Google went from “Don’t Be Evil” to letting anonymous trolls delete your content from the internet in minutes — and has no incentive to fix it

In 2000, Google adopted an internal motto that would become one of the most famous phrases in corporate history: “Don’t be evil.” It appeared in their corporate code of conduct, served as the Wi-Fi password on employee shuttles, and was cited by Google’s own founders in their 2004 IPO letter as a guiding principle. It was, for a time, one of the few examples of a tech company articulating a moral compass in plain language.

Then, in 2018, Google removed almost every mention of it.

The phrase had lived at the top of the company’s code of conduct for nearly two decades. Following a corporate restructuring under parent company Alphabet in 2015, Alphabet adopted the softer “Do the right thing” as its own code. Google initially kept “Don’t be evil” — until late April 2018, when a revision scrubbed it from the preface entirely. One lonely mention survives at the bottom of the document: “And remember… don’t be evil.” A whisper where there used to be a declaration.

The timing was notable. The removal coincided with a wave of employee resignations over Google’s involvement in Project Maven, a partnership with the U.S. Pentagon to develop AI for military applications. Over 4,000 employees signed a petition against the project. A dozen left entirely. Google’s former Head of International Relations, Ross LaJeunesse, would later write that the motto “was no longer a true reflection of the company’s values; it was now nothing more than just another corporate marketing tool.”

You might wonder what any of this has to do with a copyright law written in 1998. The answer is everything. Because the same company that decided “Don’t be evil” was no longer worth saying out loud has also built the single most exploitable content-removal system on the internet — and has made deliberate choices to keep it that way.

The Weapon Google Hands to Fraudsters

Here’s what bad actors can do today: submit DMCA requests that look valid on paper, then let Google’s default “remove first” machinery do the rest. In practice, that can mean pages vanish from search results fast, with little friction up front and no meaningful verification that the filer is who they claim to be.

That isn’t a hypothetical. That’s how Google’s DMCA takedown process works right now. And while the Digital Millennium Copyright Act itself has serious structural problems, Google has made a series of deliberate choices that go far beyond what the law requires, turning a flawed system into a weapon optimized for abuse.

This is what a fraudulent-looking DMCA notice can look like: generic sender, vague work identification, and a sprawling URL list — exactly the kind of filing that makes abuse hard to detect at scale.

Who’s Getting Hurt

The damage isn’t theoretical. It’s happening to real people, and it cuts two ways.

First, there are the creators whose identities are being weaponized against them. Top OnlyFans creators have discovered that unverified filers are impersonating them to file fraudulent copyright claims, using the creator’s own name and content as the basis for takedowns against publishers who feature them. Many creators without professional representation are watching their traffic collapse and have no framework for understanding why. The mechanism of attack is invisible to them. They see the symptom. They never see the cause.

“My agent brought these fake reports to my attention — I didn’t even know this could happen,” says Kayla, a top 1% OnlyFans creator. “I was shocked. It’s almost as bad as finding out you’ve been leaked. Other creators who don’t have agency representation lose traffic to their pages and have no idea why it’s happening or what to do.”

Then there are the publishers. Ad networks, roundup sites, and independent media outlets whose legitimately published content gets ripped out of Google search results overnight. They lose time, money, and traffic fighting bogus claims — and by the time they successfully counter one fraudulent takedown, the damage has already been done and hundreds more notices are waiting.

Matt M., a top creator agency owner, describes the operational reality: “We lose time and money fighting these bogus claims. In the end, it’s the creator who suffers. Some of them have been manipulated into paying for takedowns to protect their brand. What really happens is they lose access to the promotion they’re paying for from ad networks, so they’re effectively paying twice and losing traffic. I don’t blame the creators for this — these scammers make it sound like they’re some kind of intellectual property lawyer protecting the creator against theft.”

On the publisher side, the operational toll is just as brutal. Benjamin, a COO at a web publishing company, describes a business that’s been forced to build an entire role around fighting fraud: “We manage dozens of niche websites where humans compose longform editorial content and perform investigative journalism. We’re overly cautious about ensuring the graphics on our sites are eligible and fair use. And yet, we now have to have a full-time employee who does nothing but receive DMCA takedown notices, respond to explain our position, and then track and follow up on each one because Google is only reinstating our pages about 60% of the time on the first attempt.” The economics of abuse have made it even worse: “We’ve seen a huge increase in unethical providers on websites like Fiverr who will file DMCA takedowns anonymously for less than $10. This DMCA fraud is a daily struggle.”

What connects all of it is the same structural failure: Google processes takedowns from unverified filers at scale — and the people on the receiving end have no fast, affordable way to fight back.

Seven Things Google Could Do Tomorrow (But Won’t)

The DMCA requires platforms to process takedown notices “expeditiously” to maintain safe harbor protection, but nowhere does the law require Google to accept unverified notices, prohibit identity confirmation, or prevent flagging suspicious patterns. Google has chosen to do none of the things the law would allow. Every change below is legally permissible. They choose not to because the current system costs them nothing.

1. Verify the identity of complainants. Anyone can file a DMCA takedown with a self-attested name and zero identity verification. Fraudulent senders routinely use generic names like “DMCA Manager,” burying their filings in a sea of identical-looking notices. Google could require verified accounts or confirmed business entities before processing notices. The law requires a perjury statement that the filer is authorized to act on behalf of the copyright holder, but Google never actually verifies that claim. This is the single highest-leverage change Google could make, because every other reform depends on knowing who is actually filing.

2. Create a trust scoring system and verified publisher whitelist. Google processes millions of takedown requests annually. They have more than enough data to flag patterns of abuse — high-volume filers who get counter-noticed, notices that consistently target competitors rather than actual pirates. Google already does this in other contexts: think Google Ads quality scores, think search spam detection. The technical infrastructure exists. The will does not. Taking it further, Google could create a verified publisher whitelist — trusted publishers with clean compliance records receive “notice and review” treatment rather than instant “notice and takedown.” When a takedown targets content from a verified publisher, Google holds it pending brief review instead of auto-removing it. Unverified filers and unknown entities get standard processing. The current system doesn’t bother to distinguish between a publisher and a pirate. Google could make that distinction tomorrow.

3. Add a review window for suspicious notices. Instead of removing content the instant a notice arrives, Google could hold flagged notices for 24 to 48 hours of review. The DMCA says “expeditiously.” It does not say “instantly.” Google already takes days to process many notices anyway.

4. Require specific identification of the copyrighted work. Fraudulent takedowns are routinely vague about what’s supposedly being infringed. The law already requires identification of the copyrighted work — if it’s missing, the notice is technically deficient and Google has no obligation to act. In practice, they process incomplete notices because it’s easier to take things down than to push back.

5. Make counter-notices frictionless. Filing a takedown takes minutes through Google’s web form. A counter-notice requires the victim to provide personal contact information (which gets forwarded to the attacker), submit legal declarations, and wait 10 to 14 business days. Google could streamline this with an equally simple form and a one-click counter-notice option. They don’t.

6. Penalize repeat abusers. Google has a repeat infringer policy for people whose content gets taken down, but no meaningful repeat abuser policy for people who file fraudulent notices. There’s precedent for this: the Telephone Consumer Protection Act (TCPA) imposes fines of $500 per violation for unsolicited robocalls — real financial consequences that changed the economics of spam overnight. Google could apply the same logic: track abuse, escalate consequences, suspend filing privileges for filers whose notices are consistently bogus.

7. Publish transparency data at the complainant level. Google’s Transparency Report shows aggregate data but doesn’t reveal which complainants have high rates of rejected claims. Publishing that data would let the public (and courts) see who’s actually weaponizing the system.

The common thread: Google has optimized entirely for minimizing their own legal risk and operational cost. Their safe harbor protection doesn’t depend on accuracy. It depends on speed of removal. They’ve outsourced 100% of the consequences to everyone else.

How Google Weaponizes “Transparency” Through Lumen

Google sends copies of DMCA takedown notices to the Lumen Database, a Harvard Law School Library–affiliated research archive housing nearly 70 million takedown notices referencing well over 10 billion URLs. In theory, this creates transparency: the public can see who is requesting content removal and why.

In practice, the transparency is far thinner than it appears, and that’s by Google’s design.

Google’s own policy states that it generally shares the requestor’s name on copyright and trademark notices sent to Lumen. But “shares a name” isn’t the same as “verifies an identity.” The system still allows completely self-attested identities — names like “DMCA Manager” — to flood the record unchecked. Google never confirms that the person behind the name is real, that they represent who they claim to represent, or that they have any standing to file in the first place. The result is a database full of names that may as well be pseudonyms, with no mechanism to connect patterns of abuse across filings or hold repeat offenders accountable.

This matters because the DMCA statute itself requires that a takedown notice include the identity of the complainant. The entire premise is accountability: someone is making a legal claim under penalty of perjury, and the target should be able to evaluate who filed it and whether to counter-notice. When the name attached to a filing is functionally meaningless — self-attested, unconfirmed, and shared by thousands of other notices — that accountability collapses. The filer’s identity exists on paper. It doesn’t exist in practice.

Compare this to other platforms. When Reddit, GitHub, Medium, or Vimeo submit notices to Lumen, the sender information is often verifiable and intact. Google, by far the largest source of notices in the database, accepts whatever name a filer types into a form and passes it along without verification. The sheer volume of unverified Google notices dilutes the entire dataset, making Lumen’s research mission exponentially harder.

And Lumen’s own researchers have documented exactly what this enables. In 2022, Lumen Research Fellow Shreya Tewari identified more than 33,000 DMCA notices that appeared to be part of a coordinated campaign of fraudulent takedowns built on back-dated articles used to suppress legitimate journalism. Follow-up research brought the total to over 89,000 apparently fraudulent notices, used to suppress news coverage of corruption, drug trafficking, and political misconduct. The playbook is repeatable, scalable, and — thanks to Google’s lack of verification — virtually risk-free.

Lumen’s stated mission is to provide transparency on who sends content removal requests, why, and to what ends. Google undermines that mission not by hiding names but by treating self-attested identities as “good enough,” flooding the system with filings that technically have a name attached but offer no real path to accountability.

Why This Is an Antitrust Issue

In August 2024, a federal judge ruled that Google illegally maintained a monopoly in search. Judge Amit Mehta held that Google monopolized the markets for general search services and text advertising, controlling nearly 90% of computer searches and approximately 95% of smartphone searches. In April 2025, a second federal court found Google had also unlawfully monopolized the digital advertising market, with the DOJ declaring that Google’s “unlawful dominance allows them to censor and even deplatform American voices.”

As of March 2026, the fight continues. The case has moved into the remedies phase, where the DOJ has proposed major structural changes, including limits on Google’s search distribution agreements and the potential divestiture of Chrome. Google is simultaneously appealing the monopoly ruling. The case is expected to move to the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals.

Those rulings are what elevate Google’s DMCA choices from a policy problem to a structural one. When a single company controls the doorway to the entire internet — and two federal courts have confirmed that they do — running a sloppy, easily exploited takedown system isn’t just negligent. It’s a weapon that any third party can pick up and use to destroy a competitor.

Take the Button Away

Google doesn’t need Congress to stop making this easy. It can verify complainant identity privately, rate-limit high-volume filers, build an abuse score, and give verified publishers “notice and review” instead of instant deindexing. None of that requires a new statute — just the decision that the people who depend on Google’s index are worth the engineering hours.

Right now, Google’s DMCA pipeline is optimized for the only metric that protects Google: speed. Everyone else eats the consequences. They took “Don’t be evil” off the wall. The least they can do is stop handing strangers the button that makes people’s work disappear.

How a broken copyright law became the internet’s most effective tool for anonymous competitive sabotage — and nine ways Congress could fix it (if they wanted to).

Imagine you wake up one morning to find that your website, your YouTube channel, or your OnlyFans page have been gutted. Content you created with blood, sweat, and tears, content that you own, content that pays your mortgage, is just *poof*. Gone.

Not because you did anything wrong. Simply because a stranger (or someone you know!) filled out a form, clicked submit, and the platform holding your work decided that was enough to remove your content.

No verification. No burden of proof. Not even a phone call to give you a heads up. And you’re not even allowed to know who did it.

Welcome to the creator economy in 2026 where this is happening to people on a regular basis, all thanks to the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA).

The DMCA was signed into law in 1998, the same year Google was founded, eleven years before OnlyFans as a concept even existed. The law’s famous “safe harbor” provision was designed to protect platforms from liability for user-uploaded content, as long as they responded to takedown notices. It was a reasonable framework for its era. That era is over.

Now, the law is so structurally broken that it has quietly become one of the most effective tools for anti-competitive sabotage on the internet. And the people abusing it aren’t even trying to hide it anymore.

This is the DMCA’s least-discussed design flaw: not that takedowns happen, but that they happen anonymously, instantly, at scale, with no verification required and no meaningful consequences for abuse. For independent digital creators, many of whom depend entirely on search visibility to reach paying subscribers, this isn’t a theoretical policy problem. It is an existential one.

What a Fraudulent DMCA Actually Looks Like

Pull up the Lumen Database,  the public repository where Google logs DMCA takedown notices. The goal of Lumen is to collect and study online content removal requests.

Though their goal is allegedly to promote transparency on these notices, they aren’t really able to because Google usually only shares notice details — not the requestor’s name or contact information. So even if Lumen wanted to share that information, they don’t have.

For What do they have? Pull up the Lumen database and search for a notice like #78071520. What you’ll find is someone listed as “DMCA Manager.” No company name. No individual. No verifiable identity whatsoever. All other identifying information is either redacted or was never required in the first place. The only concrete data point is a country of origin, which can be spoofed to any location on earth using a VPN.

That’s it. That’s the paper trail.

What makes this more than just an anonymity problem is what that single form submission can accomplish. A fraudster using a generic identity like “DMCA Manager” can file thousands of takedown notices in a single session. Because Google’s response to any DMCA notice is immediate deindexing, every one of those notices removes a competitor’s page from search results within hours. Everyone is treated as guilty until proven innocent, and their content is vanished from the internet for a minimum of 14 days.

And because Google holds a court-confirmed monopoly on search, being removed from Google search results is, for most practical purposes, being removed from the internet entirely.

The asymmetry here is breathtaking. A bad actor willing to commit fraud can delete thousands of a competitor’s pages from Google search results with nothing more than anonymous form submissions. An honest publisher who refuses to commit fraud has no equivalent weapon and no immediate recourse. By the time a victim successfully contests even one fraudulent takedown (a process that takes at least 14 business days), the fraudster has had two uninterrupted weeks to file thousands more. There is no ceiling on how many notices a single anonymous filer can submit.

The fraud is further camouflaged by design. When a fraudster buries their filings under a generic name shared by thousands of other notices, any pattern of abuse disappears into the noise. There is no mechanism by which a victim, a platform, or a regulator can look at the data and say: this entity has filed ten thousand notices and lost nine thousand counter-notices. The anonymity doesn’t just protect the fraudster. It actively prevents the pattern from being visible.

Who Is Actually Getting Hurt

Creators who have professional representation are catching this problem. Many are not.

“My agent brought these fake reports to my attention — I didn’t even know this could happen,” says Kayla, a top 1% OnlyFans creator. “I was shocked. It’s almost as bad as finding out you’ve been leaked. Other creators who don’t have agency representation lose traffic to their pages and have no idea why it’s happening or what to do.”

That last sentence deserves to sit for a moment. Creators without representation, which is the majority of content creators, are watching their traffic collapse and have no framework for understanding why. The mechanism of attack is invisible to them. They see the symptom. They never see the cause.

For those who do figure it out, the road to remediation is its own punishment. Matt M., a top creator agency owner, describes the operational reality: “We lose time and money fighting these bogus claims. In the end, it’s the creator who suffers. Some of them have been manipulated into paying for takedowns to protect their brand. What really happens is they lose access to the promotion they’re paying for from ad networks, so they’re effectively paying twice and losing traffic. I don’t blame the creators for this — these scammers make it sound like they’re some kind of intellectual property lawyer protecting the creator against theft.”

The scam within the scam: fraudulent filers aren’t just hurting creators through false takedowns. They’re also creating a secondary market for “protection” that extracts money from the very people being victimized. It is, in structure, indistinguishable from a protection racket.

The Structural Problem Congress Built and Won’t Fix

None of this is accidental. The DMCA’s notice-and-takedown system was designed to make it easy to remove infringing content. It succeeded, but at the cost of building a nearly frictionless system for abuse. The law’s Section 512(f) technically allows victims of bad-faith takedowns to sue for damages, but courts have interpreted it so narrowly, as seen in decisions like Rossi v. MPAA and Lenz v. Universal, that it is functionally useless. The standard requires proving that a filer knowingly misrepresented their claim; subjective good faith is enough to escape liability even when a claim is objectively absurd.

In practice, filing a fraudulent DMCA notice carries no criminal risk, no civil risk worth calculating, and costs nothing. The incentive structure is perfectly engineered for abuse.

Nine Ways Congress Could Fix This

The fixes are not complicated. They have been discussed in policy circles for years and consistently blocked by the entertainment industry lobbying. Here is what reform actually looks like:

1. Make fraudulent filings genuinely costly. This is the biggest one. As mentioned above, Section 512(f) technically allows targets of bad-faith takedowns to sue for damages but this section is virtually useless thanks to the standard set by the Ninth Circuit in Rossi v. MPAA and reinforced in Lenz v. Universal. Those decisions basically say that a filer only violates 512(f) if they knowingly misrepresent their claim, and “subjective good faith” is enough to avoid liability even if the claim is objectively ridiculous. Congress could flip this by making the standard objective rather than subjective. If a reasonable person would have known the claim was bogus, you’re liable. They could also add statutory damages for fraudulent filings (similar to how copyright infringement itself carries statutory damages), so victims don’t have to prove exact financial harm to recover. Right now the cost-benefit calculation for abusers is completely lopsided: filing a fraudulent takedown costs nothing and has no consequences, while fighting one costs time, money, and lost revenue.

2. Require verification of copyright ownership before processing. The law currently says the notice must include a statement under penalty of perjury that the filer is authorized to act on behalf of the copyright holder, but critically, the perjury statement only applies to the authorization claim, not to the infringement claim itself. That’s an absurd loophole. Congress could simply extend the perjury standard to cover the entire notice, including the assertion that infringement is actually occurring. That single change would make fraudulent filers criminally liable rather than just civilly liable.

3. Create a “notice and review” option alongside “notice and takedown.” Right now, the process is brutally binary: content disappears first and questions get asked never, with platforms defaulting to immediate removal because the safe harbor incentive structure rewards speed over accuracy. A middle path, where certain categories of content are held pending brief review rather than auto-removed, without the platform losing safe harbor protection, would fundamentally rebalance that calculus. This reform is especially overdue for search engine deindexing, where the so-called “infringing content” isn’t even hosted on Google’s servers. It is a link. Removing it instantly, before any verification of the underlying claim, treats a URL like a live grenade when it is, at most, a question mark.

In a sense, Congress could make room for a verified publisher whitelist: trusted publishers with a documented compliance track record receive “notice and review” treatment because they’ve earned the presumption of legitimacy. Known piracy operations and anonymous filers get “notice and takedown,” because they haven’t. The whitelist transforms what is currently a blunt, one-size-fits-all instrument into something that actually reflects the difference between a publisher and a pirate — a distinction the current law, remarkably, doesn’t bother to make.

4. Shorten the counter-notice restoration timeline. The current 10-14 business day waiting period is arbitrary and punitive. A 3-5 business day timeline is more appropriate, with immediate restoration upon counter-notice unless the complainant obtains a temporary restraining order. If a copyright holder can’t get a TRO within a few days, their claim probably doesn’t justify keeping the content down. 

5. Establish a small claims or administrative review process. Right now, the only recourse for a fraudulently targeted party is federal court, which is expensive and slow. Congress could create a streamlined administrative process, something like the Copyright Claims Board established under the CASE Act in 2020, specifically for DMCA disputes. A low-cost, fast-track tribunal where targets of abuse can challenge takedowns and seek damages without hiring expensive litigation counsel would dramatically change the incentive structure.

6. Require platforms to track and act on abuse metrics. Congress could mandate that platforms track takedown accuracy rates by filer and implement escalating consequences, such as slower processing, required human review, and suspension of filing privileges for filers whose notices are frequently challenged or found to be inaccurate.

7. Add asymmetric bonding or fee-shifting for high-volume filers. If you’re filing thousands of takedown notices a month, Congress could require you to post a bond or escrow that gets forfeited if your notices are found to be fraudulent above a certain threshold. This wouldn’t affect legitimate copyright holders like movie studios or record labels whose claims are overwhelmingly valid, but it would make the economics of mass fraudulent filing untenable. Alternatively, mandatory fee-shifting in 512(f) cases where the losing party pays the winner’s legal costs would accomplish something similar.

8. Protect counter-notice filers’ personal information. The current law requires counter-notice filers to provide their name, address, and contact information, which then gets forwarded to the original complainant. For individuals and small businesses being targeted by bad actors, this is a serious problem. You’re essentially required to hand your personal information to the person who’s already attacking you. Congress could allow counter-notices to be filed through a registered agent or under seal, with personal details only disclosed if actual litigation is initiated.

9. Require verified identity for takedowns. Require notice filers to have verified identity with the platform (so Google knows exactly who you are and can hold you accountable), while allowing that identity to remain confidential from the target unless a counter-notice is filed. At that point, both parties should have to identify themselves to each other, because you’re now in a quasi-legal dispute that may be headed to court. And critically, the same standard should apply in both directions. If the counter-notice filer has to reveal their name and address, so does the original complainant.

The frustrating reality is that none of these ideas are novel or particularly controversial from a policy standpoint.

The current state of the DMCA in Congress

On its face, the DMCA was IP law written in 1998 by Howard Coble, a Republican legislator who was nobly trying to protect American creativity. In reality, the law was written by a congressman backed by entertainment industry interests. It was developed to protect big businesses that already have behemoth legal teams to defend their own IP.

Today, there is bipartisan support for DMCA reform, but not all of it is positive for creators. Senator Thom Tillis (R-NC) has championed a Notice and Staydown approach that critics warn would lead to more over-removal of legitimate content. Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX) and Senator Amy Klobuchar (D-MN) co-authored the TAKE IT DOWN Act, signed into law by President Trump in May 2025, which uses a similar notice-and-removal mechanism to compel platforms to remove deepfakes and non-consensual intimate imagery within 48 hours. Representative Sam Liccardo (D-CA), whose district includes Google’s headquarters, has championed AI transparency standards — an approach that could have implications for DMCA abuse as AI enables bad actors to scale fraudulent filings. Finally, Senator Marsha Blackburn (R-TN) has been one of the most active voices on creator-side copyright reform, but even her efforts stop short of addressing the core problem: Google can ignore infringement, and its negligent DMCA process hands a loaded weapon to fraudsters intent on destroying small creators.

Almost 30 years later, a law that removes the burden of proof from the accuser, imposes no cost on bad actors, and processes accusations faster than any human can respond isn’t a copyright protection system.

Even though Congress has the tools to fix it, they lack the incentive. So the law stays frozen in its 1998 form while the scale of abuse has grown exponentially with the internet. And creators are the ones paying for it. Literally.

The internet loves to call a successful woman a liar, which is why Sophie Rain spoke the algorithm’s native tongue in her clapback: receipts. The wildly successful OnlyFans creator recently shared that she’s hit $101 million in earnings from her OnlyFans page, but then, in her flex video proving to her naysayers that she isn’t lying, she warned other would-be teen creators that it isn’t “easy money.” Nothing makes the internet angrier than a financially successful woman… except maybe a financially successful woman who’s a girl’s girl. 

Here’s a quick breakdown of the facts: Sophie Rain is a Florida born and raised OnlyFans creator and viral social media influencer who found almost immediate success on the adults-only platform without caving to pressure to bang someone on camera. Her latest big money claim is that she’s broken the $100 million milestone due to OnlyFans, and shared her dashboard in video showing roughly $101,209,778.70 gross from her time on the platform. Quick reminder for those who don’t speak money: ‘gross revenue’ isn’t take-home pay, but Rain’s gross revenue is still a number that is high enough to make accountants need a minute to catch their breath. In 2024, she made headlines in mainstream entertainment outlets for reported earnings of $43 million, and that bottom line has clearly only continued to grow rapidly. However, her results are far from typical, and people who are new to the industry should not anticipate the same outcome. 

Sophie Rain was incredibly smart about how she built her following. She gained attention on mainstream channels first, and then managed to direct that audience towards OnlyFans where they had to pay a subscription fee for access. Attention turned into conversion that she built on consistently, and that’s basically her whole formula for success. She’s also unique in OnlyFans land in that she’s a devout Christian, and claims to be saving her virginity for marriage. She has never had sex on camera, and most of her content can be described as “steamy” rather than spicy, and yet her followers love the tease and can’t seem to get enough of it. Did she get lucky with how popular she became so fast? Yes, but she  also did the work to build a funnel so that she would be able to capitalize on her audience as soon as they showed up. 

As always happens with Rain, skeptics have been raising eyebrows at her financial claims, not believing that it’s possible that a woman as young as she is could possibly make that much money on a digital platform. Sophie did what Sophie does, and essentially said “here, look at my dashboard, see for yourself,” and showed the receipts. She shared a video on Instagram where she shows her OnlyFans dashboard, and even refreshes it multiple times so that the audience can see her onscreen gross earnings figures for themselves. Regardless of your feelings on Rain and her line of work, she’s absolutely become the poster child for the top 0.1% of creators on the platform. 

Her clap-back video, however, wasn’t all celebrating her success. Rain got her start as a Teen OnlyFans creator, and many newly legal teens who would follow in her footsteps perceive what she does as “easy money.” Sophie makes it very clear that that is not the case, and warns people that her results aren’t typical, and not to assume they’ll hit the same numbers she has. Most people don’t, and that level of visibility comes with a very heavy cost that most teenagers— yes, even those who have crossed the threshold into legal adulthood— lack the age and experience to comprehend. OnlyFans content leaves a permanent digital footprint that can never fully be undone, especially once you factor in the risk of your content being stolen from the platform. Doxxing, harassment, and unwanted attention from obsessed fans (or haters) is another very real risk, as is the possibility of familial or future employment blowback. Money management is a problem that many younger creators don’t know how to tackle, as is the pressure to escalate the intensity of your content in order to compete with other creators for audience attention. The internet pushes a “get rich quick” fantasy, but the minute someone does, it’s ready to punish them for cashing the check. 

To make one thing clear, the Teen OnlyFans creators who are taking a shot at following in Sophie’s footsteps are all 18 – 19 year old adults, not minors. OnlyFans is 18+, and is very strict about verifying the ages of the creators sharing content there. There are many successful Teen OnlyFans creators and even Free Teen OnlyFans creators who make a decent amount of money from the content that they create and share, and no shade to these young women for collecting the money on the table for what they’re offering! 

The issue that Sophie is cautioning against is getting into OnlyFans believing that it’s a free ticket to a life of wealth without understanding the hidden costs associated with it, especially if you’re a young adult whose brain is still developing. If your plan for making money on OnlyFans involves crossing your fingers for virality while simultaneously hoping that strangers who don’t know you behave themselves online, then you need a business plan that is actually a business plan. I’m all for young women getting their bag, but I’m with Sophie on this one, and the fantasy math needs to go. Get after that money, just don’t confuse one lucky woman’s jackpot with a guaranteed paycheck. 

Whelp, another teacher lost her job over OnlyFans, but this situation’s a little… different. This time around, the teacher people were getting hot for was a part of the granny niche on OnlyFans, creating sexually charged content centered around her being older than your average content creator on the adults-only platform. While she was most definitely a consenting adult at least 3 times over, the primary school she taught at didn’t so much like that she was going from shaping young minds in the classroom to blowing everyone’s mind in the bedroom when she clocked out. 

 

Basically, here’s what happened. Lyndi Corston was a teacher at the Rye Community Primary School in East Sussex. She was also creating and sharing content on her OnlyFans page in her private time off the clock. However. Apparently another teacher got an OnlyFans notice on their phone one day, and the creator featured in the content on the other end of the notice? Corston. And because apparently the teacher who clicked on the notice had never heard the phrase “snitches get stitches,” they went to admin. The agency that Corston taught through (Engage Education) decided that while teachers do have a right to a private life… Corston’s activities on OnlyFans were at risk of marring the image of the teaching profession. 

 

At 61, Lyndi Corston is more than capable of making her own decisions. One of those decisions was to become a teacher, a position that required her to sign a contract stating that she would agree to meet certain professional standards in order to successfully execute the running of a classroom. Another of her decisions was deciding to create an OnlyFans page where she would create and share sexually explicit “granny” content from behind the safety of a paywall. All teachers have private lives outside of school, and Lyndi Corston is no exception.

 

Currently, Corston is under a permanent ban from teaching, though she can file to have her case reevaluated in 2028, so the ban is less permanent and more of a “go sit in time out until we feel like you’ve learned your lesson.” According to the Teaching Regulation Agency, Cornson’s actions on OnlyFans wasn’t technically against her contract, but because she was sharing “granny schoolteacher” content, the TRA had concerns that her actions could negatively influence students, or damage trust in the profession of teaching. 

 

And this is the part of the story where I remind everyone that OnlyFans is paywall protected, and users must past age verification in order to log in— especially in the UK, where the age verification process is stricter than most. If people are seeing naked pictures of someone on OnlyFans, it’s because they have paid money to do so, and I think that’s what’s really grinding my gears about this story. Teachers are allowed to have private lives, and they’re allowed to have side-hustles outside of their teaching jobs. What Corston was doing was work that is in demand, because yes. There is absolutely a demand for granny OnlyFans content, so why is Corston being punished for someone else paying up to see what was behind her paywall? There is also the issue of teachers in the UK facing many of the same hurdles that teachers in the US are facing. Being overworked and underpaid with an ample dose of unpaid overtime results in teachers— especially teachers who are 55 and older who are getting increasingly aware of their need to save for retirement— to look for side-hustles where they can work outside of teaching hours. Given that OnlyFans allows creators to set their own rates, schedules, and expectations, it makes sense that it’s a natural fit for teachers who are struggling to make ends meet. 

 

Are teachers held to a higher standard than most other humans? Yes. However, if Corston isn’t allowed to have an OnlyFans, but was outed to her employer by another teacher who looked at that OnlyFans, why is the only person facing consequences the person who makes money consensually creating the content, and not the people who went poking around to see what exactly she was creating on a platform that is fully legal for adults like Corston to utilize? Also, if the Teaching Regulation Agency doesn’t want teachers to turn to OnlyFans, maybe they should consider paying them more? Just an idea on some practical ways to avoid punishing teachers for what they do in their private time in the future. 

In the blink of an eye, William Shatner went from responsibly addressing a mild blood sugar oopsie to reading his own obituary. What began as a precautionary measure turned into rapidly spreading rumors that resulted in the beloved 94-year-old actor having to inform the world that he’s not dead yet, so chill out with the farewell tweets and the Star Trek tribute threads. Who knew that precautionary measures for a little dip in blood sugar could turn into such a wildfire?

Me. I knew. Because the art of checking your sources before hitting “post” is one that we have collectively forgotten.

Here’s what happened: William Shatner realized that he was experiencing an unexpected dip in his blood sugar. Given that he’s not exactly a spring chicken at 94 years old, he sought medical attention to make sure that all was well. He was never hospitalized, but TMZ sure did report that he was. The clickbait headline began doing serious numbers on social media, and the next thing the actor knew, he was reading about his own death. The inaccurate story of his hospitalization and death quickly evolved without anyone taking a beat to check the facts and make sure that anything they were sharing was actually true. Somewhere between an entertainment blog and 17 different TikTok tributes, a simple “I overindulged” turned into “beloved sci-fi icon in critical condition.”

This isn’t the first time this has happened — and it won’t be the last — until we collectively learn to check our impulses and verify information prior to making it our personal mission to act as the town crier of the internet. There’s a hit of instant gratification that comes with feeling like you’re the “first” to share big news. Then you get dopamine from the engagement that results from sharing shocking information. And because the internet is addicted to drama, the actual person on the other end of the false story has to arrive on the scene of a rumor mill that’s already churned out a false-information snowball that’s going to be tricky to rein in. You can only fit so much information into a headline, even when it’s not clickbait. The tricky part is that people often don’t read past the headline to get the full picture. This isn’t just a thing that happens to older actors — it’s a documented trend of broader online behavior.

Jokes aside, this is a serious problem that’s affecting the way we perceive breaking news. Clicking before thinking comes with a cost — and it’s one that isn’t possible to pay off upfront. False narratives can cause panic as they spread misinformation and drown out facts. They also erode public trust in media outlets, which makes it harder to clock actual emergencies when they’re happening. When you’re emotionally devastated over and over again by what turns out to be inaccurate information, you learn over time that you can’t trust what you’re reading. That leads to dismissing crucial information from reliable sources that are also showing up in digital spaces. In this instance, Shatner joked about the situation with a well-placed Mark Twain reference, but he also cautioned people to be more careful with openly trusting everything they read.

So how can you stop the spread of misinformation? Here. Have a quick crash course on media literacy and the news.

Step 1: Pause before you post: Yes, I understand the impulse. I respond the exact same way. However, it’s imperative that you take a beat and ask yourself if what you’re reading is from a reliable source.

Step 2: Read beyond the headline: Headlines are there first and foremost to grab your attention and then give you an extremely broad idea of what the bigger picture is about. Most falsehoods (and the best rumor fodder) live in the fine print of the article that reeled you in with a catchy headline.

Step 3: Check for primary sources: When reading beyond the headline, look to see if the information is coming from someone involved in the story. Is this a credible outlet, or is this information coming to you live from the imagination of someone with an anime avatar who trolls for attention?

Step 4: Check your feelings: When a news story makes you immediately feel big feelings, that’s a sign that you need to slow down and proceed with intention — yes, even though your heartbeat is actively going up.

William Shatner may be old, but he’s made it clear that he’s not going anywhere just yet. However, if our society doesn’t get better at checking facts before we share information, our collective credibility just might be done. If you want to be a solution instead of a problem, it’s as easy as thinking twice before hitting “share.”

There are some things that you can count on in life, and one of those things is that every week without fail, someone on social media dons a cape they made themselves to “call out” parasocial behavior. That they will do so with the moral subtlety of a cat puking on the bed at 3AM is another thing you can count on. Social media lured us all in with the promise of connection without ever having to leave our homes, but those spaces have turned emotional attachment into something to be ashamed of — as if liking a creator (who is specifically showing up hoping to be liked) makes you a danger to society. Have people really decided that cyberstalking is the hot new hobby, or do we all just collectively need a lesson in media literacy — and what does and does not constitute harmful behavior?

To really understand what we’re seeing with all of the “call-out” behavior, we need to have a basic understanding of what parasocial relationships are and how they work. Parasocial relationships are one-sided relationships where one person feels emotionally connected to a public figure or fictional character. Given that the careers of “content creator” and “influencer” didn’t exist a decade ago and are now viable career-day presentations for parents, it’s not an overstatement to say that more of the population than ever before is finding themselves in parasocial relationships online — intentionally or not. If you’ve ever screamed when your favorite creator posts a banger? Congratulations! You’re in a parasocial relationship. Creators go into content creation expecting some level of parasocial engagement because that is literally how fandom works — and how they make their money.

Along with creators showing up online to do their thing, there are also the scrollers who are showing up 24/7 to consume the content they’re putting out. Where there are groups of people that gather, there are people trying to prove they’re somehow superior to those around them. With creators, that shows up in the form of people attempting to police the feelings of others through self-righteous posts that equate parasocial feelings with some kind of moral failure. These posts almost always have an air of “I’m better than you because I feel nothing,” followed by discussions that are more social signaling than actually protecting anyone. These call-outs gum up the works because they’re confusing what is normal emotional investment in a creator whose work is being consumed and appreciated with stalking behavior that is actually dangerous and needs to be reined in. When social posturing equates perfectly normal and rational feelings with behavior that puts people at risk, it becomes much harder to identify the real problems that need to be dealt with. Call-out posts rarely change behavior and generally just function as a public signpost that allows the poster to say, “I, unlike you plebeians, would never catch feelings for a public figure.”

Let’s make things crystal clear so we can get rid of some of the confusion over what is problematic and what is absolutely freaking normal. Parasocial relationships are emotional attachment without real-world intrusion — none harm done. Stalking is obsessive and persistent, boundary-violating behavior that puts people at risk and often results in violence — big bad, much harm done. When you feel a little happy pitter-patter in your heart when your favorite VA shares a new audio? Parasocial. Totally fine. When you track down their home address so you can send them handwritten letters detailing what you’d like to do to them? Stalking. Not okay. Stalking is almost always part of a broader mental health or behavioral pattern that requires actual intervention with licensed professionals. Angry comment sections? Not gonna do shit to solve that problem. Creators across platforms and genres all attract stalkers — that’s just an unfortunate reality of living in the world we do. But the fact that stalkers happen doesn’t mean that every fan who feels feelings is dangerous and needs to receive a public finger-wag.

To me — a writer who is chronically online for work — the real issue at the heart of the matter is that we collectively suck at media literacy. Online discourse doesn’t allow for basic nuance, and a thing is either good or bad; there is no middle ground. Pfffffffft to that. Pffffft, I say! People don’t know how to separate an emotional response they witness in comment form from harmful actions that happen offline. Apparently, we’ve decided that the correct level of attachment is zero, which isn’t at all realistic unless you’re planning to cease all media consumption altogether. The actual solution for feelings online? Not shaming people for the way they feel, but instead teaching them how to contextualize those feelings and recognize boundaries. And one of the boundaries that needs to be crystal fucking clear is that it’s not your job to schoolmarm everyone who expresses feelings of attraction for a creator who is showing up to quite literally arouse their audience. We get it. You don’t experience sexual attraction. I’d congratulate you on making the Puritans proud, but pride was a no-no for them — so it turns out you owe them an apology too.

For those of us who care about being smart media consumers — and let’s be honest here, you should care — here are a few ways you can be more intentional about consuming media and handling the fee-fees that pop up when you do:

• Check in with yourself regularly: Is your attachment to a creator affecting the life you live offline, or is it just existing safely in your head alongside your Bridgerton fan theories?
• Remember that each creator is a person: Take time to remember on purpose that the creator whose media you’re consuming is someone who has an entire private life outside of their online profession. They aren’t characters in your story — their life is theirs.
• Talk to people offline: Yes, it is important to make time to talk with your IRL friends in general, but also to gush about your fan feels. Courtesy of people who make money off keeping your attention online, those digital gathering spaces tend to become an echo chamber real fast. Connect with actual people offline. Watch their eyeballs when you’re talking to them, and gauge for yourself if you’re crossing into territory you need to step away from.
• Consume critically: Take time to study and understand how the platforms you use and the creators you enjoy cultivate parasocial bonds that reel in followers. I’m not telling you that either of those things is bad (remember the discussion on nuance from earlier?), but I am telling you that when you’re more aware of the way the game is set up, you’re more likely to notice if you’re being played — or breaking the rules.

Parasocial relationships aren’t the enemy. Ignorance is. And yelling at people online to stop feeling feelings isn’t going to solve anything. Learning how to engage with media while thinking critically so you don’t lose the plot? That’s the good stuff right there.