I Can't Stop Thinking About George Santos

On the morning George Santos was due to surrender for a seven-year prison sentence last Friday, the besmirched former congressmember—accused of lying and swindling his way into public office—was still selling personalized videos to fans.

I logged onto Cameo that Friday morning and saw his most recent video had been recorded at 9:08 a.m. 

Right to the bitter end, Santos was still hustling, charging $300-a-pop for birthday shoutouts and pep talks, delivered with the same baby-faced charm that once wooed Republican voters in the wealthiest congressional district in New York before they quickly soured on him.

His final Cameo shared to the platform was for an "Elena," who apparently wanted to buff up in the gym. Santos, in a black shirt and oversized reading glasses, beamed into the camera as birthday balloons swayed in the background (his own 37th had just passed a few days earlier). "Every time you lift that weight, think, 'Diva UP, Diva UP,'" he told the camera.

Later that day, he turned himself in to the medium-security Federal Correctional Institution in Fairton, New Jersey. His Cameo profile now reads: "George Santos will be unavailable for personalized videos until 10/25/2032." One of his final reviews? "Perfection as always. Thank you, Diva! I emailed the president and asked him to pardon you."

George Santos is many things: liar, grifter, political showman. But in the final days before his sentencing, he also became a mirror to some of our political contradictions. As he sold his final Cameos, posted dramatic farewell tweets, and publicly worried over how his fillers would fare in prison, he reflected back an uncomfortable truth: that justice is as performative as the spectacle of George Santos that many claim to deride, and that we love a scapegoat to make us feel safe. This is the story of Santos's final free days—and what his downfall says about who gets saved.