PUBLISHED
October 26, 2025
KARACHI:
In a country where most people are still learning how the digital world truly works, scams have quietly become part of daily life. From fake online stores that disappear after taking payments, to job postings that demand registration fees, to investment apps that promise double returns overnight, Pakistan’s internet users have been scammed in every possible way. Each time people begin to catch on, the fraudsters evolve. They find a new platform, a new promise, and a new way to exploit trust.
But what happens when the very people who built their fame on trust, the ones millions look up to, follow, and admire, become the messengers for these scams? When social media influencers, content creators, and digital celebrities begin promoting betting apps, fake trading platforms, or “earn-with-one-click” schemes that sound too good to be true?
That is what’s happening across Pakistan today. The new wave of online deception doesn’t come from shady pop-ups or anonymous emails, it arrives through verified profiles, sponsored posts, and smiling faces that people feel they already know. In recent months, betting apps like World 777, along with unlicensed crypto and forex platforms, have reportedly poured millions into influencer marketing campaigns, convincing unsuspecting users to download, register, and invest. Many thought they were following an easy side hustle. Instead, they walked straight into a digital trap.
What began as flashy endorsements for “fun challenges” and “quick cash” has now grown into what investigators describe as a nationwide scam, one that is draining billions of rupees, fuelling gambling addiction among youth, and raising uncomfortable questions about responsibility in Pakistan’s influencer economy. In a space built on credibility and connection, the line between influence and manipulation has never been thinner.
The pattern of scams
Pakistan’s digital transformation has brought both opportunity and vulnerability. As internet access widens and online payments become routine, scammers have found newer, smarter ways to exploit people’s growing dependence on digital platforms. What once started with phishing emails and counterfeit shopping pages has now evolved into an entire ecosystem of deception, spanning gambling apps, fake investment portals, and fraudulent e-commerce schemes that look and feel real.
These scams thrive on human psychology, curiosity, greed, and trust. From cloned websites that mimic banks to fake apps disguised as delivery platforms, every click becomes a potential risk. But what’s happening now goes beyond random cybercrime; it’s a coordinated business of manipulation, powered by faces people already know.
In the past year, Pakistan’s National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency (NCCIA) has traced a surge in online betting operations like World 777 and 1xBet, both allegedly promoted through social media influencers. Investigators say millions of rupees have been funneled into marketing campaigns that target young audiences, particularly gamers and students. The recent case of YouTuber Saad ur Rehman, known as Ducky Bhai, has placed a spotlight on this growing trend. Arrested in August, he is accused of promoting gambling platforms disguised as gaming apps, a move that, authorities claim, helped normalize illegal betting under the banner of “entertainment.”
He isn’t the only one. Other digital personalities such as Rajab Butt, Anas Ali, and Hurairah have been named in related investigations, accused of driving traffic toward betting apps in exchange for hefty commissions. A wider circle of influencers allegedly tied to World 777, including Nadir Ali, Aimen Zaman, Varda Malik, Javeria Aurangzeb, Abeera Khan, Faryal Fairy, Nauman Kazmi, and Furqan Khan. Their promotional videos and social-media posts, often framed as “fun challenges” or “quick earning tips”, amassed millions of views before disappearing once backlash began.
But not all scams come in the form of apps. The rise of social media marketplaces has birthed another breed of fraud: ticket resale scams. Recently, when the popular band Kaavish announced its concert, tickets sold out online within minutes. Desperate fans began searching Instagram and Facebook for resellers claiming to have extra passes. Many of these pages appeared genuine, featuring event posters, verified-like usernames, and direct payment options. But once the money was transferred, the accounts vanished. Dozens of fans reported losing thousands of rupees to these fake sellers, prompting Kaavish itself to issue a public warning urging followers not to trust unofficial pages.
Whether it’s a high-stakes betting app or a fake concert ticket, the formula remains the same: credibility borrowed, trust exploited, and money gone in seconds. The methods may differ, but the intent is the same, to turn the country’s growing digital curiosity into an unending revenue stream for scammers who understand exactly how people think and whom they trust.
The influencer economy
For scammers, influencers are the perfect bait. They have reach, credibility, and the power to make people believe that if they trust something, so should everyone else. A few seconds of endorsement in a vlog or Instagram story can do what weeks of paid advertising cannot, convince followers that a product, app, or brand is safe simply because it’s coming from a familiar face.
Most followers rarely question these promotions. The influencer’s smile, tone, and lifestyle build a sense of connection that feels personal. It’s what sociologists call a para-social relationship, a one-sided bond where viewers feel they “know” the person on screen. That illusion of closeness is what scammers are now buying. “When an influencer says I use this app myself, it doesn’t feel like a sponsored message, it feels like a friend giving advice,” said a media ethicist Junaid Iqbal. “That’s what makes it dangerous. It isn’t a faceless ad; it’s a trusted recommendation.”
Digital marketing experts say this is partly the result of how influencer partnerships are structured in Pakistan. There’s little to no system for vetting the legitimacy of sponsors, especially when the offer sounds lucrative. One senior marketer, Sara Nasir, who has managed brand campaigns for multiple FMCGs, explained, “In most cases, the influencer is approached directly by a so-called ‘brand manager’ through WhatsApp or email. They offer a flat payment, sometimes a few hundred thousand rupees, and share a pre-written caption or video script. The influencer posts it without verifying the company, and the money is transferred almost instantly. There’s no contract, no due diligence, and no accountability once the campaign goes live.”
She added that global influencers are bound by strict disclosure laws. “In the US and EU, creators must label such posts with #Ad or PaidPartnership. Here, we have no such regulation. A scam can disguise itself as lifestyle content, and no one would know the difference,” he said adding that the scammer here often asks the influencer not to add paid partnership label or mention anywhere that it is a paid post.”
This lack of oversight has turned influencer marketing into fertile ground for exploitation. Many creators, especially emerging ones, view sponsorships as survival, a way to sustain their platforms in an algorithm-driven race for relevance. And so, when a dubious app or trading site offers quick cash for a shout-out, few ask hard questions. The result is an industry where influence is sold faster than integrity, and where followers, not the promoters, end up paying the real price.
The human cost
Behind the glossy promotions, the smiling influencers, and the glamorous promises of “easy money,” lies a staggering financial and emotional toll that few truly grasp. Officials estimate that billions of rupees are being siphoned out of Pakistan every month through betting apps and online investment scams, a shadow economy quietly bleeding the country from within.
“Every rupee that leaves the country through these apps is an economic wound,” said a senior official involved in the inquiry of Saad ur Rehman case. “And it’s ordinary Pakistanis, especially the youth, who are paying the price.”
From Karachi to Lahore, stories of digital loss are becoming increasingly common. Twenty-four-year-old Ahmed, a university student, says he downloaded a gambling app after seeing his favorite YouTuber promote it as a “fun side hustle.” Within weeks, he lost over Rs30,000. “It looked safe because he was playing it,” he said quietly. “You think if someone famous is doing it, it must be fine. But once the app crashed, my money and my hope both disappeared.”
Mental health professionals say this isn’t an isolated case. Psychologists across major cities have reported a rise in gambling-related anxiety, insomnia, and depressive episodes, particularly among young men. “We’re seeing a new kind of digital addiction, one that starts with curiosity and ends in financial collapse,” said Dr. Rabia Saeed, a clinical psychologist specializing in digital behavior. “These apps use the same dopamine mechanics as social media, the thrill of winning keeps people trapped long after they’ve lost everything.”
According to the Global State of Scams Report 2025, Pakistan now loses over $9 billion annually to financial scams, roughly 2.5% of the GDP, a figure that surpasses the $7 billion IMF loan the country recently received. The report also found that 70% of Pakistanis encountered a scam in the past year, with nearly 13% facing daily attempts, ranking the nation among the most targeted developing economies.
Experts at the State Bank of Pakistan confirm that as e-commerce and mobile banking expand, so has digital fraud. Rehan Masood, Senior Joint Director of Cyber Risk Management at the State Bank of Pakistan (SBP), highlighted the increasing rise of digital fraud as e-commerce and online payments become more widespread. He discussed efforts by the SBP to strengthen cybersecurity measures, including two-step verification and biometric checks, reducing unauthorized access to accounts by 90%.
However, Masood pointed out that most scams occur when victims share sensitive data such as PINs or verification codes, which scammers then use for unauthorized transactions or to trick individuals into transferring money themselves.
Public outrage is also mounting. Hashtags like #BanOnlineGambling and #ShameOnInfluencers have trended across platforms, demanding government action against those promoting illegal betting apps. Authorities have hinted at tighter digital laws and harsher penalties for both companies and individuals found complicit.
Yet for thousands of victims, those measures may come too late. For them, the damage isn’t just financial, it’s emotional. They’ve lost savings, confidence, and in some cases, family trust. In a country already struggling to stay afloat, the digital dream has turned, for many, into a silent nightmare.
The law and the loopholes
While the outrage grows online, the law that governs Pakistan’s digital space continues to lag behind the speed of technology. The country has two main pieces of legislation that can be used against online gambling and scam promotions, the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA) 2016 and the Prevention of Gambling Act 1977, yet both were written long before influencer marketing became a multi-billion-rupee industry.
Under Section 13 of PECA, electronic forgery is punishable by up to seven years in prison, while Section 14 covers electronic fraud. Sections 25 and 26 address spamming and spoofing, offences that can apply to fake online campaigns or misleading promotions. The Prevention of Gambling Act, on the other hand, criminalizes any act that advances or facilitates gambling, but the language is rooted in physical betting, not the digital realm.
The problem deepens when servers and payment gateways are based overseas. Pakistan’s cyber-crime units often find that by the time a complaint reaches them, the digital trail leads to domains registered under fake names or shell companies abroad. “Our investigators are chasing smoke,” said a senior FIA official on condition of anonymity. “Even when we trace the money, it moves through cryptocurrency or international wallets that are beyond our jurisdiction.”
Penalties for offenders, when cases do succeed, are light. Most receive short-term detention or fines that pale in comparison to the sums made from these campaigns. There are no clear provisions under PECA that define influencer liability, nor any mandatory disclosure requirements for paid online promotions.
Until these legal blind spots are addressed, the line between promotion and participation will remain blurred. And in that uncertainty, scammers continue to thrive, protected not by skill or secrecy, but by silence and outdated law.
Building trust before clicking
The truth is that no law, agency, or crackdown can protect people completely until awareness becomes part of the culture. Pakistan’s digital economy is growing faster than its understanding of online safety, and that gap is what scammers continue to exploit. Real change will only begin when users learn to question what they see on their screens, and when influencers learn to treat their reach as responsibility, not just relevance.
The country urgently needs a system where accountability runs both ways. Digital literacy must start in schools, not courtrooms. When young people understand how online systems, sponsorships, and privacy work, scams lose their power.
Pakistan’s influencers, too, stand at a crossroads. The same audience that built their fame is now demanding honesty, disclaimers, and transparency. Those who ignore this shift may find that followers can unfollow as quickly as they once believed.
A safer digital space will not emerge overnight, but it can begin with small acts of awareness, a moment of doubt before a download, a pause before a payment, a question before a click. Because in a world where one click can make or break fortunes, the price of blind trust may be everything.
