You'll Never Believe Me

November 1, 2024
Ferrell didn't mean to do it, as she explains in this memoir of larceny, lust, and identity. By the time she was dubbed "The Hipster Grifter," she'd already been in jail, had warrants for $60,000 in forgeries and retail theft, and had kited checks from Utah to NYC. Buried beneath the headline-grabbing behavior was the pain and rejection of being a transracial adoptee, her hidden bisexuality, and rebellion against the strict mores of the LDS church. Stuck in a spiral of bad behavior and ripping off everyone in her life, Kari gets collared and spends a significant amount of time in jail, where she starts to transform her approach to life. Her observations deepen and her voice is strongest when she talks about the intricacies of incarceration, her fellow cellmates, and their stories of being women in the system. While Kari became famous for lying about her background to snag a prestigious job at VICE Magazine, she's working to prove that her story is just as interesting when she's free of the grift. A "bad girl makes good" memoir with some sharp insights.

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Starred review from November 18, 2024
Ferrell debuts with a raw and riveting account of how she became infamous for scamming New York City’s hipsters. Adopted from South Korea as a five-month-old by Mormons in Salt Lake City, Ferrell weathered both the church’s religious strictures and casual racism from classmates and acquaintances. Insecure and lonely, she fell in with a bad crowd after her parents’ divorce, shoplifting and committing check fraud as a teenager. In 2008, Ferrell moved to New York, where she charmed a string of men—mostly Brooklyn artists—whom she subsequently fleeced. The New York Observer nicknamed Ferrell “the Hipster Grifter,” and, while serving nearly a year in jail for her crimes, she began to drop her hard-edged persona as she met and bonded with her fellow inmates. After her release, Ferrell became a prisoners’ rights advocate and developed a production company that focuses on work from women of color. With a combination of bruising vulnerability and self-deprecating humor (“I was like a law-breaking Martha Stewart. Oh, wait”), Ferrell’s audacious coming-of-age tale pairs the thrill of true crime with the redemptive arc of a good memoir. It’s a deliciously edgy testament to reinvention. Agent: Lily Dolin, UTA. (Jan.)This review has been updated.