Hi!

This week, I'm in the U.S., speaking to a crowd of 2,500 IT and cybersecurity professionals about Digital Culture. And I have to admit, it’s a bit ironic. Despite all the technological advancements in privacy and security, the people who seem to truly grasp the power of human-centric approaches aren’t always the experts—they’re often the scammers. Social engineering scams are booming, and with technology like generative AI in their arsenal, these schemes have become disturbingly effective.

One scam that’s been making headlines lately is what’s referred to as “Pig Butchering”. (It’s a terrible term—we really should come up with something else.) The term refers to a long game, where scammers “fatten the pig” by building a fake relationship over time, earning trust, and eventually convincing their target to send money, take a job, or invest in a scheme. Whether it’s posing as a romantic partner or offering a too-good-to-be-true business opportunity, the end goal is always the same: exploitation.

A recent and particularly harrowing example took place in the Philippines. In March, authorities raided a “fraud farm,” but the true horror was in the details. The scammers themselves were victims—people trafficked from other countries, lured with the promise of legitimate jobs or relationships, only to be forced into catfishing others under abusive conditions. These individuals faced threats of physical violence and torture if they didn’t comply, turning a story of financial fraud into one of modern slavery.​

It’s a stark reminder that technology is creating new ways to dehumanize and victimize those caught on either side of the scam.

On platforms like Telegram, where shady activity thrives, scammers are purchasing AI-powered face-changing software to use during live video calls, making it easier than ever to deceive victims. Combine this with generative AI’s ability to craft convincing text in any language, and suddenly the barriers between scammer and target vanish. Scammers can now create elaborate, believable personas with minimal effort, tapping into people’s emotional vulnerabilities with chilling ease.

This brings me to the real challenge in cybersecurity: no matter how many technological safeguards we put in place, the most vulnerable point will always be the human heart. We can secure our systems, but can we secure our emotions? Our desire to connect, to trust, to believe in something good—these are the very traits that scammers exploit. And that’s what makes this work so complex. It’s not just about staying ahead of the latest tech, it’s about understanding what makes us human.

Social engineering works because it taps into our most basic human instincts—connection, trust, hope. We want to believe in people, we want opportunities to be real, and scammers have learned to leverage that with unsettling precision. The intersection of advanced technology and emotional manipulation presents an ongoing challenge. It’s a reminder that cybersecurity is about more than just protecting data—it’s about protecting people. And in a world where scams are evolving as quickly as the technology that powers them, our collective awareness and resilience will be just as critical as the firewalls and encryption we rely on.

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Notes From the Community

After sharing my thoughts on Elite Panic, Cecile responded with two ideas. The first one struck me immediately: the way narratives about colonizing Mars and the tech billionaire space race reflect a belief that, with enough innovation, we can somehow outrun the damage of climate collapse. It’s that lingering idea that advanced technology will save us, no matter how severe the crisis—a form of escape that’s both fascinating and unsettling when you consider who has access to that imagined future.

Her second point was equally compelling, and maybe even more challenging: while it’s true that, in disasters, most people instinctively help each other, there’s also a minority that takes advantage of the chaos. We love stories about communities coming together during crises—and they’re real—but there’s also looting, violence, and exploitation. Cecile reminded me that we can’t forget this side of human nature, either. She suggested I read Zeitoun by Dave Eggers, which follows a man’s experience of Hurricane Katrina and how he faced the very real fear and dysfunction that comes with elite panic. I’ve already added it to my reading list.

What her response highlights for me is the dual nature of crisis—how it brings out both the best and the worst in us. It’s a reminder that these moments aren’t just heartwarming tales of resilience; they’re also messy, complicated, and shaped by who has power and who doesn’t. And maybe that’s what makes them so revealing of the bigger story we’re all part of.

Just Divorce Him?

In my ongoing curiosity about how the internet shapes our relationships (see here and here), I recently stumbled upon an article by Rebecca Jennings over at Vox, discussing how “Just Divorce Him” has somehow become the default relationship advice online. Jennings is right to ask if TikTok is really the place we should be turning to for serious relationship advice (no), if it’s wise to make split-second decisions over one incident (also no), or if we’ve forgotten to extend some grace and compassion toward our partners, who—let’s face it—are all flawed (definitely). Life is messy, and so are relationships. Reducing everything to a single moment is unfair.

But honestly, here’s what Jennings didn’t fully address: women have been putting up with a lot lately. And it’s not just the small things—it’s the deeper lack of care these small things expose. Let me give you an example. I came across this Tiktok recently where two couples were preparing for Thanksgiving dinner (Canadian Thanksgiving). The wives clearly told their husbands that dinner would be ready in 20 minutes. But what did the men do? They went fishing. They were late. The wives had set the table, poured the wine, cooked the food, and waited. When their husbands didn’t return on time, they ate alone in front of two empty chairs.

Now, is ONE incident like this worthy of divorce? Probably not.

But it’s not about the one incident. It’s the callous disregard, the thoughtlessness. It makes you wonder: are these men completely oblivious, or are they just mean-spirited? If it’s the former, maybe it’s time for a conversation. But if that conversation doesn’t result in any real change, then maybe divorce isn’t such an overreaction after all.

Because at the end of the day, I’d rather be alone than be with someone who doesn’t care enough to show up for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s not about perfection—it’s about respect and partnership. And what these seemingly small moments often reveal is a pattern of emotional labor that women carry in relationships—the managing, the remembering, the showing up—that often goes unseen and unappreciated.

It also encourages this infantilizing narrative about men, like, "oh, you know how they are," and I think that undermines the responsibility to show up in your relationship as an equal, emotionally mature partner. As Jesse pointed out when I showed him this video, would they be late to an important meeting? A game they had tickets to? No? Hmmm.

But that’s just me. What do you think? How do we balance showing grace for our partners’ flaws while also setting a boundary when disregard becomes too much to tolerate?

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Content Round Up

I just finished watching Drops of God on Apple TV+, and honestly, it felt like it was made for me. It’s got everything I love—France, Japan, wine, and a storyline that had me completely hooked. I’ve always been drawn to stories where characters become utterly consumed by one passion, and this show did that so well. There’s something deeply compelling about seeing someone’s obsession through their eyes, how their entire world narrows down to this one thing that holds so much meaning for them. I think that’s why fandoms fascinate me so much too—there’s an intensity to loving something that much, a purity in that kind of devotion. It’s not just about the thing itself, whether it’s wine, music, or a TV show; it’s about how it becomes a lens through which they experience the world, how it brings people together in ways that are almost spiritual.

Speaking of intensity, I read this New Yorker article that left me stunned. It tells the story of a Texan doctor who moved to Saudi Arabia and ended up overseeing the care of four Saudi princesses who were imprisoned in their home, drugged, and held there by their father. Even under MBS, the situation didn’t change, which is especially horrifying given Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030 plan that claims to elevate women’s roles in society. It’s hard to take those promises seriously when the leadership is still detaining women for seemingly no reason. What struck me most was how this story lays bare the contradictions of authoritarian regimes—how they try to project progress while perpetuating the same oppressive practices behind closed doors. I just hope the doctor stays safe, given how dangerous it can be to speak out against the Saudi regime.

As we get closer to the U.S. election, it feels like we’re reaching one of those moments where the stakes couldn’t be higher. I read a deep dive into the lives of the January 6 rioters who are now in prison, and it’s chilling. They’ve formed their own community behind bars and are becoming even more radicalized. What scares me is how much Trumpism resembles a religious movement more than a political one. There’s this fervor, this sense of belonging that’s being cultivated, and it’s terrifying to think about how that will play out in the years to come. The election feels like a breaking point, but neither direction seems particularly hopeful right now.

On a lighter but no less fascinating note, I’ve been thinking about the evolution of luxury. A few years ago, I wrote about the rise of stealth wealth, and now I’m intrigued by what’s happening with The Row, the Olsen twins’ quiet luxury brand. They recently received a massive cash injection from some big-name investors, including the owners of Chanel and L’Oreal heiress Françoise Bettencourt. This has pushed The Row’s valuation to a billion dollars, but it raises a question: how do you scale a brand that’s built on exclusivity and under-the-radar luxury without losing what makes it special? It feels almost paradoxical—expansion seems to run counter to the whole ethos of the brand. I’m curious to see how they navigate this because the pressure to grow could either elevate the brand or completely dilute its identity.

And lastly, I’ve been keeping an eye on the troubles over at 23andMe. The DNA testing company is facing some serious financial challenges, which isn’t surprising when you consider their business model. Most people only use their service once, which means they’ve constantly had to find new customers to stay afloat. Now, they’re considering selling their assets, which includes that massive database of individual DNA profiles. It’s unsettling to think about where that data could end up—insurance companies, tech firms, pharmaceutical giants. And while the company’s leadership insists they’ll protect customer data, I can’t help but wonder how those promises hold up when bankruptcy is looming. It’s a stark reminder of how much we give away with a single click, and how the fine print we often ignore could come back in ways we didn’t expect.

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Over to you...

If any of this resonates with you—or if it sparks a thought or idea—I’d love to hear from you. Just hit reply and let me know what’s on your mind. Whether it’s your own take on one of these topics, a recommendation, or something entirely different, I always find the best conversations happen when we can exchange perspectives. So don’t be shy—I’m all ears!