Among the truest words to be written about George Santos came in an August filing from his federal prosecutors, who observed that since December, 2022, “when a New York Times article was published detailing apparent misrepresentations in Santos’s biography, Santos has effectively gone on a speaking tour.”
The final moments of that tour came on Monday, August 19, when Santos pleaded guilty to wire fraud and aggravated identity theft.
There will still be some encores, and a reunion or two. Sentencing for the 36-year-old former congressman is set for February 2025, and he now faces multiple years in prison as well as hundreds of thousands of dollars in restitution. He will have other moments in front of cameras.
But the freewheeling speaking ceased outside the Long Island courthouse Monday afternoon, when Santos abandoned his claims about a “witch hunt” and instead apologized haltingly for his “unethical” decisions and the “lies” he told himself, vowing to make amends.
Beyond that, there is nothing much left for Santos to say. His rise and fall on the national stage is complete, even if his example lives on.
His was the story of a figure out of Twain, Melville, or even “Goodfellas”—the tale of a grifter from Queens who was always looking for a quick buck and a fun time. Santos was a gambler in more ways than one, whether he was betting on an ability to cheat a pet lover out of donations or actually heading to Atlantic City. He loved the world of entertainment, before he endeavored to entertain the world. He tried out different fields and biographies, sampled call center cubicles and small-time hustles. But he didn’t make it big until he put on the costume of a politician and entered history. In doing so, he exposed the rot at the heart of American politics. He was the perfect symbol of almost everything that is wrong with that staid, officious world; and also a warning of what might be to come.
He served less than a year before he finally got pushed out in December 2023, vowing to wear his expulsion like a “badge of honor,” a la Donald Trump. Unsurprisingly, the hustle continued. Santos’s first quick fix was selling video clips to civilians on the Cameo app, agreeing to say anything, even “Happy Hanukkah,” for the right price. Like usual with Santos, it worked—for a while. The disgraced former congressman broke the record for biggest first day, week, and month on Cameo, the company co-founder and CEO told me earlier this year.
Those videos were fun, as were so many aspects of the Santos saga, but they were only confectionary sprinkles decorating a much more perplexing story. What makes someone lie the way Santos did? And what does it say about the United States that the hustle worked so long–and so well?
These questions are very different than the ones that Santos partially dodged by skipping out on a fully fledged jury trial. They have nothing to do with hearing in painstaking detail where exactly his money went and who helped him hustle it. But they do help to explain why Santos briefly became such a notorious public figure, the chip on his shoulder leading to one of the great performances of the 21st century, a wild ride that people could gawk at but probably not stomach themselves. Certainly, though, there is something interesting–even relatable–about his shameless self-transformation, his desperate bid for celebrity and riches, his attempt to bluster into the stratosphere where titans of power seem to be effortlessly earning, just by being beautiful or amusing or loud. Couldn’t he be all those things, and more?
He was a product of America, after all, shaped by a culture that encourages myth-makers to rise and thrive. Through his crazy hijinks and dumb luck, he became an American legend, another hustler who got away with the con for a minute, using every trick in the book. He did not break our political system—he just showed how broken it already was.
Though Santos’s brief moment in Congress is (mostly) receding into the past, these issues are even more urgent. The political climate’s count of hucksters has diminished by one, but has not changed much at all. Santos’s story shows how easy it is to suck up attention and invent a persona, to stave off consequence and leave a trail of victims, while still crying victimization. He understood that liars and losers can win in this country simply by blustering and being outrageous and shameless—and persistent. He’s not alone.