Date My Brand: YouTube

The comic relief that moved in and took over the remote

We met in San Francisco in 2005. I was overworked, under-stimulated, and craving distraction. YouTube was chaotic, unpolished, and deeply unserious — everything real life wasn’t. It offered up cats vs cucumbers, teens launching themselves off rooftops, the mystery of Lonelygirl15 and bootleg clips of TV shows I wasn’t supposed to be watching at work.

When someone in the creative department cube farm would yell, “you have to see this,” suddenly half the floor was huddled around a desktop monitor, laughing like idiots. It felt a little illicit. A little personal. It wasn’t trying to impress anyone — and that made it irresistible.

YouTube wasn’t built to be TV. It was built to be mine. A digital mood ring for whatever weird thing I was into that day. Nothing about this said long term. But like any good situationship, it wormed its way into my habits.

And then it moved in

Flash forward to 2025 and YouTube isn’t just part of the routine — it’s on the lease. It lives on every device and has made itself comfortable on the biggest screen in the house. The one we used to reserve for “real” television.

Now it’s what I watch instead of TV.

In Australia, over 10 million people stream it on their TVs. In the US, it owns a bigger share of streaming than Netflix and Disney+ combined. Current stats are staggering: 2.4 million videos are uploaded every minute and over 1 billion hours of video content are consumed each day globally.

And I’m all in. One minute I’m casting a clip after dinner, the next I’m cueing up full episodes of my fav shows, subscribing to creators, and setting YouTube as my smart TV’s default input.

YouTube didn’t just crash the lounge room. It redecorated.

Broadcast Yourself — Then Sell Everything

YouTube began with one simple promise: Broadcast Yourself. That tagline launched a thousand ring lights — and an entire generation of creators who didn’t wait to be discovered. They just uploaded.

It wasn’t TV talent. It was bedroom banter and shaky GoPros. But people showed up. And stayed. MrBeast built an empire. Emma Chamberlain made awkwardness aspirational. Marques Brownlee turned tech reviews into performance art. Even PewDiePie and Jenna Marbles became household names — depending on which household you lived in.

Google saw the potential early and dropped $1.65 billion on the awkward teen with the camcorder. The glow-up since then? Relentless. Today YouTube is a $40 billion beast — and most of it’s fuelled by ads.

YouTube’s ad model is brilliant — and just a bit evil. It works whether I cooperate or not.
Watch the ad? Great.
Skip it? Still counts.
Pay for YouTube Premium to dodge ads altogether? Even better.

Attention or avoidance — it doesn’t matter. They’ve monetised both.

Now they’ve cracked down on ad blockers too, using server-side ad injection — literally shoving ads directly into the video stream like Charlie bit your finger mid-sentence. It’s invasive, sure. But do we even care anymore?

If you’ve partnered with Unskippable Labs — YouTube’s in-house ad test kitchen — you’ll know they train brands to win hearts in under five seconds. That’s not advertising — that’s speed dating. Creatives have also been retrained to front-load action and reverse the story arc. Would Pixar ever do that? No. But YouTube would — and did.

And honestly, something about the formula works, even if it goes against every traditional creative instinct I have.

Vodcast Culture: A Return to Its Roots

In 2024, YouTube became the hottest destination for podcasts — or rather, vodcasts. The great audio migration hit hard, with some of my favourite global and local shows — The Daily, Pivot, Mamamia, Ezra Klein, Equity Mates — all making the leap from ears to eyeballs, following in the footsteps of Joe Rogan, Logan Paul, and other early movers.

Suddenly, podcasting wasn’t just something you listened to. It was something you watched. Eyebrow raises, interruptions, awkward silences, sideways glances — it all became part of the entertainment. YouTube turned talking into television — and gave us all a front-row seat to the unfiltered humanity of it.

But the real power move? Community.

YouTube didn’t just amplify conversations — it built cult followings around them. Fans didn't just tune in. They subscribed, commented, clipped, memed, argued, and came back the next week for more. This wasn’t just about content. It was about connection.

Vodcasting brought YouTube full circle. It’s Broadcast Yourself — but now with studio lighting, an producer, and a six-figure brand deal. Still people being people — only now with an audience, a Discord server, and maybe a personal coffee blend.

Then came YouTube Shorts — a straight-up power move, even if a bit late to the vertical video party. The swipeable, snackable format wasn’t just a TikTok clone; it was YouTube reminding everyone it could shapeshift with the best of them.

With 70 billion daily views, the world’s biggest video platform was also a short-form kingmaker. It became the first date and the long-term relationship — in one feed.

And unlike other platforms, YouTube actually pays creators. Properly. It’s the rare relationship where love and money are equally distributed.

We’re Living Together Now

I didn’t mean to let YouTube move in. It just… kept showing up. First on my laptop, then my phone, then the TV — and now it’s got a permanent spot on the remote. These days, it’s in my pocket, my living room, my kitchen — maybe even my car display.

It cooks with me, works out with me, finds old ads for me, teaches me tech hacks, and helps me fix a leaking tap at 11pm. It’s my trainer, my research assistant, my sleep soundtrack. The most reliable relationship I have — more loyal than Netflix, less emotionally manipulative than TikTok, and way more generous than Instagram.

It doesn’t demand attention. It just earns it. Quietly. Daily. Habitually. Until I realised I was in too deep to back out.

We started casual. Now we’re cohabiting.

Now, 20 years on, YouTube wasn’t supposed to be The One. But it stuck around. Showed up every day. Grew up with me. Funded a generation of creators — and my impulse buys. Still made me laugh.

It took over the remote, and honestly? I’m here for it.

Still weird. Still wonderful. Still mine.