He was a Fugazi: How I liked a man who didn’t exist

Sometimes the biggest red flags show up wearing designer shoes and calling themselves CEOs.

That’s how I met ‘Matthew’ (not his actual name but it will serve). Like many introverts, I find small talk tedious and soap operas soothing. So, when Matthew slid into my DMs all the way from LA, I replied with my usual awkward flair: short sentences and proper punctuation.

His bio read like a LinkedIn fever dream: actor, director, auctioneer, crypto king, real estate CEO, photographer, performance coach. Possibly Batman.

His profile pic, meanwhile, showed him in a blue suit standing in front of a media wall. He was the kind of guy who probably had himself as his phone wallpaper.

“I’ve been engaged. Twice. Both times, the woman called it off. I’m a bit broken,” Matthew told me.

“You’re the type of man that’s easy to fall in love with,” I replied, in all seriousness.

Ah, the sweet scent of delusion.

I Googled him alongside ‘drug trafficker’ and ‘illegal sex ring’, Nothing. Just some weirdly curated fan pages and a lot of photos of himself on red carpets I’d never heard of.

At the time, I was juggling job stress and anxiety bad enough to make Valium my main food group. So, like the sensible woman I am, I dove in headfirst.

We messaged daily. I found myself looking forward to his replies. We became a version of You’ve Got Mail, if Tom Hanks had been into NFTs and vague job titles. Plus, talk about him wanting group-sex and homemade porn “for personal growth.” Matthew that “robust sexual experience leads to emotional maturity”. I believed ice baths and self-reflection did the job nicely enough.believed

He told me about his hard childhood. I told him about my anxiety and medication. He encouraged me to “be stronger” and “snap out of it”. Thank you, sir; I’ll just go ahead and cure my brain chemistry right now.

Eventually, he came to Australia and we met in person.

Smiling, he said, “Meeting me must be the highlight of your life.”

We both laughed.

He recalled something I’d told him: my sleepless nights and irrational fear of disaster. “Will you be okay being alone?” he asked.

I glowed. A man who remembered small details: the human glitch.

Back home, the texting resumed. He promised every week that he’d visit. Each time, a new “emergency” popped up — taxes, gangsters, global llama shortage. Who can remember?

I’d now clocked a few upgrades to the sketch-o-metre. I was never on solid ground with him. One minute he was affectionate and tender; the next, he screamed about how no one deserved to speak to him unless they’d reached his level of success.

He dropped lines like, “I went to a prestigious school.”

Mate, so did Elle Woods from Legally Blonde.

And, “You don’t get how hard it is that people don’t run at my pace.”

I do, actually. I also don’t shout at people who disagreed with me about almond milk.

Then came that line. The one that should be printed on red flags and tattooed on the inside of every woman's eyelids:

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Translation: “I’m going to emotionally bludgeon you, but I want you to feel bad for me when I do it.”

Facing the Hard Truths over the Easy Lie

Eventually, I did what I should’ve done earlier: investigated. Deep-dived. Checked the receipts.

I saw The Article. A random entertainment site revealed Matthew had been dating someone the entire year I’d known him. A real, breathing, Instagram-tagging girlfriend. I confronted him. He denied it and called me “aggressive.” Classic.

I was crushed, but not only because of the lies. I’d accepted his breadcrumbs and called it a buffet. Matthew became a mirror — one I didn’t always like looking into. I saw the parts of myself that craved validation. That ignored gut instincts. That mistook trauma bonding for connection.

My other Matthew discoveries:

• Followers? Faker than his claim he was friends with Liam Hemsworth.
• Graduated from a "prestigious acting school"? About as real as Hogwarts.
• NFT empire? As stable as a Jenga tower.
• The girlfriend? Oh, she was very real.

There were many red flags in hindsight: the vague responses, the pauses when he was ‘typing’, proclaiming honesty. Yet, I chose to believe the comforting lie over the uncomfortable truth.

Lessons from a Walking 404 Error

I deleted his number and blocked him on every platform. The fallout shoved me back on the Valium wagon for a bit. But he was also a lesson. He taught me that some connections are counterfeit. A fugazi. He wasn’t real, but the therapy bills were.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. But he did. And I survived. I rebuilt. I know better now. Probably. Maybe. Okay fine, 60/40.

There’s peace in silence. There’s wisdom in hindsight. And there’s a very good chance Matthew is out there right now, yelling at someone new about oat milk and being brilliant.

If so, Godspeed to her.

Six Tips for Figuring Out a Fugazi

1. If his CV reads like The Avengers credits, run.
2. Friends aren’t Pokémon — don’t let anyone ‘cut’ you for lagging behind their imaginary hustle.
3. Never trust a man who thinks personal growth requires amateur porn. Exercise exists. So does Duolingo.
4. Emotional intensity is not intimacy. Just because someone shares secrets doesn’t mean that they’re safe.
5. If someone says, “I don’t want to hurt you,” then they absolutely will. It’s a disclaimer.
6. Consistency is the bare minimum in adult relationships.

Liv Arnold is a critically acclaimed author and internationally renowned sex advice expert who has featured on the covers of Harper’s BAZAAR, Grazia and Playboy, among many others. Her books have garnered widespread acclaim from the media and from a string of New York Times bestselling authors.

Featured Image, courtesy Liv Arnold.

Story by Liv Arnold ( Belters News/ Palamedes/ The Double Agents)