Brazil: CPI das Bets, Fortune Tiger and the influencers that misled the public

Before the Government could even finish deciding how to regulate the national betting sector, a digital tsunami of affiliate links, promises of easy cash and a fortuitous, or perhaps not so much, tiger washed up on the gambling shores.  

And like any great saga, it didn’t take long before the smiling faces on screen were replaced by subpoenas, deleted posts and bizarre Senate hearings. Amid the copious amount of influencers and operators growing in Brazil’s sector, the Senate decided to investigate the phenomenon further – before it was too late, and too hard to keep up with it all. 

Ultimately, however, what we saw was the rise and fall of Brazil’s ill-fated Parliamentary Commission of Inquiry into online betting and influencer marketing (CPI das Bets). 

The eye of the tiger and the influencers who rode it 

It all started with a Tiger – more precisely, the notorious Jogo do Tigrinho, the local nickname for Fortune Tiger. Aggressively marketed to young, working-class audiences by Brazilian influencers, the game promised instant wins and withdrawals with just a tap and a dream. In a country where 15% of the population placed at least one bet in a year and many rely completely on government assistance, the question wasn’t just how it became so popular but why nobody thought about regulating it sooner. 

Now, gambling is the same in principle worldwide. No one at Gambling Insider will chastise a good game for being made or marketed appropriately – quite the opposite. But Brazil saw a different phenomenon. Illegal operators were teaming up with influencers who essentially misled – to put it moderately – their followers by pretending there were glitches in the game that guaranteed wins. Videos were posted of a rags-to-riches story where influencers were now spending their days in Ferraris all because of Fortune Tiger. Any legitimate marketing team in today’s gambling society will know that is outright deception. 

The ads were flashy, upbeat and relentless. The platforms didn’t just promise fun, they promised income. For influencers, it was a perfect match. Betting links paid more than beauty deals ever could and still do. Some creators stopped pushing skincare routines altogether and turned their content into 24/7 gambling infomercials.  

And no, we’re not talking only about nano or micro influencers, who could actually use the fact that they only have the internet as a source of income, but also the mega-influencers, with millions of followers, millions in the bank and a much wider community. 

For example, it came to light that one big influencer wasn’t just promoting a betting platform, she owned it. This wasn’t a bad brand deal gone rogue, it was full-on entrepreneurial integration, with the swipe-up link leading straight to her bottom line. 

That’s the story (pun intended) of Emilly Souza. 

Known for flashy content and an aggressive promo style, when legal operations knew what she was up to, she vanished. For two months, she was officially on the run, dodging authorities while her name made national headlines. She was eventually arrested in Cuiabá and what had started as an ad campaign turned into a legal thriller, complete with affiliate links and a getaway car. 

Her case was handled by police and prosecutors through the regular courts but it was one of the many that raised questions on how much influencers should be held accountable for these types of actions. The lines between influencer and operator were now so blurred, the CPI had to expand its scope again. 

The Senator who pressed play 

At the centre of the storm was Senator Soraya Thronicke. Lawyer by training, politician by blood and the one who decided enough was enough to start our saga. It was Thronicke who formally proposed the CPI das Bets, urging the Senate to investigate the unchecked rise of betting ads, influencer promotion and the quiet spread of the national digital gambling culture.  

She positioned herself as the adult in the room: consistently warning about compulsive gaming, demanding transparency from platforms and calling out the absurdity of it all, often in language that struck somewhere between legal briefing and viral soundbite. Meanwhile, she positioned the inquiry as a necessary step to understand how far the industry had grown without oversight. Thronicke consistently raised concerns about compulsive gambling, the lack of advertising guidelines and the risk posed to vulnerable audiences.  

Alongside calls for regulation, she also defended the idea of educational campaigns to inform users, especially young people, about the realities behind it. While reactions to the CPI varied across the political spectrum, her name remained the most closely tied to it from start to finish as she was determined to remind players that tigers aren’t just cute, they’re also carnivorous. 

Sweet Home Virginia 

One of the most notable examples during the CPI das Bets was Virginia Fonseca, the biggest influencer in Brazil, who became the face of this digital betting frenzy. Known for her family content and ostentatious lifestyle, Fonseca rose to fame in the late 2010s as a YouTuber with daily vlogs, makeup tutorials and relationship content with the kind of upbeat energy that made her instantly viral.  

Over time, she built a media empire around her personal life including her marriage to a singer, showing everything her children are doing and her ultra-sponsored daily routine. With millions of followers across platforms, she became one of the most influential digital figures in Brazil and, of course, a magnet for brand deals. 

She began promoting betting platforms around mid-2023, often through Instagram stories and short-form video content that showed exaggerated excitement and “easy win” claims. Her name became heavily associated with Jogo do Tigrinho, eventually turning her from top-tier influencer into the central face of Brazil’s betting advertising scandal. 

She promoted the game with such visible excitement that she was eventually summoned to testify, which she went, wearing a hoodie with her baby daughter’s face in it. The Senators? Theatrically outraged. Well, all but one… who literally took a selfie with her in the middle of the hearing. (Yes, that really happened. Big smiles and he said his wife wouldn’t believe it.) 

During her hearing, Fonseca kept her answers measured, claiming she was simply hired to advertise and had no knowledge of how the platforms operated behind the scenes. She argued she was not responsible for user outcomes and that all her campaigns were handled legally through her agency.  

Senators questioned her about the lack of disclaimers and the influence she held over such a large audience. But no formal conclusions were reached as she even admitted she didn’t even use her own account to place bets: the company had provided one. In the end, the committee agreed there was insufficient evidence to link her to criminal intent, though her name remained in the final report recommending indictments. 

After the hearing, she posted a story on social media alongside the Senators meant to be against what she was doing, as if it was just another adventure. Her lawyer insisted there was no concrete evidence linking her to anything criminal, but the damage was already viral. Between headlines, memes and public opinion, Fonseca became the unofficial brand ambassador of a scandal that didn’t seem to be slowing down. 

The widening net 

But just like it didn’t start with Fonseca, it didn’t end with her either. The CPI soon expanded its investigation to include dozens of other creators who had promoted betting platforms using affiliate codes, exaggerated winnings or just plain bad judgement. Still, it’s important to understand it wasn’t just creators under the microscope. The Senate also started digging into operators themselves, the platforms behind the scenes and even payment processors.  

The Finance Minister himself was called in to explain how betting operations were supposedly being monitored, which helped expose a regulatory system that, at the time, looked more like a sieve than a filter. Many of these activities had occurred before this year’s regulation of Brazil’s online gaming and sports betting markets. And Finance Minister Fernando Haddad has since gone on record saying he would ban online gambling in Brazil if he could, and undo said regulation. 

That is a strong and perhaps unrealistic stance. As we’ve all learned in gambling, banning an activity does not reduce it, it simply makes it even less safe and under the total whim of illegal operators. But it does show the scope at which Brazilian online gambling, not unlike in the Philippines, operated under a Wild West do-what-you-like set of business ideals. 

There were also growing concerns around underage audiences. Very few influencers were clear on how you could and should be responsible while having fun betting. The ones that attended the hearing, especially, hadn’t added any disclaimers to their posts. Some were actively targeting teenagers with promises, all while hiding the fact that withdrawals were not that easy. 

Testimonies, tension and the public stage 

With the net officially widened, the CPI took on a life of its own. A rotating door of testimonies featured influencers, operators and officials – each trying to explain how Brazil had let an entire sector grow with virtually no oversight. Some testimonies were well-prepared. Others were chaotic. A few, like Fonseca, felt like performance art. 

At one point, the Senate resembled a livestream soap opera more than a legislative inquiry. Senators fumbled through tech jargon while influencers blinked into microphones, wondering how promoting a tiger on Stories had turned into national scrutiny. One moment you were showing your followers a promo code and, the next, you were on national TV being asked whether you knew your link was tied to a Curaçao-based company with no licensing in Brazil. Many simply replied “I didn’t know.” 

Soon, the CPI stopped being about just one app or one game. It became a proxy for Brazil’s bigger digital mess: a market built on reach, virality and very little regulation. The public followed every twist. Headlines swung between scandal and absurdity. And with every hearing, hope quietly built that maybe something real would come out of it. And then it didn’t. 

The final report became a battlefield as accusations surfaced that names had been added or left out for political reasons. Some Senators claimed the process had been hijacked and not taken seriously – as not everyone in the Senate was present during voting. In the end, the report, which recommended indictment for 16 people, including Fonseca herself, was rejected by the Senate committee in a 3-4 voting loss. Months of media spectacle, political grandstanding and meme-worthy hearings… all scrapped. 

Still, in true bureaucratic fashion, the Senate received 17 new bills based on suggestions for improvement from Senator Thronicke. It was aimed at tightening betting regulations because, well, if you can’t agree on a conclusion, you might as well flood the system with paperwork. The bills included everything from new ad restrictions and fine systems to more aggressive tracking of operators’ payments and commissions. Whether they’d pass (or work) remained an open question. 

Ultimately, what everyone (with the right intentions) wants is a fair, free market for gambling. That requires regulation – the right kind of regulation. Influencers and illegal operators who have acted with the wrong intentions should be punished; there should be no leniency there. One policy suggested by Senator Thronicke, however, was the banning of Fortune Tiger. How would banning a game fix any of the deep-rooted cultural problems in Brazil? There would simply be a Lucky Tiger or Fortune Lion that might take its place. Who knows, perhaps suggestions like that played their part in the final report being rejected? 

The Finance Ministry joins the chat 

Still, it wasn’t all for nothing: a clear tone was set. Some influencers pulled back, operators changed their ad policies and lawmakers, finally, admitted the digital space might require actual oversight. Even as the CPI collapsed, the Senate tried to salvage the spotlight by announcing an expanded investigation, this time into ad agencies, payment apps, streaming services and possibly anyone who had ever heard of a slot machine. 

Finance Minister Haddad called for tougher betting taxation, warning that soft tax structures would only worsen public health issues and financial exploitation, suggesting raising operator’s tax from 12% to 18%. Then came the educational push: a joint campaign with the Bank Federation to help bettors understand financial risks. The same population who had been promised Lamborghinis on TikTok was now getting advice on how to budget. Better late than never? Certainly the right approach. 

Just when everyone thought the dust had settled, Congress found something new to fight about. They debated whether to legalise casinos, bingo halls and jogo do bicho, a lottery-style game with animals (apparently, in Brazil, we do seem to like animals in games).  

Supporters argued that regulation would reduce crime and bring in tax revenue. Opponents warned it would worsen addiction and financial harm. In other words: old arguments in fresh suits while the population stays confused on where to start and where to stop. Senate voting on that is still slated for future chapters. 

Indeed, the saga isn’t over. Right now, there is the side to Brazil that excites the industry with its gross gaming revenue potential. But the CPI das Bets helped make the darker side to the industry more mainstream. Hopefully, just like in Argentina and other Latin American markets, operators can work together to help realise Brazil’s betting potential – without caveman marketing tactics that lie to gamblers, promising them the guarantee of endless riches after one spin. 

The drama will continue – but hopefully, with a positive contribution from influencers, there can be legitimate progress for this vaunted market.