Old School. Biblically Independent.
By Kayleigh Donaldson | Celebrity | June 18, 2026
"Did you think the kid was annoying? You know that kid was so damn annoying."
That was the line that kicked it all off. Jake Shane, an influencer and internet comedian, was tasked with interviewing celebrities on the red carpet for this year's Vanity Fair Oscars party. He and fellow influencer Quenlin Blackwell frequently stumbled over their words, asked inane questions, and generally seemed out of their depth, to the point where even Kris Jenner asked how they'd secured such a gig. But it was that line to Julia Fox, whose acclaim for the drama If I Had Legs I'd Kick You Shane felt the need to interrupt. Fox, a woman who is extremely good at being famous, offered a sharp response on the film's themes of the impossibility of motherhood in a patriarchal society. It soon became clear that she was sick of this line of questioning and wrapped things up like a professional. For some reason, Shane didn't learn his lesson and asked the same question to Damson Idris later on in the night.
This still made me cringe less than seeing Kacey Musgraves explain time zones to Shane on his podcast, Therapuss, because he couldn't understand the lyric, "In Tennessee, the sun's goin' down But in Beijing, they're headin' out to work." Indeed, most of his interviews on his own show seem to spend the majority of their running time focusing on his inanity and fragile ego. This has all led to an intense backlash towards Shane and his ilk. Even Variety, a trade publication not known for rocking the boat, has expressed genuine fury and bafflement at his sudden omnipresence and professional failings.
Jacob Shane Roshkow is the son of Helaine Olen, a columnist for The Washington Post, which has led many to presume his sudden omnipresence is a nepo baby situation. This doesn't seem to be accurate, least of all because newspaper columnists tend to be bad at TikTok. Shane got his start on that platform, doing comedic skits where he reenacted historical events. A lot of them are actually very funny. For some reason, this led to him starting a podcast, Therapuss, which has become yet another platform for bland celebrity interviews. Aside from that, Shane has appeared in Hacks, will star in the second season of Adults, and is, uh, the chief creative officer of Katjes, a candy maker. Sure, why not? Outside of his work, he's become something of a perennial BFF to fellow Gen-Z stars, from Kaia Gerber to Rob Rausch of The Traitors. He's like Derek Blasberg without that, you know, unfortunate poop rumour. But it's the red carpet stuff and interviews that have earned him such online ire.
I don't think Shane is untalented. He's funny and good at those skits. But it's clear his management knows where the money is, and where the opportunities for brand expansion lie. These shows, these endless influencer-driven take-overs of the celebrity junket circuit, are not designed for audiences or the subjects. They're hastily made platforms for the host that can easily be monetised and elevate their visibility in a crowded market. Being funny in TikTok skits doesn't lead to a movie deal anymore. Peak TV is dead. Late night is being killed off by media monopolies. So, you have to homogenise, and that means yet another podcast or interview show where your agency can funnel in talent managed under the same roof. Publicists agree because their clients want a wide audience but no substance. I'm sure there are plenty of artists who like a rigorous artistic discourse, and a few places still offer it, but it's Jake Shane who's the default now, not The New York Times.
It's not just him, of course, nor is it a problem limited to a few red carpet snafus. It's the continued cheapening of cultural criticism and journalism, the insistence from the very institutions intended to harbour it that anyone can do it, or that a total failure to do so is acceptable because who cares about movies and celebrities and all that jazz? Magazines sack their film critics then send proudly ignorant influencers onto the red carpet to encourage the stars to slag off their contemporaries' work.
Quenlin Blackwell defended her and Shane's disastrous Vanity Fair red carpet hosting by claiming that they were offering the audience and interviewees something preferable to a traditional journalists. "People want to feel connected to these celebrities and these events," she said. "We make them feel like people, because baby, we are people. I see y'all out. I see y'all at Erewhon. I see y'all walking on the street, you're just like me. Let's kiki." Putting aside the parasocial nature of this intention, it also presents a staggering kind of ego. These people are not your friends. Your adjacency to celebrity does not make you qualified to be there, and your shameless desire to bask in that glow of A-List fame is evident in your lack of preparedness to ask basic questions. Blackwell said that they didn't want to be repetitive with what they asked people, but they were. They talked about the same stuff we hear in every influencer chit-chat, albeit with an added level of sneering over movies that were nominated that evening.
I don't think she or Shane are wrong in noting that celebrities often want to avoid tough questioning or the investigative tone of a journalist's sit-down. The system exists as it is in 2026 to help them be as unchallenged as possible. The old-school publications adhere to publicist demands, and podcasts and online shows like Call Her Daddy pride themselves on their lack of thoroughness. Shane's own podcast, which is unlistenable, is merely following the trend set before it, one his agency has encouraged in order to nab him big-name guests. He practically begs for validation from those with more clout than him, all in lieu of an actual interview. Other times, he seems so anxiety-ridden that the focus once again becomes all about him. Clearly, this is not his forte.
Maybe this makes me old-fashioned, but I don't like watching interviews where the person in charge desperately wants the celebrity to be their friend. I don't think there's anything interesting about another tedious cycle of arse-licking from someone whose primary concern is landing an Erewhon sponsorship. The endless gimmickry of these formats makes Jimmy Fallon's cavalcade of children's party games feel like a conversation with Dick Cavett in comparison. Again, perhaps I'm just old and cranky, but I miss the days when Oscar winners and politicians didn't have to wear dumb costumes and re-enact memes. And truly, I think Jake Shane would be more fulfilled if he was given more to do than next to nothing.
