This Is How To Avoid Being Scammed: 8 Secrets From Experts

I don’t need to tell you that you shouldn’t send $500 to someone claiming to be a stranded astronaut trying to get back to Earth.

Or that if some guy calling himself the “Royal Commander of the International Refunds Bureau” asks for your PayPal login, you shouldn’t give it to him.

If a stranger texts saying, “Hello, dearest, you seem trustworthy and strong” you know that’s not how people talk. That’s how villains in telenovelas address their enemies before stealing their husbands.

You’re smart.

But you can still be conned.

Look, there are two kinds of people in the world: those who’ve never been conned, and those who don’t know they have. If you think you’re in the first group, congratulations: you’re in the second.

I know, you think scams are for people who forward chain emails and still use AOL. Surely you could never be tricked. And that makes you exactly the kind of person that con artists fantasize about when they’re drifting off to sleep on their pile of Apple gift cards.

“But I’ll see it coming. I know what con artists look like.”

WRONG. WRONG WITH EXTRA WRONG SAUCE.

Let’s be clear: real-life scammers aren’t smooth-talking gentlemen in casinos explaining the “long con” over martinis and jazz. There’s no “type.” They’re just someone who realized they could make more money impersonating a bank than working for one.

In this time of increasing uncertainty, rampant inflation, and podcasts, it is more important than ever to arm oneself against hucksterism. So who can teach us what we need to know?

Johnathan Walton got scammed out of almost $100,000 by a con artist. And when the authorities didn’t help, he launched his own investigation, leading to her arrest and conviction. Now he spends his time helping other victims get justice.

His book is “Anatomy of a Con Artist.”

We’re going to review some of the red flags to look out for. A single red flag may mean nothing. But when they reach parade level? Look out.

Let’s get to it…

 

“I Just Want to Help”

A stranger materializes at precisely the moment you’re most desperate and says, “Good news! I can help.” This is a red flag so large it needs its own air traffic controller.

The FBI has a term for these people: “rescue merchants.” If they were any more predatory, they’d have to register with National Geographic.

When you’re stressed, your cognitive bandwidth shrinks. You want a fix. Everything else (price, risk, who-is-this-person) gets shoved into the attic of your mind next to your high school trombone. The rescue merchant counts on that.

“I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. That’s why I created this program. For people like us.”

That’s not empathy. That’s a sales funnel.

But you assume, “If someone wants to help me, they must be good.” No. They might just be good at appearing helpful.

Let’s be clear: this alone doesn’t mean they’re a con artist. There are decent people in the world; some of them even use turn signals. But if someone shows up at just the right time with just the right solution?

Be wary.

(To learn the scientific techniques for spotting liars, check out my book here.)

What else should we look out for?

 

Too Kind, Too Quick

You meet someone new. They’re so thoughtful. They remember the name of your dog (which you mentioned once), your birthday (which you didn’t), and your favorite flavor of LaCroix (which is already a sign that you’re spiritually bankrupt, but we’ll let that slide).

They immediately listen like they’re studying for a PhD in You Studies. You feel seen. Understood. Special…

Aaaaand this is what emotional fraud feels like. But don’t worry, everyone falls for it at least once. (Some of you marry it.)

Gushing kindness and generosity don’t arrive that fast. Normal people slowly dial up support over time as the relationship deepens.

If someone’s moving too quick, immediately being too nice? They’re not trying to get to know you; they’re trying to install malware in your soul.

So should you be cynical? Alone forever? No. You should be slow. You don’t need to be suspicious of kindness. You need to be suspicious of velocity. People moving that fast are disproportionately likely to leave you heartbroken, destitute, or short one kidney.

(To learn how to overcome negative thoughts, click here.)

So how do these scammers gain your trust?

 

TMI

You meet someone new. Nice enough. They have decent shoes and they don’t smell like wet dog food. Within the first fifteen minutes, they hit you with a deeply personal story.

Not a “I burped mid-kiss once” overshare. No. This is Olympic-level TMI, rehearsed for years, polished until it gleams, and dropped on you like an emotional anvil.

And your dumb, squishy brain goes, “Wow. They trust me with this deeply personal confession. I feel so connected.” So you blurt out your own TMI: “Sometimes I eat frosting straight out of the tub with my hand because spoons are for losers.” Or you mention that time you farted in yoga class and blamed the mat.

Suddenly you feel like old friends.

But you’re not. Oversharing creates a fast-track to intimacy. You think you’re bonding but really you’re just narrating your own downfall.

Now you’re invested. And when they ask for a little favor, you don’t hesitate. Because they trusted you. They told you about their painful childhood! Their dead hamster Mr. Fluffernuts! Who are you to say no?

Say no.

(To learn how to make emotionally intelligent friendships, click here.)

But what’s the pro-level method they use to build the trust that gets you to part with your money?

 

“Beak Wetting”

Shortly after meeting someone they give you something. Maybe even cash. Cool, right?

Beak Wetting (n.) – A strategic act of faux generosity by a con artist to convince you they’re not a con artist, so they can con you harder, faster, and with your blessing.

Human beings, despite millennia of evolution and several seasons of “Black Mirror”, still operate on the notion that the past predicts the future. It’s not even that irrational, to be fair.

If someone’s been nice to you five days in a row, you assume day six isn’t going to involve them pushing you into a hedge and stealing your shoes. It’s the same logic that tells you fire is hot and clowns are terrifying.

Con artists know this. So when they give you a bit of money, “Aha!” you think. “If they were trying to scam me, why would they give me money?”

Which is adorable. Because they’re not giving you money; they’re buying your trust at a discount. It’s not generosity. It’s investment. And they are so ready for the return.

(To learn how to have a resilient family, click here.)

But how do they sustain the ruse and bleed you for more?

 

Drama, Drama, Drama

Suddenly, everything in their life is on fire. A full-blown, multi-act catastrophe.

They’re always the victim. They’ve been betrayed, backstabbed, and wronged more times than a soap opera character. Ex-business partners? Evil. The bank? Mistaken. Their last three landlords? Jealous, probably aliens.

They’ll need a ride. A favor. And they need money. Because of course they do.

At this point, you’re not making decisions logically. You’re making decisions in defense of the story you’ve been sold: that you’re the special one. You’re the chosen confidant of this broken angel who trusts no one else.

But, no, you are not in a heroic epic saga. You’re in a slow-motion heist movie and you’re the vault. Drama is how the con artist keeps your cognitive load too high to question anything. It generates sympathy, urgency and monopolizes your attention.

Look, bad things happen. But if a person’s life is an uninterrupted drumbeat of misfortune, punctuated by elaborate excuses, obscure enemies, and emotional cliffhangers, you are likely not witnessing the tragic opera of a doomed romantic.

You are watching a production, and your role is “Gullible Mark #14.”

(To learn the 6 secrets from neuroscience that will make you productive, click here.)

So what helps them seal the deal?

 

Scarcity

“Only 2 left in stock!” Amazon screams, even though you know Jeff Bezos didn’t build a trillion-dollar empire by running out of wireless earbuds on a Tuesday. It’s a standard part of marketing but it’s also a key weapon in the con artist’s arsenal.

Scarcity turns off your brain and flips on your internal panic ferret, that part of you that runs in circles and screams, “IF I DON’T DO THIS NOW I’LL BE POOR, SAD, AND LIVING IN A VAN EATING UNSALTED SALTINES!”

Urgency is the anesthesia they use to operate on your bank account. That ticking-clock, this-deal-dies-tonight, act-now-or-cry-later vibe slithers right under your logical defenses like a Trojan horse made of pure, concentrated FOMO.

Now scarcity by itself doesn’t mean something is a scam. But every time someone says “You’ve gotta do it now,” your bowels should clench a little.

(To learn the secret to losing weight, click here.)

But surely if you were being taken in by a scam one of your friends would say something, right? Con artists have an angle for that as well…

 

Isolation

“Let’s keep this between us.” Translation: “This will fall apart under basic scrutiny.”

“Don’t tell your accountant.” Translation: “Your accountant can read.”

“You’re the only one who truly gets this.” Translation: “You’re the only one here.”

Your skeptical friends? Oh, they’re “dream-killers,” apparently. Negative energy. Not “aligned.” The scammer will tell you not to talk to your lawyer, your partner, or that friend from high school who once read a book.

It feels cinematic to be invited into something mysterious that the Normals wouldn’t understand. It feels like intimacy, like trust. Scammers make you feel chosen. “You and me, against the world.” Which sounds cool until you realize that “against the world” actually means “against common sense and your checking account balance.”

And soon you will find yourself very much alone, in the dark, Googling “how to sell plasma fast.”

This is Con Artist 101: separate the mark from the herd. They need you in a vacuum where their nonsense doesn’t echo against anything harder than your own desperate hope.

But if this “opportunity” can’t survive the light of a group text, it will not survive tax season. Scammers are vampires: they can only survive in the dark, and the second you open the blinds, poof, it’s just some loser in a cape hissing in your kitchen.

If this “friend” discourages a second opinion, bring a third and a fourth. Set up bleachers. Sell popcorn. Because the one thing a scam can’t survive is sunlight. And sunlight, unfortunately, often comes in the form of a real friend saying: “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Which, it turns out, is the kindest thing anyone can say to you. You just saved yourself from becoming the cautionary tale your family tells at holidays.

(To learn how to stop procrastinating, click here.)

And what’s the final, ironclad red flag?

 

Wires

Here’s a basic rule of human survival, on par with “don’t pet the grizzly”:

Never. Send. Wires.

Why do con artists love bank wires, you ask? They’re instantaneous in the way hangovers aren’t. The moment you hit “send,” your money is gone. Not “pending,” not “reversible upon complaint.” No. Your cash has fled the country, changed its name, and is currently dating someone much hotter than you in Monaco.

Johnathan writes, “In nearly every con artist case that I have investigated, when a large sum of money changed hands, it was usually through a bank wire.”

Yeah, yeah, there are some real-world, legitimate uses for wiring money, sure. If you’re buying a house, a yacht, or bribing FIFA officials, you might have to wire funds. But for the rest of us? A wire means you’re being scammed.

(To learn how to have a happy retirement, click here.)

Okay, we’ve learned a lot. Time to round it up and learn the deep-seated reason we fall for this malarkey…

 

Sum Up

Here’s how to avoid being scammed…

• “I’m here to help”: If help arrives too perfectly timed, it’s not fate; it’s choreography.
• Too Kind, Too Fast: No one is that nice that fast unless they’re a Labrador or lying. Grifters rush the relationship like they’re trying to make a connecting flight.
• TMI: They get close to you not by earning your trust, but by creating the illusion that they’ve already given you theirs.
• Beak Wetting: “He gave me money; therefore, he must be trustworthy.” (You don’t even need that second half of the sentence. Your subconscious just fills it in.)
• Drama, Drama, Drama: Life happens. Real, arbitrary, tragic stuff. But when one person seems to be the eye of every existential hurricane, it’s not bad luck. It’s bad fiction.
• Scarcity: “If you build it, they will come. If you say it’s about to disappear, they’ll trample each other.” – Field of Dreams (Alternate Director’s Cut)
• Isolation: If you were buying a used car and the salesman said, “Whatever you do, don’t talk to your mechanic,” you’d assume the engine was made of papier-mâché and walnuts.
• Wires: Wires are for lamps. (And if you ignore this and still send a wire? Don’t worry. At least you’ll have a great story for the support group you’ll join later.)

You’re not vulnerable because you’re stupid. You’re vulnerable because you’re hopeful. Desperate. Or, worse, entitled. The con artist’s greatest asset is your hunger.

A con is a consensual hallucination between a liar and someone desperate to believe the lie.

You’re not a victim of a con artist. You’re a consumer.

A scam only works if it tells you something you want to hear. Not something true, not something real, just something emotionally plausible. That you’re important. That you deserve better. That your life is about to change and all you have to do is act right now. The con artist doesn’t manufacture that longing; they harvest it.

People don’t respond to a Nigerian prince email offering $14 million because it makes sense. They respond because they want to believe that the universe might randomly hand them wealth as compensation for having endured all the indignities of life. They’re not clicking the link because they think it’s smart; they’re clicking it because they think it’s deserved.

And the moment you believe you’re immune is the moment the door swings open. Because it’s not just about being vigilant. It’s about being honest: with yourself. Avoiding con artists isn’t about memorizing signs. It’s about recognizing yourself in the con.

You think conning is about lying. It isn’t. Lying is a teenager’s trick. Conning is about giving you permission to believe what you already want to be true.

So the only real defense isn’t spam filters or security questions. It’s self-awareness. When something feels like the exact thing you’ve been waiting for your entire life… it probably isn’t. It’s usually just a mirror, showing you what you want to see.

Know what story you’re already telling yourself, because that’s the one they’ll hijack.