T
he first thing you notice about IShowSpeed isn’t his face. It’s the wave of chaos that follows him.
Practically, it makes sense — you don’t build a streaming empire with 43 million subscribers by the ripe old age of 20 unless you’ve got the infrastructure to back it up. But it’s still an overwhelming sight to see coming toward you at noon on a school day. The YouTuber greets everyone — fan on the street, friend, foe, sitting Congressmen, and unsuspecting Rolling Stone staffer — the same, with a cheerful smile and an already rolling camera crew. Right now, it’s even more intense, as Speed is in the middle of his “Speed Does America” tour — a 35-day journey through some of the biggest landmarks the U.S. has to offer, while livestreaming it all, 24 hours, 7 days a week. This means the cameras are on during breaks, while he’s eating, sleeping, even when he has to go to the bathroom, though at least then they’re turned away. And when you’re interviewing Speed, or trying to in the 20-plus minutes he’s scheduled to stop at your Midtown office, that means the cameras are on you, too.
Speed started — like most generational icons do — with a nickname and a dream. Born Darren Watkins Jr., the Ohio teen wanted to become a professional streamer. He started with video games, playing hits like Fortnite and NBA 2K to a few live viewers here or there. But when his streams became more reactionary, filled with outbursts, expletives, and certified crashouts over losing levels, subscribers flocked in. He got up from the chair, started touring the world, and fans loved it. In 2024, he set a record for the most concurrent streams for an individual on YouTube, reaching 1 million live viewers while on a tour of Indonesia. Now 20, Speed is considered one of the most recognizable faces in the entire streaming world — buoyed by live streaming tours that take his subscribers out of the typical stream and along with him on breakneck adventures across the globe. Right now, the next big thing is keeping up a livestream in an elevator.
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“Chat, we’re gonna lag,” Speed says as he crowds in with me and his camera operators. To spend even a moment with Speed — at least, the Speed that his subscribers tune in to see during his livestreams — is to constantly be reminded of the chat. It’s the total collective of his viewers at the moment, a never-ending scroll where people watching the stream can give instant feedback. Speed is a streamer with a global fanbase, the same people aren’t always watching at the same time. The chat is an individual and a collective, less hive mind and more omnipresent specter. When I ask him where he’s headed next that afternoon, he demures: “I can’t say it cause I’m live right now.” To appease this constant visitor, Speed keeps up a never-ending line of dialogue between himself and the camera, often repeating himself or straight up asking where he is to his brother Jamal, a streamer in his own right who follows closely behind him. The words don’t need to be eloquent — they’ve just to be enough so people know how he’s feeling and what he’s doing, even if they’re just tuning in.
This means a lot of single-syllable words and even more neutral answers. His tour across America? “It’s been good.” His reaction to seeing his name on topping a list of creators who influence a billion dollar industry? He points it out to the viewers with a quick, “Right there, chat.” In fact, the only question that gets a big reaction is his dream stream guest. His answer is lightning fast: soccer legend Cristiano Ronaldo. (When Speed met him in 2023, he greeted him by kneeling on the concrete in front of him.) Ronaldo has multiple Premier League titles, a Champions League trophy, the FIFA Club World Cup, and five Ballon d’Ors — a prestigious French award recognizing the best player of the year. But if you look at any of Ronaldo’s social media accounts, you’ll be directed to his project of the moment: his YouTube channel. When I remind Speed of this connection, he stops for the first (and only) time of the entire visit. When I follow it up with a suggestion that he phone Ronaldo up, he says, face serious, “All right, let me call him,” and starts plugging away on his cell.
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It’s unclear whether Speed or his entourage have ready and available access to a man whose contract comes out around $177 million a year. But this is the magic of Speed. He is a streamer in a world where people like Ronaldo or Tom Brady (whom he visited a few days before our meeting) are actively trying to build something Speed has already excelled at. They’re first in their fields. But this is Speed’s domain.
“It’s fun!” Speed says, when asked why 100 million people would clock in to watch his antics, not knowing whether it’s a day he’ll be meeting a sports legend or logging hours at his gaming setup. “People want fun!”
Krista Schlueter for Rolling Stone
This is where Speed’s biggest charm lies. The streamer, clad in a soccer kit emblazoned with the name of One Piece manga hero Monkey D. Luffy, knows his audience wants fun. They want loud — he gives it to them, hour after hour after hour. We spend less than half an hour together and I feel less person and more compilation of reaction gifs just by being in his presence. Even during his photoshoot, he is moving, back toward the camera, then sideways towards his own, then back to the set once again. When two people pop a small confetti cannon into the air, Speed launches himself back with a cry, knocking over the set and barely missing the cake that has his face on it.
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“I just need to walk it off,” he says, cradling a nebulous part of his shin like a referee has just awarded him a yellow card in a decisive soccer match. “Lemme just walk it off.”
Krista Schlueter for Rolling Stone
Even in recovery, Speed is moving, decidedly done with the interview and ready to get back to exploring more of New York City. When choosing what could console him, he passes by proffered ibuprofen or a bag of ice for a simpler pleasure: a stretchy neon yellow sticky hand that makes an audible slap with its thrown against a wall. He cushions it in his hand as he makes his way down in the elevator, holding on to it as he walks toward a waiting car. Outside, members of his security team keep a screaming crowd of young fans away while he dashes toward the open door. Many of them have their phones outstretched, trying to touch him, to grab close to him or lay a few fingers on his kit. Even as his car peels away down the street, several kids run after it. It is motion once again, reigning supreme. A lot of the sprinting tweens already have their phones opened to his stream on YouTube, ready to clock his next location. Here, once again, is the power of IShowSpeed. I don’t have to understand it. I just have to watch.