DMA 5

When Virality Meets Ethics: The James Somerton Plagiarism Scandal

It was in December of 2023 that YouTuber Harry Brewis—known more online by the handle Hbomberguy—uploaded a nearly four-hour video essay titled Plagiarism and You(YouTube). The video revolved mostly around fellow YouTuber James Somerton, a content creator whose sleek video essays probed queer topics in film and pop culture. Brewis averred that polish was concealing something worse. Somerton was accused of plagiarizing books, documentaries, and other authors consistently—copied lines repeatedly, gave no credit, and posed ideas as his own.

                                  

                                                                  Image Credit

The accusations were in their scope overwhelming. Brewis showed how Somerton's writing borrowed heavily from writings like The Celluloid Closet, an early documentary based on Vito Russo's book, and Tinker Belles and Evil Queens by Sean Griffin. In some cases, Somerton appeared to copy entire arguments or paragraphs verbatim without attribution. These were not just minor mistakes—these were wholesale appropriations of other researchers' work and analysis.

The reaction on the web was swift and brutal.

Somerton removed all his videos, shut down his Twitter account, closed his Patreon, and took down the website for his so-called film production company, Telos.

Later, he posted an apology video, but that did not fare well. Fans trashed it as vague, evasive, and defensive. He did not actually address the claims of plagiarism, and he did not offer a simple solution to fix it. Then he reinstated his Patreon without warning his patrons—some of whom were still being charged. That action especially made people feel deceived. To understand why this matters beyond YouTube soap operas, let's step back. In Chapter 9 of Writing and Editing for Digital Media, Brian Carroll discusses the importance of ethical boundaries in online storytelling. One of the key points is that digital media isn't some sort of wild west, even though at times it can feel that way. Just because content is available doesn't mean it's ethical—or legal—to copy it without permission.

Somerton's situation is an outright violation of what Carroll calls "information integrity." By putting other people's mental work on display as his own, Somerton tricked his viewers and broke the faith that online creators rely on. This wasn't remaking or getting inspiration—this was plagiarism, full stop.

Equally important is the concept of transparency. Carroll suggests that digital communicators must be transparent and own up when they make mistakes. An honest, precise apology can do a lot of good. Unfortunately, Somerton's response didn't check that box. Opening up his revenue stream without actually owning up to the mistake only made the ethical failing worse. As Carroll observes, the online world is built on credibility—and once you've lost it, it's hard to get it back.

This episode also demonstrates how misinformation manifests in more nuanced forms. Not always conspiracy theories or disinformation. Sometimes, it's how stories are presented, credited, and spun by creators about their expertise. When someone builds an entire career off ideas they never created and investigated themselves, viewers are being duped—just in a nicer, sneakier way.

If you are looking for further insight into cultural meaning of the Somerton scandal, listen to the podcast Cancel Me, Daddy, where writer Michael Hobbes joined for a considerate interview on plagiarism, para-social love, and the way the creator economy allows others to avoid real responsibility.

Ultimately, the James Somerton fallout is an indictment more than anything. It's a reminder of how ethics matter—especially in an era of the internet where content equals currency. We, as creatives, owe it to our audiences (and ourselves) to put in the work, to credit our sources, and to tell the truth when we fail. Because the internet never forgets, but it does expect better.