In the real world, Bogdan Peschir is a 36-year-old cryptocurrency trader from the fairytale-like city of Brasov in Transylvania. From his balcony, he has a view of red-roofed houses, Gothic churches, and the changing seasons on Mount Tâmpa. On TikTok, he is Bogpr, the platform's largest 'tipping tycoon' in Romania.
Peschir particularly enjoys spending money on streamers. If you are live on TikTok and do something that catches his attention and earns his approval—like jumping into a canal or doing a backflip—he might watch and send animated gifts that streak across the screen. These gifts range in price from a few cents to several hundred dollars, and recipients can cash them out. At this scale, digital gifts are far more than just likes from strangers.
Peschir tipped relentlessly, and his follower count approached 200,000. His continuous spending unlocked increasingly flashy and expensive gifts for him to give: like virtual Thunder Falcons and Fire Phoenixes. In the fall of 2024, he reached TikTok's highest Level 50, cementing his position as one of Europe's top tippers. He also earned a rare privilege: the ability to send soaring animated Pegasus gifts to creators he endorsed. It was a peculiar kind of fame, but Romanian prosecutors say this influence was potent. They arrested Peschir, accusing him of using his money and clout to help a maverick far-right candidate win the first round of Romania's November 2024 presidential election.
This candidate, Călin Georgescu, rose almost overnight. Polls three weeks before the election showed him with only 1% support, not even enough to qualify for the main national television debates. Yet he captured 22.9% of the vote in the first round, beating 12 other opponents. Within three days, Romania's Supreme Council of National Defense declared the election had been subject to external interference. Officials declassified five partially redacted intelligence documents, alleging interference by a 'state actor.' Germany and the United States pointed the finger directly at Russia.
The entire operation was executed online, primarily through TikTok. Tens of thousands of fake accounts created the illusion of a Georgescu craze, pushing him into everyone's feed. According to a French government report, the hashtag #calingeorgescu was viewed 73.2 million times on TikTok in seven days—an unprecedented level of heat for a country of 19 million people, about 9 million of whom use TikTok. Prosecutors allege Peschir was part of this: he directed his tipping towards creators promoting Georgescu and liked and commented on content supporting the candidate. He wrote in a text message to an acquaintance: 'I'm doing my best here to increase his exposure.'
Prosecutors suspect these actions were crucial, and possibly coordinated, to Russia's overall plan to install Georgescu. They called Peschir's role in boosting Georgescu's numbers 'decisive.' Nicușor Dan, who was elected president after Georgescu was disqualified, has also publicly criticized Peschir by name. But Peschir has not been formally charged. He says the government's claims are nonsense: he simply enjoys generously tipping TikTok influencers with money he earned independently, and he happens to be a fan of Călin Georgescu.
For Romania, which was under a pro-Soviet dictatorship from 1944 to 1989, allegations of Kremlin election meddling are particularly sensitive. The Romanian authorities' response has been unusually forceful. In December 2024, the Romanian Constitutional Court annulled the election results, citing violations of electoral law: first, the 'non-transparent use' of digital technology and artificial intelligence, and second, Georgescu's failure to declare the sources of his campaign funding. The court ordered a new election for May 2025 and barred Georgescu from running.
Peschir's arrest in March 2025 caused a sensation. He walked into the Bucharest police headquarters wearing a hat, mask, and sunglasses, reluctantly removing them in front of TV cameras to reveal a sharp haircut and lean, angular face. Prosecutors cited charges including 'voter bribery by electronic means' and requested he be held in custody while charges were finalized. He was released about a month later. Since then, a police drone has hovered outside his balcony for months, and every new laptop he buys is confiscated by police.
Prosecutors say that in the 10 months leading up to the election, Peschir spent nearly $900,000 on TikTok gifts, tipping over 250 Romanian influencers. In the final 31 days, he sent gifts worth $381,000 to accounts supporting Georgescu. The government calls this an undeclared, illegal campaign donation.
Peschir vehemently denies any wrongdoing. 'The government has not presented a single piece of evidence,' he said in an email to Bloomberg Businessweek. 'This is a completely fabricated story, just to justify canceling the election.' He denies being directed by Moscow, saying, 'No one can command me except God, and I haven't taken a single penny from anyone in years.'
Police say the investigation is ongoing. Businessweek has seen Romanian intelligence reports, a hundred pages of Peschir's text messages, and has corresponded and spoken with him. The text messages, in particular, read like a window into the bizarre world of social media electioneering. This reclusive man had unexpectedly become the poster child for what may be one of the 21st century's most successful Russian election interference operations.
Bogpr was active on TikTok at least since 2023 but really blew up in March 2024—eight months before the election—when he tipped the Romanian singer Nicolae Guță tens of thousands of dollars worth of gifts. According to Peschir himself, this earned him the nickname 'King of TikTok' domestically.
TikTok's economic model revolves around virtual coins purchased within the platform. In Romania, one coin is worth slightly more than 1 US cent. Peschir could spend 1 coin for a virtual rose, 30,000 coins for a lion, or 44,999 coins for a 'Universe.' (It's unknown if he ever bought the Pegasus gift, worth 42,999 coins.) Recipients can exchange these gifts for virtual diamonds, which are then cashed out for real money—roughly half of what the tipper spent, with the other half kept as commission by TikTok. (The company declined to specify the exact commission split.)
For the first few months, Peschir's tipping to streamers seemed almost entirely apolitical. He responded to donation pleas, like from parents of terminally ill children; he tipped young female streamers who lip-synced and didn't speak; he sent gifts to people who just filmed themselves driving or chopping wood.
'I would go live, wear a skirt, roleplay as an NPC—a non-player character in games—to get his attention,' said Roma hip-hop artist Gheorghe-Daniel Alexe (username Bahoi). According to prosecutors, he received a total of $2,400 in gifts from Peschir. Alexe said others tipped too, but Peschir was on another level entirely.
Few TikTok creators knew Peschir's real name or what he looked like. Alexe recalled he rarely revealed anything about himself, only saying he believed in God and found his greatest joy in giving money away. 'He said, 'I have too much money, nothing impresses me because nothing stimulates me,'' Alexe recounted. ''Only giving stimulates me.''
Peschir came of age during a period of intense social transformation. In 1989, the Ceaușescu regime fell along with the Iron Curtain, ending the communist dictatorship that had taken root during the post-WWII Soviet occupation. Romania opened to the West, joining NATO in 2004 and the EU in 2007. In the following years, its economy boomed, transforming from a country known for its orphans into Eastern Europe's second-largest economy after Poland. Today, Bucharest, like many European capitals, has street performers, boutique cafes, and co-working spaces. But many Romanians were left behind. Nearly 30% are at risk of poverty or social exclusion, the second-highest rate in the EU, according to EU statistics.
Romania's far-right found a foothold online as early as the early 2010s. These groups included extreme football fans, hip-hop enthusiasts, anti-LGBTQ activists, and proponents of Greater Romania, said Oana Popescu-Zamfir, director of the Bucharest-based think tank GlobalFocus Centre. They gradually coalesced around a new party called the Alliance for the Union of Romanians (AUR)—nationalist, nostalgic, and, critics fear, with authoritarian tendencies, its core message embracing tradition and Christianity.
Georgescu was a former AUR member with a similar worldview and his own idiosyncrasies. He called Ukraine a 'fiction country,' referred to the leader of the interwar far-right organization 'Legionary Movement'—which murdered Jews and political opponents—as a 'hero' who 'united tens of thousands with one goal, one belief, national identity, and the purity of Romanians.' He also predicted future humans would communicate via telepathy and has claimed to have seen aliens. (Georgescu did not respond to requests for comment.)
In mainstream political circles, Georgescu was seen as an eccentric. But on TikTok, his image was截然不同 (completely different). In one video, he swims in a frozen lake, showing off solid shoulders and arms; in another, he rides a white horse wearing a traditional embroidered shirt. He called himself a 'farmer's son' and the 'soul of the nation,' declaring Romania's current leadership corrupt and having sold the country to foreign companies. He presented himself as the nation's last hope against globalist forces seeking to destroy Christianity and Romania's unique identity. Georgescu's ideology, broadly termed 'sovereignism,' pits ordinary people against elites, nation-states against the EU and NATO, and tradition against progressivism.
This message resonated deeply with Peschir. He wrote in a text message: 'I feel this man was sent by God. Now we Romanians have a chance.'
There is no doubt that strange things happened in the weeks before the November 2024 Romanian election. Passwords for Romanian electoral agency employees were leaked, appearing on Russian hacking forums. Romanian intelligence reports showed over 85,000 cyberattacks targeted election infrastructure, seemingly originating from 33 countries, but the report said this was likely a false flag using IP spoofing.
Clearly, one or more powerful actors were trying to subvert the Romanian election while also trying to cover their tracks.
According to French outlet Mediapart, Romanian intelligence privately informed their French counterparts they believed these attacks were coordinated by Russia. The report said Romania had traced one attack to the hacker group APT29 (also known as 'Cozy Bear'), affiliated with Russia's foreign intelligence agency (SVR).
In October 2025, President Dan finally stated publicly that the government had traced all interference, including Georgescu's runaway social media campaign, back to Russia. On October 2, Dan presented Romania's interim findings to European leaders in Copenhagen.
The president said Russia's operation began as early as 2019, when a Russian company began social profiling of Romanians. Years later, a plethora of Romanian Facebook groups suddenly appeared, focused on topics like alternative medicine, religion, recipes, with names like 'Only the True God' or 'The Beauty of Romania.' Dan said these seemingly harmless groups were meant to test different narrative tactics on different segments of the Romanian population.
The Romanian investigation showed Russian digital marketers eventually settled on four major themes: 'Romanians were most receptive to narratives related to identity, nostalgia, conspiracy theories, religion, and alternative medicine,' Romanian General Prosecutor Alex Florenta said at a press conference two weeks before Dan's trip to Copenhagen.
For example, many groups featured what appeared to be AI-generated Romanians claiming they weren't ashamed of living in the countryside; others were simple Romanians, often having lost loved ones, yet still celebrating birthdays.
As the November 2024 election neared, many of these groups began posting pro-Georgescu content alongside recipes, motivational quotes, and touching stories of ordinary people. Simultaneously, TikTok was flooded with videos and images. Romanian authorities said one primary source was a Telegram group called Propagatorcg, where administrators centrally managed Georgescu propaganda materials, distributing them to volunteers with detailed instructions on which hashtags to use and how to edit videos, images, and memes so TikTok's algorithm would judge them as original content.
Then, just as hundreds of influencers were posting Georgescu-related content, the third part of the campaign launched: bot accounts. In the two weeks before the vote, 25,000 previously mostly dormant TikTok accounts suddenly became active, massively engaging with pro-Georgescu content. Pavel Popescu, vice president of the Romanian telecom regulator Ancom, said these accounts had independent IP addresses, simulating mobile devices constantly switching locations, just like real phones. This made them hard to identify as bots and made Georgescu's engagement metrics appear exceptionally authentic to TikTok's algorithm.
'Anyone can buy 25,000 bots to like their own posts, it doesn't make much difference,' Popescu said. 'But when you have 25,000 active accounts that follow you everywhere, flood your live stream the moment you go live, that's completely different.'
Typically, a stream by an account with 10,000 followers might have 500 concurrent viewers. But Georgescu's live viewership far exceeded what his follower count should have generated. 'Very quickly, Georgescu appeared in everyone's feed, and then it snowballed,' Popescu said. Shortly after the bots appeared, Georgescu became the 9th biggest trending topic globally on TikTok.
When Peschir was arrested, prosecutors alleged his support for Georgescu operated in two phases: For months prior, he built his reputation and follower count on TikTok through tipping; as the first round of the election approached, he began liking and sharing Georgescu's videos and memes. Given Peschir's fame and follower count, this content would automatically spread. When Bogpr entered a live stream, users would get excited as if a celebrity had arrived. When he sent big gifts like lions or universes, his ID would appear on screen with the animation, and streamers would often interrupt their broadcast to thank him by name. His reputation for generosity spread, and many who contacted him proactively mentioned his support for Georgescu.
'Can you give me some money? I'll do anything,' TikTok user Cristian Gunie, recently out of prison, texted Peschir a week before the election. 'I can hand out flyers for Mr. Georgescu on the street, from morning till night.'
'Hello, if you go live doing that, I will support you in the live stream,' Peschir replied. He sent him just one gift: an airplane, worth $48.88.
In many text exchanges between Peschir and the influencers he funded, there was a clear disconnect: the influencers spoke bluntly, as if being paid to promote Georgescu was a given; Peschir's wording was far more cautious.
Costel Niculae, username Costelusclejeanioficial10, was imprisoned for 22 years after killing someone at age 14. His TikTok content involves prison stories, singing, and profanity-laced life lessons.
Six days before the election, Niculae messaged Peschir, saying he hadn't heard from him in days. 'Aren't you going to involve me in the voting campaign?' he wrote. 'I can gather many people in my community, with video proof.'
'I don't 'involve' anyone in anything,' Peschir replied. 'I just tell people what I think is good for the country. I don't pay people to do things.'
Niculae was confused: 'I don't understand. Why are you leaving me out? What did I do wrong?'
'I'm not leaving you out,' Peschir answered. 'Do what you feel is right.' After a few more exchanges, Peschir reiterated: 'There is no plan involving payment.' In total, he sent Niculae gifts worth $4,207.37.
If Peschir's texts sound like someone who had looked up election law, it's because he had: police found search history on his computer including 'electoral bribery' and Romania's Law 334/2006 on election financing. In Romania, both buying votes and candidates accepting undisclosed financial support are illegal. Prosecutors believe that even if not explicitly stated, this quid pro quo was implicitly understood.
Peschir declined to discuss these texts, citing the potential upcoming trial. But he said his support for Georgescu was genuine, he wanted him to win, and his search of election law was precisely to avoid breaking it. 'This accusation is like something out of an Orwell novel—a police state charging you with 'thoughtcrime' despite clear evidence to the contrary,' Peschir wrote in an email. 'It's absurd.'
Cross-border financial investigations can take years, and Romanian prosecutors are notoriously secretive. This may explain why prosecutors and officials have spoken sparingly, only occasionally hinting that Peschir's explanation for his lavish TikTok spending is hard to believe. (As telecom regulator Popescu put it: 'Who spends $1 million of their own money to support someone who came out of nowhere?') In filings, prosecutors argue that Peschir's careful avoidance of explicit quid-pro-quo language with Georgescu supporters is precisely evidence that he was engaged in one. They allege his TikTok tipping in the more than six months before the campaign season even began was all part of the plan: he was cultivating people into his rapidly expanding network, 'creating a dependency to be exploited during the electoral campaign,' in the words of the court documents.
Peschir says his apolitical tipping simply reflects his broad interests on TikTok. His lawyer, Cristian Sirbu, said his client tipped not only Georgescu supporters but also supporters of his opponents. Sirbu pointed out that Peschir explicitly told people he wasn't giving money for political purposes.
'But the judge wouldn't hear it,' Sirbu said, referring to a judge at a hearing last March. 'He said that even if (Peschir) told people not to follow along, there was a subconscious suggestion making them do it. That's for a psychiatrist. I started asking myself if I should check into a mental hospital.'
The government also stated that the roughly $7 million found in cryptocurrency accounts belonging to Peschir after his arrest was 'disproportionate to the standard of living corresponding to his company's business activity.' This is the closest the state has come to alleging Peschir had off-the-books income or that the funds for his TikTok tipping weren't his own.
But the current allegations against Peschir do not pertain to the source of funds. Until 2023, he worked for nearly a decade at a company called BitXatm, which operates Bitcoin ATMs. Since then, he says he has traded cryptocurrencies full-time. 'The majority of my investments are made on public, decentralized platforms, easily verifiable by anyone with basic blockchain knowledge,' he said.
Peschir's case is part of a larger investigation into the backers of Georgescu. Georgescu himself has been under intense scrutiny since winning the first round and then being disqualified. He faces charges of glorifying the Legionary Movement (banned under Romanian law) and, after the election was annulled, allegedly conspiring to overthrow the government. In October 2025, Romania's general prosecutor confirmed seeking assistance from at least three foreign countries to investigate the source of Georgescu's campaign funds.
President Dan acknowledged last fall that securing a conviction against Peschir remained difficult. 'We know how (the social media influence operation) was carried out,' he said. 'We know that some leads—whether fake accounts or proxy firms for paid online ads—have evidence pointing to Russia. What we don't know is who designed the entire strategy. Likewise, we know very little about the money trail... everything related to Bogdan Peschir.'
It has been nearly a year since Peschir's arrest. A police source told Businessweek the investigation is ongoing. He is back home, free to travel, and has new laptops to replace the confiscated ones. He says he is trying to recoup his losses through crypto trading. He describes himself as a workaholic and introvert 'living a very calm, quiet life,' spending most of his time in his office. 'The little free time I have, I go to church, spend time with my pets, read, or drive late at night to relax.' He said tipping on TikTok was just another way to decompress.
In December 2024, the Romanian government referred TikTok to the European Commission, investigating whether it did enough to prevent platform manipulation. The findings of that investigation have not yet been released.
TikTok acknowledges there was an attempt to manipulate the election but disagrees with the Romanian authorities' characterization of the operation. In an email to Businessweek, a TikTok spokesperson said the company took down multiple manipulation networks targeting Romania between November and December 2024, and these networks did not support only Georgescu. 'Given the wide range of candidates supported, it is inaccurate to assert that Călin Georgescu was the sole beneficiary of inauthentic activity on TikTok, nor is it possible to measure the relative benefit differences between candidates,' the spokesperson said.
But Dan pointed to a single opponent. 'We are facing an informational attack by Russia against a European country,' he said in October, defining Russia's alleged subversion of the Romanian election as hybrid warfare.
This term refers to indirect hostilities between nations that stop short of violent aggression, aiming to subvert a target from within. Western governments most often attribute this strategy to Russia, accusing it of election interference, infrastructure sabotage, supporting coups, etc. Russia denies involvement every time.
To those who support the government's position, the difficulty of proving it only shows how well the conspirators covered their tracks. To skeptics, it suggests the alleged conspiracy is just a conspiracy theory.
The unprecedented decision to cancel the election angered many Romanians. Elena Lasconi, the mainstream candidate who came second after Georgescu and was originally set to face him in a runoff, called the annulment 'a blow to the very core of democracy—the vote.' In January 2025, tens of thousands protested in Bucharest, some carrying a coffin labeled 'Democracy.'
For a time, Romania's move to kick Georgescu out of the race seemed to backfire. Another sovereignist candidate, George Simion, entered the race. Like Georgescu, he was skeptical of the EU and its aid to Ukraine and also said Russia did not pose a threat to NATO. Georgescu publicly endorsed him.
In the first round of the re-run election in May 2025, Simion won 41% of the vote, far exceeding Georgescu's 23% from the previous year. His runoff opponent was Dan, the mathematician and activist who had been mayor of Bucharest since 2020. Global media outlets predicted a Simion victory. A Reuters headline on May 7 read: Romania's far-right frontrunner Simion leads in polls before runoff. The Romanian leu fell to a record low against the euro, apparently reflecting investor fears about Simion's economic policies.
On TikTok, Simion had 1.3 million followers; Dan had only 350,000. Simion posted videos of himself with workers, in churches; Dan posted content enjoying urban life in Bucharest, visiting restaurants, sharing household chores with his partner. Simion talked about restoring dignity and justice for Romanians; Dan solved math problems and explained how to balance a budget. Simion wanted to enlist Romanians in a great historical movement; Dan talked about the rule of law and liberalism.
TikTok, still under EU investigation, was noticeably more proactive in combating suspicious activity on its platform during the runoff. Mircea Toma, State Secretary of the Romanian Audiovisual Council (which regulates TV and radio), said TikTok doubled its Romanian-language moderators and cooperated more closely with regulators. 'We would flag content, and it would be removed within minutes,' Toma said. 'Before, we couldn't find anyone to talk to.'
On election day, May 18, Romanian voters delivered another surprise. Dan defeated Simion 53.6% to 46.4%. After results were announced at 9 PM, a large crowd gathered outside Dan's campaign headquarters near Cișmigiu Park in Bucharest. Turnout hit a record 65%, compared to just 53% in the annulled first round. The crowd chanted 'Europe, Europe' and 'Fascists out,' many waving EU flags.
Russia's preferred candidate had lost, but the political current Georgescu represented clearly remained. 'Our society is more polarized than ever,' said Romanian journalist Victor Ilie. 'Because we canceled the election and re-ran it, everyone who voted for Simion and Georgescu does not consider Nicușor Dan a legitimate president. And on the other side, those who voted for Dan are ecstatic that the far-right didn't win and worship him in an extreme way. These two groups have stopped talking to each other.'
Of course, Bogdan Peschir is among those who firmly believe Georgescu was the true victim of election interference. 'The Romanian election had to be annulled because the 'wrong' person won—wrong for the political establishment,' he said.
Asked why he thought Georgescu caught fire, Peschir said it was purely because he was compelling. 'I think it was simply because people identified with his ideas,' he said. 'Deep down, Romanian society craves change, and people saw him as an outsider. He was very good at touching on those important issues that truly pain Romania.'
In a sense, this is obvious. The viral campaign launched by fake accounts gave Georgescu a massive head start, getting him onto people's phones first. And once he reached an audience, many were genuinely persuaded. The fake campaign ultimately became real public opinion.
