Charli xcx thinks lying is ‘so fun, so brat’, in the kaleidoscopic world of the internet, where personas are crafted like couture and truth is as fluid as the latest viral meme, Charli xcx‘s playful celebration of dishonesty feels like an apt prelude to the tale of Jaqir Williams, aka @jaqirmode. A self-styled wunderkind who claimed to be a designer for New Balance, a Forbes 30 Under 30 honouree, and a cultural maven, Williams orchestrated an online persona so meticulously curated it bordered on performance art. His digital escapade has since been exposed as a grand fabrication, but it raises fascinating questions about the nature of identity, fraud, and the double standards of genius.
The Rise of Jaqir Williams
Jaqir Williams‘ myth unfolded on platforms like Instagram and X (formerly Twitter), where he presented himself as a visionary in the sneaker design world. His posts exuded confidence: glossy renders of imaginary collaborations, polished graphics hinting at insider knowledge, and captions dripping with corporate jargon. He even claimed to be the subject of a glowing Forbes profile that celebrated his meteoric rise. For a time, his followers – ranging from sneaker enthusiasts to casual observers – bought into the myth.
But cracks appeared. Employees from New Balance disclaimed any association with him. Nicole Serena Silver, the journalist he cited as the author of his supposed Forbes feature denied its existence. The narrative unraveled quickly and dramatically, culminating in Williams deleting his X account, though his Instagram remains intact as a digital artefact of his audacious experiment.
Catfishing as Cultural Commentary
Williams’ saga is not just a tale of deception; it is a commentary on the performative nature of the internet. In an age where “fake it till you make it” is both meme and mantra, Williams pushed the concept to its extreme, exposing the collective gullibility of a society that equates aesthetic polish with credibility. His fabrication underscores the porous boundary between fact and fiction online, where authenticity is often a secondary concern to virality and clout.
Catfishing, a term popularized by online dating deceptions, has evolved into a broader cultural phenomenon. It encompasses not just romantic scams but also professional and creative identity frauds. Figures like Belle Gibson, the Australian wellness influencer who faked cancer for profit, and Anna Delvey, the “fake heiress” who swindled New York’s elite, have demonstrated how deeply people invest in curated personas. Jaqir Williams, in a sense, belongs to this lineage but with a twist: his “fraud” feels less like a scam and more like a social experiment.
Genius or Fraud? The Question of Race and Double Standards
Were Jaqir Williams a white woman, would his actions have been rebranded as “slay,” a cheeky subversion of the system? The cultural double standard in the reception of fraud is glaring. Figures like Anna Delvey have been valorized in popular culture, their exploits dramatized as tales of audacious rebellion. Williams, by contrast, has faced harsher scrutiny, his work dismissed as mere deceit rather than celebrated as commentary.
This discrepancy highlights the racial dynamics at play. As a Black man, Williams is subject to narratives that stigmatize his audacity as dishonesty rather than ingenuity. Yet his project – whether intentional or accidental – sheds light on the social hierarchies that govern online success. His downfall feels less like justice and more like a collective discomfort with the mirror he holds to our digital culture.
A Postmodern Parable
Jaqir Williams‘ digital escapade may be over, but its implications linger. Like other great internet fraudsters before him, he revealed uncomfortable truths about how we construct and consume identity online. The myth of @jaqirmode is a reminder that the internet is as much a stage as a tool, where the lines between art, commentary, and deception blur.
Williams’ Instagram account remains, a quiet testament to a moment when he outmanoeuvred a system that prizes image over substance. Whether we view him as a fraudster or a cultural critic, his story invites us to question not only his motives but our own: why are we so eager to believe the lies that flatter our worldview, and so quick to condemn the ones that challenge it?
