Misleading.com Contributor Cynthia McCallum 9/26/25 9:45 PM MST
AI Spoofs Mike Rowe with Fake YETI Promo—Don’t Mislead the Man Who Works Dirty
Butte, Montana folks know better than to chase free coolers dangled by celebrity bait. Mike Rowe’s ‘Free YETI’ giveaway is colder than it looks—and it’s not just the ice that’s fake
Mike Rowe’s voice is unmistakable. Gravelly, grounded, and steeped in the dignity of hard work, it’s the kind of voice that built trust across America—whether narrating “Dirty Jobs,” advocating for skilled trades, or lending calm authority to Ford commercials. It’s a voice that feels earned, not engineered. So when AI-generated clips began circulating online featuring Rowe’s voice endorsing products he’d never heard of, or narrating political content he’d never approved, the reaction was swift and visceral. Rowe himself called it “deeply unsettling,” warning that the technology had crossed a line—not just of legality, but of decency. “It’s not just my voice,” he said. “It’s my reputation, my values, my name being dragged into places I never agreed to go.”
The Rowe incident isn’t just a cautionary tale—it’s a case study in how AI is hijacking identity. His voice, scraped from years of public recordings, was fed into a machine learning model that could replicate his tone, cadence, and emotional nuance. The result? A synthetic Rowe, capable of narrating anything from political ads to cryptocurrency pitches. No consent. No compensation. No control. And because Rowe’s voice is so recognizable, the deception is especially potent. Listeners assume authenticity. Scammers exploit that trust. Platforms profit from the clicks. The real Rowe is left cleaning up the mess.
What makes Rowe’s case so significant is that he’s not just a celebrity—he’s a symbol. His brand is built on authenticity, grit, and transparency. To clone that voice is to counterfeit those values. It’s not just misleading—it’s corrosive. And it’s happening across the board. Scarlett Johansson, David Attenborough, Jennifer Aniston, Oprah Winfrey—the list of cloned voices grows daily. But Rowe’s example hits differently. It’s the voice of the working class being weaponized by the tech elite. It’s the sound of trust being turned into bait.
Scarlett Johansson’s dispute with OpenAI over its Sky assistant was another flashpoint. The voice used in the assistant bore a striking resemblance to Johansson’s, despite her refusal to participate. The company claimed it was a coincidence. Johansson wasn’t convinced. Her legal team demanded transparency. The public demanded accountability. The incident revealed a troubling pattern: AI companies are pushing boundaries, often without consent, and relying on plausible deniability when caught. The technology is moving faster than the ethics, and celebrities are being dragged along for the ride.
David Attenborough, the beloved British broadcaster, discovered his voice had been cloned and used in partisan U.S. news bulletins. “Profoundly disturbing,” he called it. Jennifer Aniston’s voice was mimicked by fraudsters promoting fake wellness products. Oprah Winfrey’s voice was cloned to endorse cryptocurrency scams. Kylie Jenner’s voice appeared in unauthorized endorsements for beauty brands she’d never touched. Martin Lewis, the UK’s trusted financial advisor, had his voice cloned to promote investment schemes he’d never heard of. These aren’t fringe cases—they’re the new normal. Celebrities, once protected by layers of legal teams and brand managers, now find themselves vulnerable to algorithmic impersonation.
The problem isn’t just the cloning—it’s the contracts. Actors and influencers, especially those outside the A-list bubble, are being lured into licensing deals that seem benign on the surface. A thousand dollars for a few hours of voice work, maybe a facial scan. But buried in the fine print are clauses that grant companies “perpetual, irrevocable, worldwide rights” to their likeness. Lawyer Alyssa Malchiodi warns that such language effectively hands over a person’s identity forever. “Broad, perpetual and irrevocable language gives companies full ownership,” she says. The desperation is palpable. In an industry where gigs are scarce and rent is due, many sign away their digital selves without realizing the long-term implications.
Consider Adam Coy, who licensed his avatar to a company called Synthesia for $1,000. He later discovered his face was being used in doomsday prepper videos and anti-vaccine rants. Simon Lee’s avatar promoted fake health cures. Dan Dewhirst’s likeness appeared in Venezuelan propaganda. Connor Yeates was stunned to see his avatar endorsing Burkina Faso’s coup leader. Synthesia admitted the violation but offered no remedy. These actors didn’t sign up to be political pawns or medical fraudsters—they signed up for a paycheck. The exploitation is systemic, not accidental.
Legally, the terrain is murky. In the 1980s, Bette Midler sued Ford for using a soundalike in a car commercial. She won. Tom Waits sued Frito-Lay for a similar offense and also prevailed. These cases established a precedent: you can’t mimic a celebrity’s voice for commercial gain without consent. But those rulings were narrow, tied to specific jurisdictions and analog technologies. Today’s AI cloning operates in a legal gray zone. The “right to publicity” laws vary by state—strong in California, weak elsewhere. There’s no federal framework, no unified standard. As a result, celebrities must fight battles piecemeal, often after the damage is done.
The technology itself is breathtaking—and terrifying. Voice cloning algorithms can train on hours of public interviews, podcasts, and YouTube clips. They capture not just tone and pitch, but emotional cadence, breathing patterns, and idiosyncratic phrasing. Deepfake video synthesis combines facial mapping with voice emulation, creating avatars that blink, smile, and speak with uncanny realism. Platforms like Synthesia and ElevenLabs are leading the charge, offering tools that democratize cloning. Anyone with a credit card and a few audio samples can create a synthetic celebrity. The barrier to entry is low; the ethical stakes are high.
The moral questions are profound. Is it ethical to clone a deceased celebrity for entertainment? Michael Parkinson’s AI-generated talk show raised eyebrows when it featured synthetic interviews with long-dead icons. Is it ethical to use a celebrity’s voice in political propaganda? Is it ethical to clone a voice for scam calls? The “Hi Mom” scam, where fraudsters use cloned child voices to extort parents, shows that this isn’t just a celebrity problem—it’s a societal one. The erosion of consent, the commodification of identity, and the weaponization of likeness are issues that affect everyone.
Ordinary people are now targets. AI phone scams use cloned voices to impersonate loved ones. Deepfake videos spread misinformation faster than fact-checkers can respond. The line between real and fake is blurring, and the consequences are chilling. A voice on the phone may sound familiar, but it could be a synthetic trap. A video endorsement may look authentic, but it could be algorithmic deception. In this landscape, trust becomes a casualty.
The contracts fueling this crisis are often absurd. Here’s a satirical excerpt from a mock licensing agreement: “By signing below, you grant us eternal, irrevocable rights to your voice, face, soul, and any future holographic reincarnations. We may use your likeness to sell toothpaste, endorse coups, or narrate dystopian bedtime stories. You will receive $1,000 and a complimentary deepfake of yourself saying ‘I love this deal!’” While exaggerated, the satire reflects reality. Many actors sign away their rights with little understanding of the implications. The deals are structured to favor platforms, not people.
Solutions exist, but they require political will and public pressure. Stronger legislation is needed—a federal right to publicity, mandatory consent protocols, and clear opt-out mechanisms. Unions like SAG-AFTRA and Equity are pushing for AI clauses in contracts, demanding transparency and accountability. Tech solutions like watermarking, voiceprint verification, and opt-out registries can help, but they must be adopted industry-wide. The fight isn’t just legal—it’s cultural. We must redefine what it means to own a voice, a face, a persona.
In the age of synthetic fame, authenticity becomes rebellion. Celebrities must reclaim their identities, not just legally but symbolically. Platforms must be held accountable, not just for technical violations but for ethical breaches. Consumers must be educated, not just about scams but about the broader implications of AI cloning. And journalists—especially those at Misleading.com—must continue to expose the systems that profit from deception.
This is not a niche issue. It’s not a tech story. It’s a human story. It’s about dignity, consent, and the right to be oneself. When AI can clone your voice, your face, your mannerisms, and deploy them without permission, the very notion of identity is under siege. We must resist—not with nostalgia for analog times, but with a clear-eyed demand for transparency, ethics, and human-centered design.
The celebrity crisis is a warning. If Mike Rowe can be cloned, so can you. If Scarlett Johansson’s voice can be hijacked, so can your child’s. If David Attenborough’s narration can be weaponized, so can your memories. The stakes are existential. We are entering an era where reality is negotiable, and identity is up for grabs.
Misleading.com exists to confront these crises. To name the systems, expose the contracts, and demand accountability. This feature is not just an article—it’s a call to arms. The clone wars have begun. Choose your side. We’re waiting to hear from you!
