Hope hijacked: the business of wellness misinformation

What Belle Gibson can teach us about the desperate power of hope

The new TV show “Apple Cider Vinegar” about Belle Gibson was recently released on Netflix and it has me thinking about the wellness industry, what role evidence plays in it, and how easy it can be to hijack hope. For those who don’t know, Belle Gibson is an Australian wellness blogger and entrepreneur who gained fame for claiming she had stopped her conventional treatment of chemotherapy and radiotherapy and survived terminal brain cancer through natural remedies and healthy living.

But — and spoiler alert here — she made the whole thing up.

In high school, I had a teacher I’m going to call Mrs. Harris. She taught me English when I first started high school, and although looking back she was a bit traditional — she once made me remove my nail polish in front of the class with remover she kept in her office — she was generally kind and encouraging. Years later, when I was around 15, I ran into her at the school cafeteria.

It wasn’t long into the conversation that she told me her husband had cancer. I don’t remember what kind or what stage, but I remember she was obviously preoccupied with worry, her eyes were glassy, trying to stay positive but clearly deeply stressed.

This was the late 90s, early 2000s — home juicers were having their day, we got one too and suddenly everyone was blending every fruit and vegetable into bizarre, often gross combinations, and these were not your simple NutriBullet, they were complex machines that took longer to clean than the rest of the kitchen, all in pursuit of maximum nutrition and wellness.

I must have at some point, in an awkward 15-year-old way, (being pretty ignorant of cancer but understanding the seriousness of it), have mumbled how sorry I was to hear that news. She told me about the appointments and the chemo treatments, and resultant side effects, sounding strained but putting a good face on it. We accumulated other students who came to say hello and at some point the conversation shifted and I remember feeling shocked when she said,

“Well, we’ve stopped all that now anyway. He is on an all fresh juice diet, and we are going to cure it with juice.”

Maybe I looked surprised or skeptical because she began justifying it, desperately, as if doing an infomercial under duress. Looking back, and understanding this moment as an adult, I could cry realising this was the hope she was clinging to. Actually, I can feel my tears welling up. I don’t remember what the other students said or thought, just the agreement and seemingly genuine encouragement they offered her. I only remember feeling uneasy, probably staying quiet. My 15-year-old brain kept looping, but that… it can’t… can it? Can juice really help cancer?

When Mrs. Harris walked away, I turned to someone and said, “I really don’t think that will work, do you? Juice can’t cure cancer, can it?” She looked at me disapprovingly, “So harsh, how do you know?”

Story of my life.

The moment stuck with me. Not just because honesty got me reprimanded again, but because, as time passed, it took on a deeper sadness. Not too long after, months, maybe a year, we heard that Mr. Harris had died of cancer.

So when I heard Belle Gibson’s story over 20 years later, my first thought was: “This reminds me of Mrs. Harris.”

Belle Gibson’s case remains one of Australia’s most infamous health and wellness frauds, sparking discussions about regulating wellness influencers and the dangers of health misinformation. But it wasn’t just Australia — her Whole Pantry app and cookbook gained global traction, even being selected for Apple’s Watch launch. Penguin also backed her, publishing a cookbook touting the supposed healing properties of its recipes. Although once her claims were outed as fraudulent, Penguin cancelled the book’s international release. In many ways Belle Gibson was a pioneer who understood the power of ‘personal branding’ and a ‘curated Instagram feed’ well before these much-hated phrases entered common parlance.

Full disclosure: I didn’t watch the Netflix dramatisation. Remembering Mrs. Harris — the hope and sadness in her eyes — made the thought of even the smallest glorification of Belle Gibson unbearable. I have chronic illnesses too (though nothing as dramatic as Belle fabricated), and my family too has experienced the uncertainty of a cancer diagnosis. The idea that this woman gained empathy, money, and followers, preying on people like Mrs. Harris who needed hope, sickened me.

But as I watched Belle Gibson’s 60 Minutes interview, I couldn’t help but feel some sympathy. She’s clearly a very troubled person. She couldn’t even confirm her real age:

“I was always brought up to believe I am 26.”

“I have two birth certificates and have changed my name four times.”

She could really only see herself as a victim in everything, and what is more, I think she believes it.

Diagnoses like Munchausen’s syndrome and pathological lying have been suggested, but whatever the case, it’s clear that part of her seems to believe her own lies.

Looking back at her childhood, she reportedly had a complicated relationship with her mother and moved in with a much older man at around 13, a claim corroborated by her brother. At the very least, this raises questions about the stability of her upbringing.

Perhaps the most telling moment came after her fraud was exposed — she completely reinvented herself, adopting a new identity as “Sabontu,” wearing a full headscarf, claiming to be part of Melbourne’s Ethiopian Oromo community, and even speaking some Oromo. She referred to Ethiopia as her home.

This pattern of deception and identity shifts suggests something deeper at play. Everyone is shaped by a complex interaction of genes and environment, and whatever drives her to do this was undoubtedly enabled by Instagram, mainstream media, Apple, and Penguin.

This brings me to the real question: who truly hijacked hope? Was it Belle Gibson alone? What of the corporations and media platforms that enabled, amplified, and profited from her lies?

Because here’s the thing — Belle Gibson’s story wasn’t just implausible; it was nigh on impossible. Even if she had brain cancer, no amount of juice and enemas was going to save her life. The scientist in me has to say, at least the probability of this happening was infinitesimal. Reasonable people — especially publishers, journalists, and executives — would have known this. Penguin, reportedly even had concerns over gaps in her story, and yet the book was published and released in Australia. But beginning with Instagram, they all gave her a platform. They all sold her story. They all made money off it.

Why? Engagement. Profit. Hope sells.

But what of responsibility? The burden shouldn’t fall solely on individuals to fact-check everything. Institutions failed. Apple, Penguin, Instagram — these aren’t small players. With their resources, they could have verified her claims. They didn’t.

We live in an era where evidence-based information is more accessible than ever. Yet, the digital platforms designed for sharing this knowledge have become breeding grounds for mis- and disinformation. Algorithms prioritise what’s engaging, not what’s true. Emotional narratives supersede evidence, especially when we are making decisions driven by strong emotion. Social media and the wellness industry, in particular, thrives on ambiguity — promising easy fixes for complex health issues. There is even a term for the experiments that these social platform perform on us, it is an entire field of study called ‘behavioural modification’.

Studies have shown that social media platforms manipulate dopamine-driven feedback loops and exploit strong emotions to maximise engagement. This was evident in Facebook’s unethical 2014 emotional contagion experiment, where researchers secretly altered the content of nearly 700,000 users’ newsfeeds to test whether exposure to more positive or negative posts would influence their own emotional expressions. The results confirmed that emotions can be ‘contagious’ online, but more importantly, they demonstrated how strong emotions— drive higher engagement. Emotional content demands attention and fuels compulsive scrolling, as users search for reassurance, resolution or comfort, ultimately keeping them on the platform longer. Social media algorithms capitalise on this, prioritising divisive, emotionally charged content to maximise clicks and ad revenue.

And what better targets for emotionally provoking content than sick people? Their loved ones? Already frightened and searching for reassurance that everything will be okay.

And let’s not forget traditional media. Publications such as Elle, and Cosmopolitan Australia wrote glowing profiles and gave Belle an award for being a ‘Fun, Fearless, Female’. TV networks, Channels 7 and 9, through morning talk shows such as Sunrise and Today, rushed to cover Belle Gibson’s story, rarely asking critical questions — just your usual morning fluff served with a side of dangerous disinformation. Many must have suspected the truth but chose views over credibility. The failure wasn’t just personal — it was systemic.

I’m not here to excuse Belle Gibson’s actions, justify her lies, or dismiss the fines she owes. While I don’t believe jailing someone like her would achieve much, it’s clear she needs intervention and treatment to prevent further harm — to others and herself. But those who enabled her must also be held to a higher standard.

This raises another issue: the role of evidence in wellness claims. How much of what’s out there is actually based on evidence? Studies show that a significant portion of wellness content lacks scientific backing, yet it continues to thrive because it offers certainty and simplicity in a complicated world. People like Mrs. Harris don’t fall for these claims because they’re ignorant — they fall because they’re desperate. And there are always those willing to exploit that.

So what can we do about it?

While these issues can’t be left entirely to individual responsibility, the reality is that most social media platforms are becoming more lenient, not stricter, about evidence. This makes it even more important to consider what we choose to support. We can opt out of certain platforms, limit our use, refuse to buy from targeted ads, and report suspicious claims. Navigating truth in the wellness space can feel like a minefield, but the old adage holds: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. A few key questions can help cut through the noise: Who benefits from me believing this? Is it backed by credible evidence or just anecdotes? Does it rely on fear, urgency, or the ‘natural’ fallacy? Has it been debunked? And does it dismiss experts in favor of easy fixes?

To go further, write to your MPs or local representatives, because what we truly need is for governments to regulate how corporations operate — not by dictating what can be shared, but by ensuring transparency and accountability. Platforms should be held responsible for how they amplify dis- and misinformation, rather than policing individual speech. Ethical systems could help flag harmful mis- and disinformation without outright censorship.

I’m not pretending this is easy, especially at scale, nor that there’s a simple way to draw the line. But what I do know is that the lack of oversight, regulation, or even consumer pushback has left us in a post-truth era, where emotions often override facts. Instead of removing content outright, platforms and regulators could require clear disclaimers on health claims, independent fact-checking, or algorithmic transparency to curb harm.

Public pressure matters. Support independent researchers, fact-checkers, and journalists who hold these industries accountable. Call out brands and influencers who profit from misinformation. Demand better digital literacy education in schools and workplaces. The more we collectively reject false health claims, the less profitable they become.

In cases like Belle Gibson’s and the broader wellness industry, real lives are at stake. We have an ethical responsibility to act.

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References and further information:

60 Minutes Australia. (2015, June 28). The whole hoax: Belle Gibson’s cancer con [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fahOX8VBXCc

Axios. (2020, February 15). Behind wellness industry claims. Axios. https://www.axios.com/2020/02/15/behind-wellness-industry-claims

Berger, J., & Milkman, K. L. (2012). What makes online content viral? Journal of Marketing Research, 49(2), 192–205. https://doi.org/10.1509/jmr.10.0353

Brady, W. J., Crockett, M., & Van Bavel, J. J. (2022). The contagious nature of moral outrage in online social networks. Nature Human Behaviour, 6(1), 92–102. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41562-021-01166-0

Friggeri, A., Adamic, L. A., Eckles, D., & Cheng, J. (2014). Rumor cascades. Facebook Research. https://research.facebook.com/publications/rumor-cascades/

Kramer, A. D. I., Guillory, J. E., & Hancock, J. T. (2014). Experimental evidence of massive-scale emotional contagion through social networks. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 111(24), 8788–8790. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1320040111

Psychology Today. (2024, October). Cautions about the wellness industry and eating disorders. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/navigating-the-maze/202410/cautions-about-the-wellness-industry-and-eating-disorders

RMIT University. (n.d.). RMIT ABC Fact Check. RMIT University. https://www.rmit.edu.au/about/schools-colleges/media-and-communication/research/public-communication-research-and-advisory-services/projects/fact-check

Vosoughi, S., Roy, D., & Aral, S. (2018). The spread of true and false news online. Science, 359(6380), 1146–1151. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.aap9559

Wyon, M., Koutedakis, Y., & McEwan, I. M. (2022). The wellness industry and pseudoscience: Addressing misinformation in commercial health practices. Journal of Clinical Exercise Physiology, 11(3), 101–108. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/35687251