Watching reports about Belle Gibson makes it hard not to feel a slow-burning anger. This anger stems from cancer patients yelling at doctors and (fatally) rejecting their advice; from fraudsters faking illness to garner attention and profit from the suffering of others; from the constant elevation of quacks, bogus cures, and false hope; and from those who peddle and profit from expensive, unproven treatments that can worsen people's conditions.
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03-10, 2025If you missed the story, Belle Gibson was a young internet personality and app developer who falsely claimed she had cured herself of brain cancer, which she never had, through food and alternative therapies. She built a successful "wellness" brand, railing against conventional medical approaches and claiming to raise money for charity—but she donated very little. In 2015, she finally admitted that "none of it is true." Vanity Fair called her "one of Australia's most hated women."
Few things make headlines as quickly as a fictional, fraudulent female fantasist. Years after a federal court found Gibson engaged in misleading and deceptive conduct and fined her $410,000, her story continues to be told. A new Netflix series, "Apple Cider Vinegar," unsettlingly parses her lies, attempting to explain how it all happened, figure out why so few people questioned her, and highlight the dangers of not questioning such claims (in short: people die).
The series also creates a character based on health blogger Jess Ainscough, who sought alternative therapies for her cancer (as well as medical approaches) but unfortunately died at 29. Her family is furious about her being misrepresented as a rival to Gibson. Now, another documentary called "Dangerous Lies: Exposing Belle Gibson" is stirring up even more bewilderment. After watching the show, I quickly fell down a rabbit hole, and I suspect others have too.
First, there was the article by journalist Richard Guilliatt, who broke the story, questioning the series' accuracy and calling it "an over-caffeinated, pop-scored cartoon…a drama about a real-life compulsive liar that has little regard for the facts." Guilliatt was excluded from the story, and he argues that his wife's breast cancer was "grafted" into the storyline, connected to a fictional journalist, which was "a bit much." Then I found myself looking at Ainscough's Instagram, and her partner's Instagram, his sorrowful posts interspersed with him finding new love and being happy for his recent marriage. I went back to watch Tara Brown's "60 Minutes" interview and saw in Gibson a woman accustomed to lying, exploiting loopholes in language, smug in her own contradictions, while Brown held her to an accountability grill.
So, what does all of this mean for cancer patients? The public loathing of Gibson has become so high and fervent that a 29-year-old woman with advanced stage four bowel cancer—Kelly Finlayson, a mother and wife of an Adelaide Port Australian Rules Football League player—says she has been compared to Gibson "countless times, a few times a week," which is "a kick in the face." She told a reporter that "it's like kicking me while I'm down," but she believes people do it because she seeks alternative therapies and often looks good despite being sick. "To be called that woman's name is offensive—almost insulting," Finlayson said. "To have gone through what she described…or pretended to go through, and the way she manipulated people around her to feel sorry for her and give her so much…it makes me feel physically ill."
I also can't help but worry about an aspect of cancer that seems lost in all the outrage over Gibson's pathological lies: sometimes traversing the medical system can be a nightmare. I say this while also expressing my anger and consistently advocating for science. After my own cancer diagnosis, I had unkind thoughts about people who suggested I take some potion that cured their Auntie Beryl, drink copious amounts of cucumber juice, or just think positively. One woman I met claimed that positive thinking solved her cancer problem. If there were a legitimate study that found putting crystals in your armpits while sleeping at night could prevent or shrink tumors, we would all be doing it night after night.
But the answer isn't to condescend to or berate frantic cancer patients who seek gentler, less stressful avenues. If we want to avoid the deadly impact that a savvy fabulist like Gibson can have, the answer isn't to mock patients but to elevate science, to pour more money into cancer research. Let me be frank: my cancer has recurred, and I have been faithfully following everything my doctors tell me to do. But I am fully aware that it is a rare type and under-researched, so a lot of the treatment is guesswork. Smart guesswork, made by smart people based on the existing science. Which is why I follow it consistently.
But like many people, I have also had bad experiences. My usual surgeon is brilliant, tenacious, and diligent. I am deeply grateful to her. But I once consulted and put my trust in another surgeon who ultimately became contradictory and dismissive once the course of treatment he proposed failed. After my last meeting with him, I was so shocked by his blunt, almost offhand manner that I had trouble sleeping for months—and my friend had come with me. It was a profoundly bad and avoidable experience, which makes me wonder if we are doing everything we can to enable medical professionals to cope with the mental anguish and uncertainty of chronic illness.
Medical staff can say incredibly insensitive things; people can get lost in the whirring of machines, the pounding of MRI lasers, the loss of blood, the sting of trocars. This is often why desperate patients turn elsewhere—because it can be hard to understand what you are going through, because few of us have enough medical knowledge or scientific understanding to parse academic journals and feel confident about the right course. Because it can be confusing and overwhelming, and sometimes the smartest doctors can be the worst communicators.
People reject treatment not just because they don't want an arm cut off—as Ainscough's case implied—but because they don't understand the complexities and uncertainties, especially for those with rare diseases where research is lacking. Because they seek some degree of control and are afraid of the pain and toxicity of the treatment. The Belle Gibson story matters and should be widely known for several reasons: so we can avoid snake oil, challenge misinformation, question false medical claims, recognize what ignoring medical science can mean, and—allow me to say—also witness the importance of good, well-funded investigative journalism. And of course, the bad journalism—those who provide a platform for people claiming to have unproven miracle cures without demanding evidence.
In an age of increasing distrust of science, medicine, and vaccines, we desperately need scientists and doctors who can communicate effectively. We also need to understand the root causes of this distrust, whether rational or irrational, if we want to save lives from destructive "self-healing." We need to ensure that people trust their doctors. But let's not be distracted by indulging in a group of women people seem to love to hate—pretty female influencers—and ensure we hold the medical system accountable. There is still so much unknown about many cancers; no funding can be wasted.
