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Over the past month or so, I’ve been hooked on NBC’s now canceled Good Girls, a dramedy that follows three ordinary suburban women who find themselves wrapped up in a sprawling criminal conspiracy. After what they think is a simple grocery store heist snowballs into a massive money laundering operation led by a take-no-prisoners gang, the ladies are left with no choice but to pay off their debts—by engaging in fraud, counterfeiting, and the like. And though their decisions are consistently reprehensible for any good law-abiding citizen, there’s both a thrill in their brazenness and something very compelling in their rationale. Take, for instance, Retta’s Ruby Hill, who is initially swept up in the scheme when her ailing daughter requires medication that her pay as a waitress just won’t cover. There’s a very human conflict there, prompting viewers to ponder tough questions: How far would you go to achieve financial stability? Protect your family? Gain notoriety, fame, and success? And would it even matter if it was all built on a lie?
Both Good Girls and real-life cases of women scammers and con artists are compelling because, culturally, we hold boldness and cleverness in high esteem. We’re enraptured by their ruses, caught up in the same charm and sense of intrigue that fell those they targeted. And for some, there’s an enviable aspect to their swindles: How did these women manage to craft an identity so believable, a scheme so credible and enticing, all without being stifled by the demands of morality and legality alike? Even as someone without so much as a parking ticket (who also avoids jaywalking and never litters), I find these illicit narratives uniquely fascinating. In a world defined by capital and celebrity, is seeking both through underhanded means not the ultimate crime? And yet, when fortune and fame are so often doled arbitrarily, how truly malevolent is such a pursuit? If wealth were not so significant and stardom not so valuable, it would be difficult to conceptualize the merit in scams.
Nevertheless, despite male cons the likes of Charles Ponzi (then later, Bernie Madoff), Frank Abagnale Jr., Jho Low, and John Meehan dominating the cultural conversation, there’s something especially engrossing about women grifters. Throughout history, women have been disparaged as treacherous charmers with the capability of ensnaring men—consider the myth of the siren, a creature who lured sailors to certain death with her seductive songs, or the more modern misogyny apparent in memes imploring men to “take her swimming on the first date” as to wash away the deceit of cosmetics. Still, when it comes to cons of the criminal variety, women often fly under the radar. And when it comes to pulling off high-level, multifaceted schemes, women continue to be underestimated. But with enough confidence to remain undetected, female con artists, fraudsters, and grifters have scammed their way to infamy, racking up dollars, favors, and fame along the way. And even after they get caught, the stories they leave behind make for some of the most intriguing—and at times, genuinely baffling—bloodless true crime cases of all time.
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On February 11th, Inventing Anna, the buzzworthy series from Shonda Rhimes, hits Netflix. A chronicle of the life and crimes of notorious scammer and socialite Anna Delvey, the new show features Ozark’s brilliant Julia Garner as Delvey, a wealthy German heiress who ran in New York’s most elite social circles. But as her dear friend and unsuspecting victim Rachel DeLoache Williams would soon learn, it was all a ruse. Delvey’s identity as a generous, affluent young woman with a glamorous pedigree was all her own invention, an elaborate con that would leave countless bills unpaid and Williams more than $62,000 dollars poorer. This whirlwind memoir is the only way to adequately prepare yourself for the wild tales sure to unfold in the streaming giant’s original series. In her own voice, Williams details every instance of greed and deception that shattered her trust—and the journey to bringing her former friend to justice.
When it comes to female con artists, there are few figures more notorious than Elizabeth Holmes. The enigmatic founder of Theranos, a corporation that claimed to make a remarkable healthcare discovery, is a standout not only for her crimes (she was recently convicted of defrauding the company’s investors) but for her presence: a slight woman with blonde hair and wide blue eyes, clad in a black turtleneck and statement lip, her voice deep, husky, and shockingly low-pitched. In Bad Blood, journalist John Carreyrou details the startup’s meteoric rise and crashing fall—and the Stanford dropout at the center of the scandal who had amassed billions before the company’s claims were exposed as little more than fiction. Hear the story that inspired Hulu’s upcoming series The Dropout, which stars Amanda Seyfried as Holmes, set to release on March 3, 2022. (Also be sure to keep an ear out for Apple TV+’s recently announced direct adaptation of Carreyrou’s nonfiction triumph, led by Jennifer Lawrence.)
Given con artists often concoct scams to gain wealth or opportunity, you might be tempted to assume these kinds of crimes are perpetrated only by those who would otherwise not have such privileges at their disposal. The Varsity Blues scandal of 2019 proves that’s simply not the case. More than 50 people of considerable means were exposed as having some involvement in the bribery of college officials, the fabrication of athletic and academic achievements, and the falsification of documents asserting a student needed special accommodations for admission testing, all with one expressed purpose: to ensure their children would be accepted into top American universities. In Unacceptable, journalists Melissa Korn and Jennifer Levitz detail the deceit perpetrated by the likes of actresses Lori Loughlin and Felicity Huffman, along with assorted white collar professionals and business execs, who wielded their influence to unfairly obtain what they felt entitled to.
Looking for a lighter look at true crime? Comedian and actress Laci Mosley, known best for her work as a cast member on HBO’s A Black Lady Sketch Show, brings her hilarious perspective to tales of cons both historical and contemporary in Scam Goddess. Chronicling shams, scams, and the swindlers who pulled them off, this podcast offers a lot of levity in its improv flare, subversive take on schemers, and range of guest hosts, from Conan O’Brien to Amanda Seales. Though not every racket discussed was perpetrated by a woman, the crew behind this gem of a podcast is all female and incredibly diverse, offering a fresh perspective on notable hoodwinks.
Of all the scams targeting women, perhaps the most prevalent are perpetrated by the diet, health, and wellness industry. Take a gander at any given social media platform and you'll find ads for laxative teas disguised as “cleanses” and overpriced placebos claiming to melt away fat aimed at women. Australian alternative wellness icon Belle Gibson took this kind of damaging deception to all new heights. Gibson purported to suffer from terminal cancer that was cured without chemo, radiation, or medication through her strict adherence to a holistically minded, healthy diet. But Gibson was never diagnosed with cancer. Instead, her entirely fabricated medical history misled countless people around the globe—including ill folks desperate for anything capable of staving off treatment complications, terrible pain, and death—all while Gibson amassed fame and fortune.
The basis for the 2018 Academy Award-nominated film of the same name starring Melissa McCarthy, Can You Ever Forgive Me? dazzles as a true crime account of forgery, due in a large part to the fact that the author and fraudster are one and the same. Lee Israel’s shocking, fabulously transparent account follows her turn from respected writer and biographer to a con artist particularly gifted at forging letters written by literary greats the likes of Dorothy Parker and Noël Coward. In a bright, incisive tone, Israel unapologetically details how, when faced with dire economic straits, she set her sights on profiting off her research and writing skills by crafting forgeries authentic enough to fool memorabilia and autograph dealers alike.
Tori Telfer, the author of homicide deep dive Lady Killers, turns her lens towards a less violent side of the criminal underground in Confident Women. A thorough, unflinching look at women throughout history who have swindled their way into fame, high society, and large sums of cash, this provocative and fascinating listen offers a glimpse into the sheer self-assuredness—and unmitigated gall—central to the pathology of criminal perpetrators. From Jeanne de Saint-Rémy’s faux friendship with Marie Antoinette that netted her an extravagant diamond necklace to the Fox sisters, phony mediums who unwittingly founded the spiritualism movement, to Cassie Chadwick’s infamous swindle where she purported to be the illegitimate child of tycoon Andrew Carnegie, the bold and inventive scams concocted by these women are presented in a light, entertaining tone sure to keep you engaged.
If you haven’t yet heard of influencer Caroline Calloway, get ready for an absolutely bonkers ride through the wild world of social media infamy. Calloway’s following began to grow during her college years, first at NYU and later Cambridge, wooing fans with erudite captions about life, love, and longing. By the summer of 2018—the same time the Anna Delvey case took over the headlines—Calloway was set to host a series of creativity workshops, promising attendees personalized gifts, a homemade meal, and valuable insight on art, for the bargain price of $165 a ticket. What attendees received instead was derisively likened to Fyre Festival. But the empty mason jars and soggy salads were just the tip of the iceberg. As hosts Claire and Lucy detail in this episode of their pop culture podcast, Don’t Forget Meg Ryan, the social media star has since been criticized for plagiarism, misrepresentation, and the use of a ghostwriter. So what makes Caroline Calloway different from your run-of-the-mill grifter? She’s made scamming her brand.
