It all began with a seemingly innocuous Facebook friend request from a man named Bobby, triggering an odyssey that would haunt Kirat Assi, a charismatic 29-year-old radio host, for a decade. Normally, Assi guarded her digital sanctuary from strangers, but Bobby hailed from a prestigious Sikh clan in West London, a name that echoed familiarly within her social circle. Her cousin's past romance with Bobby's younger sibling and their own online exchanges painted him in a favorable light, prompting her to accept the connection in 2010, an era where social media still shimmered with optimism.
Facebook then was a vibrant tapestry of laughter-filled status updates, cherished photo memories, and endless pokes, a seemingly harmless realm where old acquaintances reunited and new friendships blossomed. Little did Assi know, this friend request would unravel into a decade-spanning nightmare chronicled in the recently released Netflix documentary, "Sweet Bobby: My Catfish Nightmare."
In the recent surge of true-crime and catfishing narratives dominating documentaries and podcasts, Assi, now 43, underscores the gravity often overlooked in these deceitful online entanglements. "People need to grasp the profound devastation," she laments, highlighting that both the film and its predecessor podcast couldn't encapsulate the full extent of her torment due to its triggering nature. She prefers the term "online entrapment," emphasizing the nefarious nature of her ordeal.
For six years, Assi and Bobby wove a web of digital friendship, until his divorce paved the way for romantic confessions. Their subsequent three-year romance unfolded through chats, texts, intimate audio messages, and sleepless Skype nights, fostering an illusion of intimacy amidst Bobby's perpetual anonymity. He narrated tales of a New York exile under witness protection, following a Kenyan business feud gone awry, where death threats and bullet wounds precluded live video encounters. His old Facebook snaps served as proxies for his elusive presence.
Gradually, Bobby's controlling nature surfaced, probing incessantly into Assi's whereabouts. She sacrificed her beloved radio career to accommodate his demands, convinced that their union was imminent, believing the sacrifice was but a prelude to their blissful reunion. An engagement sealed their digital vows, and in 2018, he promised a face-to-face meeting in London—a promise that would shatter her world.
Directed by Lyttanya Shannon and produced by Raw TV, the studio behind critically acclaimed true-crime hits like "The Tinder Swindler" and "Don't F*** With Cats," "Sweet Bobby" delves into the meticulous orchestration and heartrending unraveling of a years-long catfishing scheme masquerading as an enchanting online romance.
Ms. Assi's heart-wrenching tale initially resonated with listeners worldwide when she confided in Alexi Mostrous, a renowned journalist from Tortoise Media, during the smash-hit podcast "Sweet Bobby" in 2021. This revelation sparked outrage and curiosity, cementing its place in the catfishing canon—a gripping subgenre that thrives within the true-crime fascination.
This week, Hulu adds another gripping chapter to this crowded narrative with "Fanatical: The Catfishing of Tegan and Sara," an unflinching look at the 16-year deception suffered by the Canadian indie-pop duo. As cultural fascination with these intricate scams deepens, it sheds light on their intricate workings, yet Stacey Wood, a psychology professor at Scripps College, cautions that this interest hasn't significantly diminished their potency.
Statistics from the Federal Trade Commission paint a sobering picture: in 2023, over 64,000 romance scams were officially reported in the United States, with the actual figure likely far higher due to unreported cases shrouded in embarrassment and shame. These scams claimed a staggering $1.4 billion from their victims.
Dr. Wood explains that scammers meticulously "mirror" their targets' interests, aspirations, hobbies, relationships, and core values, seamlessly transforming into whatever resonates. In Ms. Assi's case, the perpetrator leveraged intimate knowledge of her tight-knit, minority community, crafting an intricate web of 60 fake Facebook profiles modeled on real individuals.
Ms. Assi considers herself fortunate that advanced technologies like AI and hyper-realistic deepfakes weren't part of the equation during her ordeal. "Had they been," she says, "I would've been, pardon my language, royally screwed. Completely." Mr. Mostrous, the journalist, warns that the technological advancements may soon far surpass our ability to discern deception.
While catfishing itself isn't illegal in the US or the UK, Ms. Assi's 2020 civil suit stands as Britain's pioneering successful claim of its kind. With her story set to reach millions on Netflix, Ms. Assi harbors hope that it will ignite a change, urging social media platforms to fortify safeguards against such online manipulation.
"We mustn't be deterred from revolutionizing our online conduct," she insists. Moreover, Ms. Assi yearns for a shift in how catfishing narratives are portrayed. "I'm utterly drained," she confesses, after repeatedly recounting her ordeal, which has exposed her to online harassment and victim-blaming. "It's imperative that the perpetrators are interrogated, not just the victims," she emphasizes.
