The Instagram Art Scam That Became My Greatest Performance
When the hunter becomes the hunted
The photo was magnificent, perhaps the best I’d ever captured. Standing atop Summit One Vanderbilt, Manhattan’s newest sky-high playground for social media addicts, I had managed to catch my teenage son Charlie in what he believed was the perfect pose. The lighting was ethereal, the backdrop breathtaking, and Charlie looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.
I’m no Annie Leibovitz, mind you. My photography skills hover somewhere between ‘enthusiastic amateur’ and ‘dad with an iPhone’ — definitely more the latter. But something about that moment, the golden hour light filtering through the observation deck’s geometric glass panels, Charlie’s natural confidence as he struck his pose, combined to create magic.
Like everyone else in that glass tower, I posted the photo immediately. Within minutes, the likes began rolling in.
But I had no idea that one particular viewer would soon turn my simple family photo into the opening act of an elaborate performance.
Roughly an hour after posting, my phone buzzed with a Direct Message from someone named Angela. Her profile showed an attractive woman surrounded by canvases and paintbrushes, her feed a carefully curated gallery of artistic works.
“Your photo is absolutely stunning,” her message began. “I’m an artist, and I found your image through the location tag. Would you be interested in being an inspiring muse for an art project?”
As a writer and content creator, I receive my fair share of collaboration requests. This felt different, but not entirely outside the realm of possibility.
Charlie was immediately excited. At his age, the prospect of becoming someone’s ‘muse’ carried all the glamour of being discovered by a Hollywood talent scout. He was confident that a career as an influencer beckoned.
After several exchanges, we reached an agreement: she could use my photograph as inspiration for a painting, and in return, I’d receive a portion of her commission fee. It seemed like a win-win situation.
The conversation concluded, and like many of my social media conversations, I promptly forgot about it entirely.
Four months later, while scrolling through old Instagram messages, I rediscovered my exchange with Angela. Curious about the project, I reached out for an update. Angela’s response was immediate, almost suspiciously so. She had completed her artwork, and the client was ready to send payment, she explained. A check would be issued directly to me.
This struck me as odd. Four months without a word, and now, as soon as I messaged, the payment was ready? But the promise of easy money has a way of erasing reasonable doubts. I envisioned a new side hustle, selling my photography to artists who needed inspiration. Maybe I was as good as Annie Leibovitz.
Angela’s follow-up message raised the stakes: the client would pay a total of $3,000. I could keep $500, and the remaining $2,500 would cover Angela’s materials and time.
The math seemed strange, but my entrepreneurial excitement overrode my skepticism.
Angela needed my banking information to send the check. When I suggested PayPal instead, her response was blunt, as if I had offended her. Her client specifically worked with bank checks, and PayPal was not an option. Eventually, I compromised, providing only my name and email address, both already publicly available online. Angela assured me the check would arrive within 24 hours.
True to her word, the next morning brought an email from someone named Isabella Wilson, featuring an electronic check for $3,000. Staring at that digital document, reality began to crystallize. This was almost certainly a scam. I decided to test my theory, playing up my technological incompetence: “I have no idea how to deposit an electronic check. I’ll need to take this to my bank.”
Her response surprised me: “That’s fine. Just go to your bank and they’ll handle everything.” This threw me off balance. Surely if the check were fake, she’d panic at the mention of bank employees? Maybe I was wrong. I decided to deposit the check and see what happened.
Playing technological incompetence turned out to be easier than expected. My kids would say I had been method acting this role for years. As I delayed and deflected, Angela’s messages became increasingly urgent.
“Have you deposited the check yet?” “Can you send me a screenshot of your bank balance?” “When will you go to the bank?”
Every hour brought a barrage of new messages, each asking for proof that I’d deposited the funds. But strangely, she never actually asked me to transfer her money. I continued my performance as the technologically challenged amateur photographer. When she asked for screenshots, I claimed I didn’t know how to take them. When she asked for my phone number, I said I didn’t know my own number.
Meanwhile, my bank showed the $3,000 as “processing,” so I continued to stall.
The next day, Angela’s patience evaporated completely. “Have the funds cleared yet? I need you to transfer my $2,500 immediately!” Well, it was all caps, spelling errors, and exclamation marks, but I shall spare you from those.
Finally, the scam’s structure became crystal clear. She expected me to send her money as soon as it appeared in my account, before the bank discovered the check was fraudulent.
Then something unexpected happened: the bank cleared the check. My account balance increased by $3,000. I was surprised, surely this couldn’t be real. Rather than continue guessing, I did what I should have done from the beginning: I Googled “Instagram art scam.”
There it was, documented across multiple websites. The pattern was always identical: contact amateur photographers, claim to be inspired by their work, send fraudulent checks, request immediate payment, then disappear when the checks bounce. But I had avoided sending money, the check had mysteriously cleared, and I was stuck in an airport with hours to kill and a growing desire for revenge.
The lightbulb went off: if Angela wanted to waste my time with her elaborate performance, I’d give her a masterclass in return.
I messaged Angela with barely contained excitement: “Great news! Not only has the check cleared, but I’ve found you an incredible opportunity!” I explained that I’d connected with a wealthy art patron who wanted to sponsor her career. This benefactor would provide funding and supplies, an ongoing flow of revenue to get her the artistic fame she deserved.
Angela’s response was notably unenthusiastic. She just wanted her money.
But I was just getting started. I began crafting elaborate fantasies about her potential sponsor, asking for detailed supply lists, promising to procure everything she required. Then I started mapping out tour itineraries and exhibition schedules. Airport boredom makes for creative revenge. However, Angela wanted only a basic canvas and $2,500. I pressed for specifics — what size? What type of paint? The exchange stretched on for hours.
Eventually, I asked her to send photos of the supplies she needed. Her Google skills proved inferior to mine as she sent a laughably generic stock image of what appeared to be a whiteboard, labeled as a “canvassing board.”
Her spelling and grammar deteriorated as her frustration mounted.
Sensing Angela’s growing impatience, I decided to escalate the situation. I confessed that I’d developed feelings for her during our correspondence.
“I’m lonely, and I find you incredibly attractive. Could we meet for dinner?”
This triggered volcanic outrage. Perhaps I’d pushed too far, so I backtracked, requesting something innocent, a photo of Angela painting. She obliged with an obvious Google image result.
“This photo makes me want to marry you,” I replied.
Angela was livid, threatening to block me unless I sent money immediately. But she couldn’t quite follow through as the possibility of salvaging her scam kept her engaged. I told her I was painting a picture of her based on the photo she had sent and asked if we could split profits. She gave me five minutes to transfer her money.
Then another five minutes. Then another.
Finally, I announced that I’d sent not only her $2,500, but additional funds for our future together. When she asked for a screenshot as proof, I offered to paint one instead. She demanded photographic evidence within five minutes. I asked her to send me a “canvassing board” and $2,500 so I could create the screenshot.
That was the final straw. Angela blocked me immediately.
The same day, my bank reversed the $3,000 deposit. The check had been fraudulent all along, just sophisticated enough to temporarily fool the system’s initial processing.
Looking back, I realize Angela taught me something valuable without meaning to. The same greed and desperation that made her vulnerable to my counter-performance had nearly made me vulnerable to hers. We were both willing to suspend disbelief when easy money dangled in front of us.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. While she tried to exploit Charlie’s dreams of fame and my entrepreneurial fantasies, I’d turned her own tools against her. Sometimes the best way to deal with someone trying to manipulate you is to outperform them at their own game.
Charlie never did become a supermodel, but we still take great photos on observation decks. We now screen any offers from inspiring artists first.