Last night I went to my very first live podcast taping. Over the past year and a half, podcasts have become an increasingly central part of my life. It started with Serial, then a deep dive into This American Life’s archives, and when I ran through most of TAL I branched out in all kinds of ways. I’d been receiving Ann Friedman’s excellent newsletter for ages, and at some point wondered why I wasn’t also listening to her podcast, since I love the newsletter so much. So I listened.
The show was lovely and fumbling and comfortable in all the best ways. At some point, Ann brought up the phone a friend episodes that the duo introduced recently. Rather than chatting with each other, as the podcast was originally conceived, Ann and her “long distance bestie” Aminatou have started mixing it up by interviewing other women in various industries. “Some listeners don’t like those too much,” Ann said, and I felt a twinge of guilt for the stack of unlistened-to phone a friend episodes shelved on my phone, “but we feel like we can try it out because our audience is just like us--trying to figure it out.”
I’m paraphrasing, and I’m sure you’ll be able to fact check me when the episode taped on Sunday comes out, but that line really nailed the entire evening. I went to the show alone and was befriended in minutes by two women in their 30s who have been friends for over a decade. Sixth and I was full of women who were chatting and laughing and dressed in really cool clothes, and it felt bizarre, like all of us had fallen down the same rabbit hole together and pulled out of DC’s general population. Seeing so many potential new friends in one place made me think about how much I have yet to discover in this city, even though I didn’t initially view DC as a great habitat for me.
People talk all the time about cultivating a personal brand, to the point where it’s become something that everyone kind of tries to do without thinking about how it serves them. Most of us have two or three Instagram filters we rely on, a habit of posting specific kinds of information while keeping other things private, wearing that one George Constanza t-shirt only in secret (that last one might just be me). The CYG taping was an immersive encounter with a brand that has a remarkably specific target audience, and yet it didn’t feel artificial in the slightest. It went beyond the casual tone, the jokes, the wine on stage, and the liberal use of the word “bestie” and hit on something much deeper: There is a large group of smart, ambitious women in the world who are just not used to having experiences tailored just for them.
I joked on Twitter last week about this screenshot I took:
It’s literally just a string of dudes. I loved Arrested Development, and Breaking Bad, and The Wire, and so many other great television shows. I love Hunter S Thompson, David Foster Wallace, James Joyce, Brian O’Nolan, so many male authors. Their work has enriched my life and made me feel a little smarter--and when you’re kind of nerdy and your brain is your best asset, the confidence boost that comes with reading or watching The Greats isn’t something you take lightly. Reading or watching things widely considered excellent is a way to feel connected to something beyond yourself. The problem isn’t that these texts aren’t valuable--they are. The problem can develop when you read pages and pages or watch six seasons with a sense of aspiration. If you’re hoping to gain something from any kind of text yet never to see yourself or your experience reflected in the material, you will inevitably find yourself with a weird and alienating longing to be a French boy eating a confusing madeleine or a drug lord who also owns a string of chicken shops.
The CYG live taping put me in an audience full of my people, and the sense of relief was palpable. The women who lined up by microphones to ask questions at the end of the show were loose and relaxed. They were funny and smart and vulnerable, and I feel certain that this was in part thanks to the fact that we saw ourselves--only better, an aspirational version that felt just attainable enough to make us feel hopeful--onstage. And not only onstage, but talking openly about periods, making money, and struggling to feel worthy of their considerable achievements. The whole mood in the room was on a different wavelength than most things I see or hear, just like CYG the podcast.
Listening to podcasts is an intimate act; just you and a few distant people communing in headphones. Seeing all the women who have been engaging in this alongside me on the Metro or at the gym only enhanced that sense of comfort and belonging. That’s what makes CYG one of the best grassroots brands currently in action. We’re all just figuring it out, and Ann and Aminatou have found a way to bottle that prevailing feeling of proud-yet-panicked hustle that lets us know we’re not alone.