Anna Delvey, the infamous “Soho Grifter” who conned New York’s elite by posing as a wealthy German heiress, made a brief but highly controversial appearance on Dancing with the Stars, only to be voted off in the first week. Her stint on the show, though short-lived, raised significant ethical questions. Delvey, born Anna Sorokin, emerged in pop culture after her trial and Netflix series Inventing Anna, yet her crimes were deeply rooted in deceit, financial fraud, and, arguably, an art of manipulation that fits neatly into the realm of modern art crime.
Her appearance on a show that celebrates glamour and personal transformation, without acknowledgement of the consequences of her fraud brings up a larger conversation about the ethics of profiting from crime and fame. Is it morally acceptable for someone who defrauded art galleries, hotels, and high-society figures to now use that notoriety to rebuild her image? More so, can Delvey’s life be considered a form of performance art in itself? Her scams, after all, were not unlike an elaborate art performance. Delvey crafted an entire persona that fit neatly into the art world’s obsession with exclusivity, wealth, and prestige, having fabricated her background and financial status to blend into high society.
Now that she’s been voted off in the first round, the ethical dilemma surrounding her appearance becomes even more obvious. Did her quick exit show that audiences were uncomfortable with rewarding someone who profited off deception, or was she simply not as captivating on the dance floor as she was in her court appearances?
The ethics of her going on Dancing with the Stars get murkier when considering the glorification of criminals like Delvey in the media. Much like high-profile art criminals who achieve a certain level of fame —graffiti artist, Banksy for example— she is now able to capitalize on the narrative she created. But does featuring her on a mainstream TV show romanticize her crimes, treating her as a misunderstood anti-hero rather than someone who harmed individuals and institutions?
Moreover, her appearance raises questions about how art crimes, and crimes in general, are commodified in entertainment. True crime stories, whether about art thefts or financial frauds, captivate audiences. But unlike cases where criminals are caught and serve their sentences with quiet rehabilitation, Delvey’s presence on a platform like Dancing with the Stars blurs the line between accountability and reward. Her newfound fame seemingly is a clever extension of her con artistry, transforming notoriety into a form of celebrity.
In many ways, Delvey’s rise to fame mirrors how art crime is romanticized by the media and public. Delvey’s fraud has been reframed as a cunning performance, a sort of artistic rebellion against a superficial, capitalistic society. In creating a celebrity out of her, we risk elevating the criminal aspect to an art form itself, detaching the crime from its real-world consequences.
Should someone who forged not only documents but also her entire persona now be allowed to take the stage for applause?
