A pornbot stole my identity on Instagram. It took an agonising month to get it deleted | Australian
Australian lifestyle This article is more than 10 months oldA pornbot stole my identity on Instagram. It took an agonising month to get it deleted
This article is more than 10 months oldNurie SalimMindful of her parents’ beliefs, Nurie Salim was always careful about what she posted. Then scammers stole her name and face to advertise nude photographs
Like many people in Sydney, I spent August 2021 in Delta lockdown, stuck at home, endlessly scrolling on my phone and clinging to the internet as a lifeline. While you can meet all sorts of people online, I did not expect to meet myself, or rather the “pornbot” version of me. I hadn’t been hacked, I hadn’t clicked on a phishing link, but I’d still fallen victim to a malicious scam making its rounds on Instagram.
Pornbots create fake accounts that are designed to mimic real people. They steal photos from public social media accounts, and follow the real profile’s friends. They tack on suggestive captions and post links to external paid adult sites. The fake accounts choose @usernames that are deceptively similar to those they impersonate. And for good measure, the fake accounts block the person they’re copying, making it difficult for the victim to see or interact with them.
For weeks, I’d seen friends – former coworkers; people I’d met in the Australian cosplay community – post screenshots of these accounts to their Instagram stories, imploring their followers to block and report them. I’d always done my part to help out.
Then the fake Nurie account emerged. It barely made sense, for starters, my photos were pretty tame, and the photos scraped by the pornbot were even more so. In one, I’m laughing and lounging in a new outfit. In another, I am posing with my best friend at our artist alley table at a convention. The pornbot wasn’t even good at its job. Had it scrolled further down my Instagram grid, it could have at least found the picture of me laughing at the beach in a swimsuit.
For days, messages would pour in:
“Hey Nurie, I got followed by an account that’s just your username with an underscore on the end, I guess it’s impersonating you trying to pretend to sell nudes. Just a heads up.”
“Hey Nurie! Just wanted to let you know this profile popped up like one did for [redacted] the other day.”
“Hey lady, just got a follow request from this page. I noticed you made a post about a fake account. I also have a friend that’s going through a similar deal.”
But a couple of my friends were actually fooled. When I grilled one about it, they said it seemed weird at first, but with the advent of sites like OnlyFans, it was fairly normal to see people making paid content. They applauded me for “getting that coin”. While I definitely respect and appreciate the hard yards that sex workers put into their craft, I just wasn’t one myself. It was infuriating that my name and likeness were taken without my consent and used to scam people.
While my peers were supportive, and most were clued in to what was going on, I had a bigger problem to worry about: my parents.
They are older, not tech savvy in the slightest, and also religious and conservative. I’ve always been very careful about what I post on Instagram. My mother follows me, and I’ve got no time to be swerving furious WhatsApp messages.
Back in my home country, Malaysia, even having premarital sex while Muslim could land you in jail. Owning or publishing pornography of any kind can get you fined 10,000 ringgit (A$3,350) and imprisoned for up to three years. And here was an account with my face, touting “EXCLUSIVE FULL NUDITY, FREE 30 DAYS ACCESS”. This was very bad news. I was stressed. I needed to get the account taken down, stat.
Naturally, I reported the fake account to Instagram. Several times. I recall having to send a photograph of myself, ID in hand, to prove I was who I said I was. My partner, Alex, who works in tech, contacted Wix, which hosted the website that linked to my non-existent nudes. The Wix site was promptly removed, thankfully. At least now, the pornbot was leading people to nowhere. But it was still up on Instagram, still trying to sell me. I’d check back day after day, anxiety rising, and it would still be there.
I lodged a report with the eSafety Commission, imagining that they’d be able to do something, anything. I received a disappointing reply from an agent, saying they “mainly deal with cyberbullying material targeted at children”, they “had no legislative power to investigate adult cyber abuse complaints formally” and asked: “Did you get a chance to report it to Instagram?” It would be a long, agonising month before the account was finally deleted.
It seems absurd that someone can be punished simply for being a woman online. We work, play and socialise on the internet – but not safely. Isn’t it time that there were laws in place to protect us?
For the time being, my Instagram account has been set to private. I’m happier knowing that my silly little selfies are being seen by actual people, not robots. It would be great if Meta could flag and delete suspicious accounts swiftly, without charging $25 a month. It would make the platform safer for everyone. Maybe if that happens, I’ll set my profile back to public. Heck, I might even be compelled to post to the grid more than once a year.
Nurie Salim will appear on SBS’s Insight episode on identity crime, airing on Tuesday 28 February at 8.30pm, and available to stream on SBS On Demand.
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