Remember to follow @likemepod on IG for behind-the-scenes info and clips.

Jenny McCarthy became famous in an era that loved putting women into boxes: bombshell, blonde, punchline, cautionary tale. Instead, she built a decades-long career by refusing to stay in any one lane.

In this episode of Like Me, Jenny talks candidly about growing up poor, surviving the entertainment industry, breaking out of the Playboy mold, getting rejected by MTV before landing Singled Out, building businesses before celebrity entrepreneurship became standard, and why she says authenticity still matters more than trend-chasing. We also talk about Formless Beauty, aging publicly, self-deprecating humor as a survival strategy, and what happens when your personality itself becomes the product.

In this episode, host Jordan Reid sits down with Magic and Loss author Virginia Heffernan to talk about the idea that might give us all hope: Maybe the internet isn’t a fall from grace. It’s just…what happened next.

They talk about what it actually felt like to be part of the first wave of influencer culture—doing every job at once (photographer, editor, talent, brand), often unpaid—and how that model borrowed heavily from reality TV, where people were expected to perform their lives in exchange for “exposure.”

They also get into why the early internet felt so electric—and why we might be confusing that feeling with youth, not technology. They unpack why we’re drawn to vulnerability online (and why content featuring scared or hurt kids performs so well), and what that says about our need for catharsis versus our appetite for real-life suffering.

And then the big one: aging.

What happens when the women who built a culture centered on visibility, youth, and self-presentation start to age inside it? What does it mean to look like yourself on camera, instead of chasing “Instagram face”? And how do you let go of the version of yourself that once worked?

Virginia reframes all of it not as loss, but as continuation.

This episode is about:

• Why nostalgia for the “old internet” might actually be nostalgia for who you once were
• The hidden labor and emotional cost of early influencer culture
• The blurred line between performance, fiction, and truth online
• Why discomfort is the default—not the exception
• And how to stop treating change like a catastrophe

If you’ve ever felt like the version of you that mattered existed in another era—this conversation will hit. Hard.

Today’s guest is Caroline McCarthy — one of the first mainstream journalists assigned to cover social media full-time, back when Facebook looked temporary, Twitter looked unserious, and being “very online” was still considered a little embarrassing. At 22 years old, she was handed what many editors saw as a novelty beat. Instead, she ended up with a front-row seat to one of the biggest cultural and economic shifts of the century.

But what makes Caroline especially compelling is that she wasn’t just reporting on the new attention economy — she was also being shaped by it. As journalism began rewarding personality, visibility, and personal brand, Caroline herself became a recognizable internet figure during the exact years she was documenting that phenomenon.

And then, like so many people from that era, she experienced the less-flashy aftermath: what happens when public attention moves elsewhere, and you realize how much of your identity has become entangled with being seen.

This conversation is about the early internet, yes — those weird kids who built online culture before it was cool. But it’s also about something far more significant: status, friendship, aging, relevance, and the emotional consequences of losing a currency it feels shameful to admit you ever wanted.

In this episode, I talk to Rachel Sobel — founder of @whineandcheezits — about that exact pipeline: the early days of Instagram when growth came from group chats and generosity (actual generosity), the moment everything changed (algorithm? burnout? capitalism? yes to all), and the disorienting comedown that followed.

We get into what it felt like to go from this is the most fun I’ve ever had to this is somehow more stressful than my corporate job — and why so many of us walked away (whether logistically, financially, emotionally, or a mix) at almost exactly the same time.

But this conversation isn’t just a postmortem. It’s also about what came after: writing through miscarriage, divorce, illness; building real communities out of what started as memes; and realizing that the whole chaotic, unregulated, occasionally humiliating experience actually did its job.

Because the truth is that the thing we built didn’t last in the form we wanted. But it did get us somewhere. Not perfect, not polished — but real, sustainable, and (ugh) apparently exactly where we were trying to go all along.

Also discussed:

1. The lost art of meme credit enforcement squads
2. Why no one is gaining followers anymore (??)
3. The emotional journey from aspirational brand deals to Metamucil
4. Why your kids will never understand what MapQuest did to us
5. And the deeply unsettling realization that we are now the “back in my day” people

Find Rachel on Instagram at @whineandcheezits.

In this episode of Like Me, Jordan Reid sits down with journalist and author Fortesa Latifi to discuss her new book, Like, Follow, Subscribe — a deeply reported look at family vloggers, mom influencers, and the children whose lives are documented, monetized, and consumed online.

Together, they explore:

1. The shift from early mom blogging to child-centered influencer content
2. The blurry line between sharing and exploitation
3. Why authenticity online may be impossible
4. The role of class, labor, and economics in shaping who can “opt out”
5. The psychological impact of growing up as content
6. And why this conversation is far more complicated than “good vs bad parenting”

This episode also gets personal, as Jordan reflects on her own experience as part of the first generation of lifestyle bloggers — and what it means to look back at that era through a very different lens.

Remember to follow @likemepod on IG for behind-the-scenes info and clips.

Claire Zulkey has been writing online for more than two decades, which means she’s lived through blogs, social media, newsletters, and every version of the internet in between. In this episode, we talk about what happens when the part of your life that used to give you endless material — work, parenting, relationships, ambition — starts to feel less like inspiration and more like logistics. We talk about burnout, perimenopause, aging parents, teenagers, creative dry spells, and the weird guilt of not having something new to say when your job is to keep saying things.

It’s a conversation about the stage of life where you don’t necessarily want attention anymore — but you’re still here anyway.

I knew Kenji before he was a New York Times bestselling author, before The Food Lab became a kind of home-cook bible, before his name turned into a citation people use to win arguments on the internet. And the funny thing is: I “rediscovered” him the way you rediscover anyone from your past now — online. Around 2009, I got hooked on these incredibly obsessive, weirdly readable deep dives on Serious Eats about things like In-N-Out burgers and hard-boiling eggs, and I remember thinking…that is a very specific name. That has to be the Kenji I knew.

What I love about this conversation is that it’s not really about food — it’s about what happens when your opinions become canon, when strangers feel entitled not just to your expertise but to your life, and how you draw a line between being open and being available, especially when it comes to topics like, say, divorce. And sobriety.

We talk about the culture of internet rage, why “best” is a dangerous word, and the very specific kind of success that looks less like a yacht and more like…being able to buy the good cheese without thinking twice. I didn’t expect this one to go in the direction it did. I loved it so much.

Maegan Tintari (@lovemaegan) was a critical part of the very first wave of fashion bloggers — back when posting an outfit felt embarrassing, sponsored content made you a “sellout,” and no one knew this could become a real career. I’ve personally followed her career since the start of my own, and talking to her in person for the first time ever felt like falling back into a conversation that had been going on for years.

In this episode…well, let’s just say I cried, and had realizations that I’ve been searching for for years, in real time. Because we talked about what that era actually felt like — and what happened to us when it seemed to all collapse almost overnight.

We discuss, among other things: The viral DIY that changed Maegan’s trajectory, the spectacular collapse of Glam Media, GOMI and the emotional toll of public scrutiny, and the very particular grief of not being able to recognize yourself when you look in the mirror.

1. Check out Maegan’s website
2. Subscribe to 💗 ...love, Maegan on Substack
3. Read Maegan’s novel-in-progress
4. Read about the collapse of Glam Media
5. Follow @lovemaegan on IG
6. Follow @likemepod on Instagram

In the early 2000s, Nadine Jolie Courtney — who you might remember from her earliest incarnation as Jolie in the City — was a magazine beauty editor who started an anonymous blog revealing the behind-the-scenes excess, hierarchies, and absurdities of the beauty industry. The blog exploded. She was outed by the New York Post, she was fired from Conde Nast, and she suddenly found herself on morning shows explaining what a “weblog” even was — at a moment when legacy media had no vocabulary for what was was about to hit them.

What followed was a career that looks, in retrospect, like a roadmap of the modern visibility economy: book deals in her twenties, the rise and fall of sponsored blogging, getting dropped by management when follower counts became currency, a stint on Bravo that came with both opportunity and collateral damage, and ultimately a pivot back to what she always was at heart — a writer.

In this conversation, Nadine and host Jordan Reid talk candidly about what it was like to be early without necessarily being strategic. They get into the grief of stepping away from platforms that once defined them, the weird betrayal of being “fired” from an industry they helped build, and what it means to reclaim visibility on your own terms in midlife.

This episode is about what happens when the thing you love becomes the thing you do — and it loves you, and supports you, and makes your wildest dreams possible…until, one day, it doesn’t.

In 2019, journalist Joanna Schroeder spoke a truth that the public was very much not ready to hear. She tweeted about how the alt-right was radicalizing our boys, and the fallout changed her career and her life forever.

Now the author of the acclaimed Talk To Your Boys, Joanna discusses death threats, how to navigate the fine line between loving women and hating men, the extremely weird moment that made her consider leaving the internet altogether, and this guy called "Clavicular."

In this episode of Like Me, Jordan Reid sits down with Jamie Stone, a beauty blogger who’s been online since 2006—back when blogging was still a side project, brand deals were paid in lip gloss, and no one quite knew what they were building.

The conversation moves beyond platforms and into the emotional realities of long-term visibility: aging in an industry obsessed with newness, deciding what parts of your life are still yours, and how grief, fertility struggles, and personal loss reshape what it means to show up online. Jamie speaks candidly about writing through grief, sharing her IVF journey with intention and boundaries, and why micro-influence can still carry real impact.

This episode is about growing up alongside the internet—and choosing not to contort yourself to keep up with it.

For more, head over to my Substack.

If you were associated with digital media in any way in the late 2000s and the 2010s, you know today’s guest. Karen Robinovitz was one of the first people bringing brands and bloggers into the same room — she started by hosting dinners and creating experiences, and went on to become a key force in helping companies understand that the women building audiences online weren’t just hobbyists, they were storytellers with real influence, and real value. It’s a behind-the-scenes conversation about ambition, creativity, and evolution with a woman who sat in the front row — quite literally — for it all.

Whatever you think my conversation with a 23-year-old adult content creator who has made millions to fund her future career as a public defender is...

This is better.

In this conversation, Emily Cocea (a.k.a. @hotblockchain) shares her journey into the world of social media and adult content creation, discussing the impact of personal loss on her career choices, her early experiences with TikTok and Twitch, and the challenges of navigating public perception and family dynamics as a young influencer. She reflects on the confidence that fueled her ambitions and the evolution of her online presence, and she should probably be President.

Before “influencer” was a job title, I was already making a living selling my life online. Long before algorithms or sponsored content line items, a small group of women began turning personal, unfiltered spaces into careers, and I was one of them.

This episode traces the early days of influencer culture: The moment marketing entered spaces that once felt intimate and real, the monetization of “authenticity,” and the strange emotional alchemy of being simultaneously rewarded and punished for vulnerability. I talk about building a career based on access, relatability, and performance — and the anxiety, imposter syndrome, and eventual reckoning that came with it.

I also touch on what happened later: Aging out of the algorithm, pivoting away from visibility, and living with the aftermath of having once been extremely online — but there's a lot more to come on that topic.

This episode sets the foundation for the season ahead, which will explore influence from the inside: the people who helped build it, the culture that sustained it, and the complicated lives that followed.