refused, but the demands for money intensified.

One day Larsen confided her frustrating tale to a friend, who began to giggle. "I do not mean to laugh, but this is hilarious," she said. The woman enlisted a family member to investigate Larsen's man. "He was a known scammer," the former CIA member told Larsen. A hacker then discovered that the emails had come from Nigeria.

Larsen was shocked and hurt. Her confidence plummeted and she began to question her ability to make rational decisions. "It was hard for me to even think what to make for dinner," she says.

The deception also put a damper on her dating. "Every single person that I would see on this new dating site," says Larsen "I would be like 'Nope, scammer.'"

A Shattering Discovery

Larsen's reaction is typical for other victims of catfishing. Depending on how invested you are in the relationship, the discovery of the hoax can be shattering. "There's a huge amount of shame," says Hafeez. People often feel "stupid," telling themselves "'I can't believe I didn't see the signs,'' she says.

The aftermath of the deceit can even alter the physiology of victims' brains, which begin churning out stress hormones to combat this perception of an attack, resulting in anxiety, hypervigilance and even suspiciousness.

But healing is possible. The older we are, the more experience we have at talking ourselves out of a funk, says Hafeez.  Most importantly, we need to see the situation realistically. Realizing that it wasn't personal is the first step to moving on.

"No one was out to get you," says Hafeez. "You were just a target because you were available." You can use this opportunity to learn about yourself and the way you interact with others. Most importantly, you can identify retrospectively the warning signs you may have ignored, and fortify yourself against any further cons.

Red flags of both types of catfishing include extraordinarily attractive photos, unrealistic accomplishments, unrelenting excuses to avoid meeting and careers claiming to be in the construction industry or the military (or other jobs involving frequent travel). Warning signs particular to the financial scam includes love bombing, rapidly-evolving relationships and demands for money.

People often feel "stupid," telling themselves '"I can't believe I didn't see the signs.'"

Larsen also recovered from her ordeal. She published a novel, "The Charlatan," based on her experience. "My purpose in writing my book was ... to help others avoid the pitfalls I fell into," she says. She managed to do just that. At least five women, all over the age of 50, have reached out to thank her for writing the book. "'I was involved with a scammer, but refused to believe it,'" said one reader. But when she read "The Charlatan," she recognized that her interactions with her suitor were identical to what Larsen had recounted, and the reader terminated the relationship.

Larsen also cautiously reembarked into online dating. This time, she slowed the relationship's progression to a glacial pace. After meeting Norman, they emailed for weeks before even chatting on the phone. The two made it to the altar in February 2023. Unlike her love affair with David, the couple encounter occasional disagreements and Larsen doesn't see her marriage as a fairy tale. But she doesn't mind. "It's pretty real," she says. "I'm happy."

7 Tips to Protect Yourself from Catfishing

1. Be careful what you post online — scammers might use that information to target you

2. Beware extraordinarily great-looking photos — they may not be real

3. Insist on meeting your date in person or virtually within the first week  

4. Don't get involved in a full-blown relationship with a stranger

5. Keep yourself grounded in your real life

6. Research your suitor's claims and try to corroborate them independently

7. Immediately cut off anyone who asks you for money

Vivien Fellegi
Vivien Fellegi is a former physician whose favorite part of medicine was listening to her patients' stories. She went back to school to study journalism, and today writes about psychology and social issues.
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