I interviewed Mel Robbins on a toilet.

For over a decade, podcasting has been one of the great shifts in how we learn and how we're entertained. It changed my life. I started a small show nearly ten years ago and somehow ended up across the table from people like Wim Hof, Gary Vaynerchuk, and Mel Robbins. The Mel one is the interview I'll never forget, mostly because I had to barricade myself inside a toilet at my day job to record it.

(You can watch it here. Fair warning, I SUCKED and had no clue what I was doing back then, so if you want a laugh, have a gander.)

That show is what made me see YouTube was the single greatest opportunity for growing a business, so I walked away from podcasting about six years ago and went all in on mastering a platform that never stops changing.

So in 2026, is podcasting still a viable option? Despite the data, I'd say yes. Here's why.

A client of mine launched an in-person show this year, right when everyone was calling the medium dead, and it's winning anyway. That isn't luck. He took everything I've spent a decade learning and actually ran with it, all five things below. He brought the execution, I brought the playbook. You probably won't use it, but here's the blueprint anyway.

1. Build for video, or don't bother. I wasted years treating my show like audio with a camera pointed at it. The lesson that finally landed is that YouTube rewards what looks like a show, so I had him shoot in person and hold a real standard. That's what puts him in the suggested feed, which is the only place real reach lives now. The audio-only crowd can't even get on the board.
   

2. Retention is a skill, not a studio. You can buy the nicest studio in the city and an editor who makes every cut cinematic, and still have about as much grasp of retention as a turnip in the sun. I learned that the hard way, watching gorgeous videos die in the first thirty seconds. What actually holds people is the host, and his is magnetic, easy to like, and asks the exact question you're thinking as you watch. That's why his watch time holds whether or not the guest is a name.
   

3. One shoot, twenty assets. For years I published an episode and prayed. Now I won't let a client film a thing without a plan for what comes off it, so his one session throws off twenty verticals that feed every short-form platform and pull strangers back to the long-form. He isn't publishing a podcast, he's running a content engine that happens to film once a week.
   

4. Package on purpose. The biggest unlock of my career was realizing the title and thumbnail do most of the work. Real production gives him faces, moments, and reactions to build around, so we can design packaging that actually earns the click. The lazy show has nothing to package, which is why it never gets seen. Worse, they try copy other creators thumbnail styles with zero idea of the thinking behind it, so no one clicks.
   

5. Run it like the business it is. It took me too long to stop treating my own show as a side quest. He never made that mistake, so he's got a real system for booking, clipping, packaging, and publishing, and that's what turns one good episode into a growth curve instead of a spike that dies by Thursday. His podcast is a business and he’s the CEO.

Here's the part most people need to understand. The bar rose higher than they're willing to aim for. Trying to win today on the old standard is like chasing a record-breaking marathon time on a training plan built from 1989 data. It simply won't cut it. I know, because the guy barricaded in that toilet a decade ago was working off the old standard too. The difference now is I know exactly where the bar sits.

My client didn't have to learn it the hard way like I did, he just ran the system I'd already cracked. The people chasing numbers next to you won't lose on talent. They'll lose on willingness, and almost nobody's willing.

Until next time,

Me