‘Boy, will you show me your room?’
Rachel Coster, @boyroomshow
TikTok followers: 232,400
Instagram followers: 71,400
Rachel Coster (pictured above) loves boys. “They’re fun,” she says. “I love to date them, befriend them, and see how they decorate their bedrooms. Women, I think, from childhood are taught how to keep a home. It’s less ingrained in the culture of raising young men, so a lot of them are misguided when it comes to domesticity.”
New York-based Coster, 28, is a comedian with a background in film production. During the Sag-Aftra film and television actors’ strike in Hollywood, jobs were few and far between. “I sent a few one-sentence ideas to a new social media production company for short-form digital shows,” she says. “Boy Room was one of my pitches: Boy, will you show me your room?”
A proof-of-concept was shot at a friend’s house. “He told me a girl had been over the previous night, refusing to stay because of the mess, then asked what he should do to change his room.” On camera, Coster surveyed the scene. “Throw out the garbage, put your clothes in a dresser, and put sheets on your bed. He nodded along, gratefully.”
At first, she didn’t tell participants that her focus was untidy rooms. “But turns out these boys don’t feel shame about their messiness,” she says. “It made no difference if we told them. Some boys, it transpires, are proud of their mess. Others do start to reflect on their choices in an outsider’s presence: you’re right, why do I have a 30-month-old boiled egg on my bedside table?”
There are plenty of messy-home TV formats, but Coster’s tone is different: non‑judgmental. She has shot at least 40 episodes now, and themes are emerging. “A lot of boys have no idea what’s in their room: a housemate left that; an ex-girlfriend this. Lots of garbage. They often lack ownership of their space. And there’s a lack of concern for their cleanliness and comfort. Like, why do you want to sleep on a yellowing pillow, a stained, broken mattress and a disgusting quilt? It’s so easily fixable.”
The intimacy of the format is what makes it endearing. “In the same way we like to watch Architectural Digest on YouTube to see how the rich and famous live, it’s also nice to see how normals do.” It’s this, she believes, alongside some of the muckier moments captured (“Think extremely yeasty smells or baked-in cigarette stench – one boy had maybe 7,000 vapes in a drawer and behind his bed”) that keep viewers coming back. “Nothing gets more comments,” she says, “than a handsome boy living in total squalor.”
‘How did you two meet?’
Jeremy Bernstein, Aaron Feinberg and Victor Lee (below, from left), @meetcutesnyc
TikTok followers: 1.8 million
Instagram followers: 2.9 million
Two years ago, friends Aaron Feinberg, Jeremy Bernstein and Victor Lee weren’t even on TikTok. Now, it’s an occupation for the three 30-year-old New Yorkers. Feinberg handles partnerships and collaborations; Lee oversees editing and posting; Bernstein is the voice, politely accosting random couples on the street, and probing into their relationships.
It was Lee’s baby, initially. He was working in his family clothes manufacturing business. “The first question you ask a couple,” he says, “is where did you guys meet? Maybe it could be something … ” He floated the idea of asking strangers on camera past Feinberg.
“I thought it was fun,” says Feinberg. “We didn’t realise what it could become, but I knew we had the perfect person to ask the questions in Jeremy, who wouldn’t be afraid to stop people – and he won the most distinguished voice award at high school.”
Bernstein wasn’t interested at first. “I was selling renewable energy on the street, so, yes, I was always approaching strangers. But when Aaron suggested we do this, I took quite a lot of convincing.” However, interviewees were receptive to the concept from the get‑go, says Bernstein, “although we had to learn about the physicality. How to approach someone in a non-threatening way is key,” he says. “Firstly, it’s body language – making yourself small and smiley. Then, get to the ‘Are you two a couple? How did you meet?’ questions immediately. Once people hear that, they relax.”
They have heard some remarkable stories: high‑school sweethearts, chance encounters, arranged marriages. “My favourite,” says Lee, “is the one we titled Tunnel Vision.” In it an older gentleman who was a train supervisor at Grand Central station explains how he met his wife, 30 years ago. For days, he kept moving trains on to the platform he worked nearest to, to try to find a beautiful woman he had noticed getting out of a carriage. She grins, standing next to him, as he tells the story, and says: “I had no idea!”
It’s no wonder people love it. The group have started working on a book, and begun franchising. “We’ve just opened a MeetCutes London account,” says Feinberg – a British friend goes out to record, “and we’re interviewing to hire people in Paris and Madrid. We’re off camera, so we can recreate it globally.”
To date, the lads have interviewed maybe 7,000 couples, but only post a small fraction. “Early on, we were only looking for the best meet-cute stories,” says Bernstein. “Now we’re also asking about the relationship: what’s your favourite thing about your partner? What advice do you have for a new couple?”
They have each used these lessons in their own love lives. “My favourite piece of advice, which I’ve taken into my relationship, is ‘Never stop dating’,” says Lee. “I’ve been with my fiancee for six years. It’s so easy to fall into a routine and be lazy.”
“As someone looking for a relationship while asking all these couples questions,” says Bernstein, “my main takeaway is that there’s no one way to do it. People have such different types of romantic relationships.”
‘What’s your dream?’
Simon Squibb, @simonsquibb
TikTok followers: 6.1 million
Instagram followers: 3 million
For Simon Squibb, 49, perfecting the question was key. “A dream is both something we’re never really asked, but also feels safe to admit,” he says. “Much bigger than an objective that’s fleeting, or a resolution that comes and goes. Ask someone their dream, and you get to the heart of what they want from life.”
This is exactly what he does when approaching strangers on the street. “I’m an entrepreneur, and investor in startups,” he says. “I offer free business knowledge, support people’s dreams, and promote them on my channel.” In essence, he’s an iPhone-wielding, street-scouring, one-man Dragons’ Den.
Squibb, who lives in Sussex, started his first business aged 15. “I had no choice, having been made homeless when I fell out with my mum.” His dad had recently died. “I couldn’t get a job, so I started my own gardening company. I asked someone who knew I was struggling for help. They were selling courses, and offered to support me – for a fee. I couldn’t afford to pay. I vowed one day, if I could afford to help people for free, I would.”
In 2015, Squibb sold his business – a Hong Kong-based creative and digital agency – to PricewaterhouseCoopers. “I made life-changing money. I wouldn’t need to work again. I took two years off. My wife and I had a baby. But I wanted to make my son proud, I realised – not just sit around and play golf.”
He thought back to his hustling teenage self. “I knew so little about business. School hadn’t equipped me for it at all. I wanted to help educate others, and TikTok is where young people were.”
No doubt his advice is gratefully received. He has also invested in 79 businesses to date. Most significant, though, is the exposure a chance encounter with Squibb and his camera brings: millions of followers; 315m monthly views. “Lots of people still think you shouldn’t film kind gestures,” says Squibb, “that I should offer my advice privately, else it’s tainted. That’s stupid; part of the help I can offer is eyeballs. Why not use social media for social good?
“Not long ago, someone’s reply to me was, ‘I want to travel and take pictures’.” Squibb had a think. “How do we get there? Not, I said, saving money and planning. Let’s get you a sponsor. That video clocked 112m views. lastminute.com offered to sponsor her – now she’s travelling the world, filling their social media feeds.” There was a woman in Lewes, getting off the bus. “She said her dream was to be a fashion blogger and designer. Twenty-four hours later, she had 300,000+ followers. Done. The rest is up to her.
“My whole life is built around this concept: whatever I want to achieve, put a business model behind it. Teach people the basics, and any dream is possible.”
Simon Squibb’s book What’s Your Dream?, published by Century, is out now
‘What do you do for your workout?’
Mark Langowski, @bodybymark
TikTok followers: 527,200
Instagram followers: 1.5 million
The approach, for Mark Langowski, 44, who lives in New York, still feels a little icky. His street-interview format relies on the camera rolling before the first question is asked – initially filming someone without their consent. “I try to get them walking towards me,” he says, “so I’m looking two blocks ahead. Then I have a split second to scan them and decide if they look fit. I don’t love that.” After making a judgment on their physique, he’ll ask: “What do you do for your workout?” The shtick is simple, but the results are compelling: revealing the dedication of the majorly muscled, uber‑athletic and, often, shirtless.
The scale of the challenge varies seasonally. “In summer and springtime New York, it’s obviously easier to spot someone fit: tank tops, vests and workout gear; lots of skin on show,” he says. “Winter and fall are harder. It’s why I travel to Miami or Los Angeles at that time of year.”
He has been in the fitness business for 20 years, and started TikTok‑ing 18 months ago. “I’m a personal trainer by trade. I already had the Instagram account of a traditional fitness influencer: me and my clients working out; showing my abs off,” he says. “I got bored with it. Sick of the narcissism. I knew I needed a presence for my business, to keep myself relevant. But how to without making it all about me?”
Then, inspiration. “I was in an exercise class, and saw this woman in the most spectacular shape. I wondered what she was doing? It couldn’t just be this class.” He went out the next day to film on the streets of New York. “I’m an introvert; I’d never approach a stranger. I was so self-conscious and nervous, holding the camera down by my waist.” After a few weeks, people started to know about the videos. “It made things easier – if someone was into fitness, the algorithm was probably already showing them my stuff. And people were keen to talk. Now, my videos have been seen more than 1bn times.”
Occasionally, he’s still thrown by interviewee responses, like “when I was interviewing a stripper at a nightclub who had been shot in the leg by his dad and said he never goes to the gym and hasn’t been since high school, and yet he had a six-pack”.
He’s confident his films have real value for people who watch. “Everyone knows what fitness trainers or influencers do to work out,” he says, “they tell you every day. It’s tedious – of course they have the perfect breakfast, perfect workout, perfect everything. It’s their day job. But what about real people? I’m asking the construction worker, the stay-at-home mum of three, the doctor or shop assistant.”
Langowski has learned plenty himself. “You start to see patterns: lift heavy weights, don’t run too much, eat healthy, sleep a lot and don’t drink much alcohol. I’m surprised at how little cardio very fit-looking people do.”
‘How much do you pay for rent?’
Caleb Simpson, @calebwsimpson
TikTok followers: 8.5 million
Instagram followers: 2.5 million
“Everyone is low-key a snoop, when it comes to homes,” says Caleb Simpson, 33. “We all want to poke around places.”
Simpson grew up in Morganton, North Carolina, “in a small house with eight siblings, very humble beginnings – a food-stamps-and-white-rice sort of life”. He moved to New York in 2015, and soon started to make a living doing social media for startups. “I was also always trying to do my own thing,” he says, “making videos on YouTube and Instagram.”
Simpson had spent years wandering the streets of New York, looking up at buildings, imagining what was within. “I had this lightbulb moment: just ask to look inside. Now most people know me as the ‘apartment tour guy’ – the dude who asks the questions: how much do you pay for rent? Can I see?” He has done about 300 apartment tours in New York. “Globally, it’s more like 500 now: Paris, London, Hong Kong. All major US cities.
“It began with being shown a bunch of middle fingers on the streets of Manhattan,” he says. “New Yorkers are straight up – they told me to eff off.” How many times? “Maybe 100. It was deflating.” Then, a yes. “A guy in Brooklyn showed me around his apartment. It went viral.” It hasn’t stopped since.
Simpson’s selections are dictated by his own sense of curiosity. “There are lots of identical, cookie-cutter flats in New York, housing finance guys.” He no longer steps foot inside them. “I’m not interested. Instead, it’s places where I think: I want to see what that looks like. A strange building, low-income housing, rent-controlled places, someone who pays $70,000 a month.” He still roams the street looking for volunteers, but with 11 million followers on Instagram and TikTok, there is no shortage of doors opening these days; sometimes prearranged.
What has he learned from the endless property perusal? “All New York renters think they’re getting a deal, but, really, everybody is getting ripped off,” says Simpson. “And beauty really lies in the eyes of the beholder. Sometimes, I film small apartments, and people comment saying it’s depressing, but the people who live there are thrilled.”
This is why, he’s certain, it’s not just beautiful Brownstone-owning Brooklynites who let him in. “People are proud of what they have,” he says, “on whatever scale, and they want to show the world. Price isn’t the only determiner of worth or value: how they decorate, how they live in the architecture, how they found a place. And there’s the 15 minutes of fame that comes with letting me in.”
‘What do you do for a living?’
Daniel Mac, @itsdanielmac
TikTok followers: 14.2 million
Instagram followers: 2.8 million
“When I started,” says Los Angeles-based Daniel MacDonald, 27, known online as Daniel Mac, “I’d just moved to Dallas, Texas, from a small-ish town in Arizona where there weren’t any Lamborghinis. I’d never seen supercars – and was curious. How did the driver afford it? What could I, fresh out of college, do to get one?” Unabashed, he began walking up to their tinted windows to ask: “What do you do for a living?”
His first video clocked up 40m views. “When I posted it, I thought there was a glitch in the app and the numbers were wrong, but within a week I’d gained a million followers on TikTok.” This quadrupled in a matter of months – all during Covid. “People were bored and needed cash,” he says. “They wanted to get rich, and to find out how.”
Sometimes, answers are unexpected. He has stopped former stockbroker Jordan Belfort, rapper Wiz Khalifa and Shou Zi Chew, the CEO of TikTok. Mostly, though, the responses are fairly formulaic. “The golden rule to getting rich, it transpires, is to invest, and buy real estate. Otherwise, common jobs are finance, healthcare, computer science and tech. Plus some trades, like plumbing and electricians … Accumulating wealth isn’t that sexy, it transpires.”
How does he earn his living? “My revenue is split into three buckets: roughly 40% from ad revenue paid out primarily by Facebook and Snapchat, then some from YouTube and TikTok.” That’s his commission from the advertising that the platforms sell. “Another 40% or so comes from brand partnerships.” That’s the sponsored content. “Instagram brings in the most from this, then TikTok. And the last section comes from other miscellaneous things like speaking gigs.”
Raised in Tucson, MacDonald had just graduated with a degree in finance from the University of Arizona when he started his TikTok. Initially, he was reluctant to be in front of the camera. “It was tough at the beginning,” he says. “I’m shy by nature, and wasn’t used to negativity and criticism, or people being mean to me online. Money was the motivator to continue. I wanted to know how to get rich.” It worked. In 2023, he bought his dream car: a $100,000 Porsche GT4.
There’s a candidness to interviewees, he reckons, when they’re filmed on an iPhone camera, with no chunky kit or team of producers. “I’ve gotten people into hot water. One of the high-ups at Apple left the company after they made a lewd joke in a video of mine. People say stuff they regret.”
Certainly, a strata of the super-wealthy would be reluctant to publicly parade their wealth. But MacDonald preys on those in flashy cars – the shy, modest and secretive types don’t tend to drive Bugattis. “It’s very American, for sure,” he says. “I’ve tried filming in several other countries where people don’t show off so much; they aren’t as flashy. In London, people were far more reluctant to talk about money.”
‘Why are you a fan?’
Morfo Peyiazis, @morfopeyiazis
TikTok followers: 47,800
Instagram followers: 15,600
London-based Morfo Peyiazis, 30, took a clinical approach to viral success. She worked in marketing before starting out as a professional poster. “I was pitching video ideas to brands,” she says, “particularly football clients. I wanted to do interviews embedded with fans, and got fed up with being told, ‘No, it’s too risky.’”
During Euro 2020, she spotted a chance. “Fuck it,” she thought, “I’ll make my own fan-focused series. Football fans are either portrayed as mindless, violent hooligans on the news, or, by their clubs, as sugar-coated and family-friendly. Nothing captured the true, unfiltered chaos somewhere in between.”
Getting in among it suited her personality. “I get it from my dad,” she reckons, “a crazy Cypriot man. Growing up he had so much energy, and so much empathy with people.”
Peyiazis saw TikTok as a way in to a more traditional telly career. “In essence, I used it to create a public portfolio: a place to make your own pilots, and prove that your ideas are popular. My ambition over the next five years is to build a media brand, and I want to be future-proof.” Whether or not that’s possible on TikTok, she’s still unsure. “The turnaround is so crazy. I couldn’t tell you the last five videos I watched. It’s instant: bam-bam-bam. How to create long-term impact is challenging.” She has landed gigs with Channel 4 and Sky Sports.
There’s a natural warmth to her presenting style: playful, inquisitive, genuine interest in what her interviewees are saying. “I don’t like being on the periphery; I’m there to soak up the experience they’re having.” It’s this attitude that explains Peyiazis’s on-screen appeal, entirely unfazed by whatever she’s confronted with: hordes of screaming Celtic and Rangers fans at the high-octane “old firm” derby; young men playing up to the camera once microphones are pointed in their direction. “Among some of the supposedly most dangerous rivalries in the world, I feel entirely safe. Having no fear, and getting stuck in. You’ve got to be able to hold your own – and I can.”
