In a country where over 25 million people—almost a quarter of the total population—are poor and starving, the glitter of the grift shines so brightly it blinds us from seeing its true nature
Are you ever truly influential unless you’re able to scam your adoring fans and get away with it? Perhaps the controversy with FynestChina signals the rise of the age of the grift among this generation of queers.
The social media content creator, with close to three million followers on TikTok and Instagram combined, has gained popularity for flaunting an extravagant lifestyle—a lifestyle which, claims fellow social media creator and convicted scammer Xian Gaza, is not only unconvincing, but fake. The queer content creator has been called out for lying about giving away money to gain clout.
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“For most content creators, capitalizing on one’s identity—and in this context, queer identity—seems to be the fastest, easiest way to access economic opportunities and social capital that have largely rested on the powerful minority that is the moneyed elite.”
But this isn’t the first time a queer Filipino has both crafted a larger-than-life persona and been embroiled in a scandal. An investigative piece that came out of the defunct magazine Rogue just a few years back alleged how then-fashion blogger and now-content creator Bryanboy was involved in a series of credit card frauds, which funded his excessive way of life that revolved around high-end fashion brands coupled with first-class travels around the world.
From a 2012 Twitter (currently X) post, Bryanboy exclaimed: “Sometimes I feel my life is so shallow, obnoxious, vapid, and superficial. But then again those are the reasons why I also love it.”
The need to self-promote, even when it demands creating an absurdly false persona presented as reality, springs out of the ethos of “Faking it until you make it.” In a country where over 25 million people—almost a quarter of the total population—are poor and starving, the glitter of the grift shines so brightly it blinds us from seeing its true nature. Content creators like FynestChina and Bryanboy understood this and have used it to their advantage.
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For most content creators, capitalizing on one’s identity—and in this context, queer identity—seems to be the fastest, easiest way to access economic opportunities and social capital that have largely rested on the powerful minority that is the moneyed elite.
Successful content creators like Davao Conyo, Steven Bansil, Inah Evans, ACs Life, MacoyDubs, and Pipay have, in varying degrees, used their queer identities as springboard to fame and sponsorships. One could argue there’s nothing inherently wrong with that but rather it is indicative of the limited avenues to financial security for queer people, especially in the Philippines.
“But make sure that you show up for the times that actually matter, where your voice is needed. Because the worst thing that can happen is a queer creator is only queer when it’s convenient for them.”
In an interview in the Guardian, author Naomi Klein talked about how “neoliberalism has created so much precarity that the commodification of the self is now seen as the only route to any kind of economic security. Plus social media has given us the tools to market ourselves non-stop.”
I asked JP Campos, the founder of Commoner (a local and independent media company that grew from creating compelling features catered specifically to an audience that heavily consumes social media content), about his opinion on the matter.
“You do you. That’s you. That’s your life, right? Your queer experience is valid, and it’s true. You do you,” JP said. “But make sure that you show up for the times that actually matter, where your voice is needed. Because the worst thing that can happen is a queer creator is only queer when it’s convenient for them.”
“Doing you” is a mere echo of what many people have repeatedly said throughout recorded human history: from Shakespeare’s “To thine own self be true” to Twice’s “Hey, just be yourself” (heck, even Orange & Lemons’ “‘Ipakita mo ang tunay at kung sino ka, mayro’n mang masama at maganda, wala namang perpekto: basta magpakatotoo.”)
But it begs the questions of whether the Self is truly immutable, if a choice can even be possible in the middle of the genetic and environmental factors that shape this Self, or if the Self we present to others is merely a performance we repeat over and over––and if this repeated performance is how we trap ourselves into a one-dimensional character. (Perhaps the drag queens are right: Life is just a drag show.)
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Queer content creators, as they perform their queerness for consumption, sometimes turn queer identities into reductive caricatures and stereotypes to make themselves more marketable as a brand. Aaron Maniego, for one, has been criticized for how his Bortang Barbie persona mocks femme gay men—a younger version of what actors like Roderick Paulate and Bernardo Bernardo had deployed.
“I think it’s partly wrong,” JP observed. “But I don’t think it’s wrong in its entirety. Because in a way, these representations or these characterizations are drawn, perhaps and hopefully, from real-life experience: media reflecting reality, reality reflecting the media.”
He believes intent is a way to assess the value of these exaggerated characterizations.
“Are you doing this characterization in order to poke fun? Or in order to just gain the laughter? This especially happens when the creator is masc-presenting in real life, and then they use a more feminized counterpart.”
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“And, you know, it’s quite disturbing because you’re stealing someone else’s experience to use it for your own benefit without living through the actual repercussions of that experience. Because after this, when the lights are off, and the camera is off, you are a masc-presenting gay man who can walk down the street and be unclockable.”
“There are people out there from our community who cannot escape the consequences of who they are. And that’s where it gets appalling. Because you’re only feminine when it’s so convenient for you, when it gives you sponsors. But you don’t show up for others, for your community.”
It’s hard to stop a queer content creator who’s earning a living from their queer experiences, especially in the absence of alternatives. But their identities and actions do not exist in a vacuum—they positively and negatively impact our community. Is a queer person’s desire for fame or want of livelihood worth throwing a whole community under the bus?
It is one thing to perform in front of an audience, but where’s the line where the performance crosses into a grift, the artifice becoming a farce? Is the lie acceptable if it leaves us entertained? Is the grift justifiable if only those who are duped are the elite?
“It’s hard to stop a queer content creator who’s earning a living from their queer experiences, especially in the absence of alternatives. But their identities and actions do not exist in a vacuum—they positively and negatively impact our community. Is a queer person’s desire for fame or want of livelihood worth throwing a whole community under the bus?”
And if you end up turning into the same people you set out against, what does that make of you?
JP pondered: “You know, if you’re a sellout, and you get money for it, good for you. You get the sponsors, you get all the privileges, you get invited to amazing, glamorous parties––good for you.”
“But these things: the glamour, the fame, the money, everything that comes with it, that’s not where we should be headed in life, I think. They come as effects of your success, but at some point, you can stop.”
“If you are bending your values for the institutions that are the ones who initiate the hardship or the ones ignoring our hardship, do you actually think you can change the system from within? Like, is that the intention?”
The grift does not come out of nothing: There is a reason why queer people engage in it. True, we can drag the grifters within our community to the online town square and stone them, but what does that truly accomplish? Unless we address the underlying causes that bring about the grift, the gap that the grifters will leave will only be filled by others.
JP explained it well: “We’re in the age of whose bullshit is better. There are people who are really good at selling bullshit––I can’t blame those who believe them because it was a really well-packaged bullshit. If I didn’t know any better, I’d take a bite of the bullshit too, right?”
“It’s just that, I guess I just know better. And you know, these things, they’re just symptoms of much deeper problems. I don’t think a seminar with queer content creators trying to convince them to join the movement, to join the right direction, is going to do the trick. These things are happening because there are deep-rooted problems within our society. And I guess within our culture, or the culture that we have already become accustomed to, these are just the symptoms.”
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