Since the release of the breakthrough documentary Catfish in 2010 and subsequent US TV series, catfishing has been extremely well-represented and understood in pop culture. It gave a name to a trend that was already endemic on MSN Messenger and prehistoric Facebook; as soon as we had a noun – catfish – and a verb – ‘to catfish’ – people could easily talk about these novel, digital experiences. Some catfish profiles were created for banal, silly reasons (when I was about 12, my friends and I dressed in fancy dress and created 10 different ‘Hot Or Not’ profiles for totally fictitious village locals because we were bored). Others, however, were at the other extreme, tragic stories of people manipulated into falling in love with non-existent people online.
So, when I was asked to host the UK version of the show in 2020, I felt I had a very good idea of what I was going to experience. I expected catfishes who were infatuated with certain individuals and created the perfect conditions to entrap them; scorned exes making online profiles to humiliate or prove a point to somebody they once loved; opportunists preying on people’s money. Yet shooting the second series of the show, I’ve noticed a new trend. Rather than being purely about deceit, catfishing has become a functional tool in how we navigate the internet.
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