The Entire Celebrity Interview Ecosystem Is Flawed — It’s Not Just Influencers

Everybody has bad interviews. It’s part of the gig. If you talk to celebrities for a living, eventually one of those chats is going to go sideways. We’ve all been there. Earlier in my career, a former star of one of my all-time favorite TV shows called me an “entitled millennial” and berated me so hard I cried in a bathroom stall for an hour. It would be easy to chalk up Hannah Berner’s blunder with Megan Thee Stallion as one of those examples of a celeb interview gone wrong, but that would be downplaying the magnitude of the microaggression that was on full display during their interaction. It would also be belittling the complicated crossroads the industry has found itself between legacy entertainment journalism, influencers, and celebrity interviews.

If you aren’t as chronically online as I am, let’s recap the controversy. About a week ago, Summer House reality TV star Hannah Berner and her Giggly Squad podcast co-host Paige DeSorbo were tapped by Vanity Fair to host their Oscars afterparty red carpet. It’s one of the biggest carpets of the year with a bevy of celebs on hand. Berner and DeSorbo found themselves across from Megan Thee Stallion. In a cringeworthy moment that has launched countless TikToks, thinkpieces, and analyses, Berner said to Megan, “When I want to fight someone, I listen to your music.” She then doubles down: “When people are talking shit, I say turn on Megan Thee Stallion!” She continually repeats the sentiment, yelling over Megan and seemingly not listening when the rapper tries to counter with, “Or you want to throw that fighting sh*t out the window and be cute and be a bad bitch.” As Megan seemingly tries to deflect, it’s an awkward back-and-forth that people picked up on, especially Black women who recognized the subtle racism of it all: a Black woman who raps isn’t inherently violent. And specifically, Megan Thee Stallion’s music isn’t aggressive or about fighting at all, it’s about being hot and unbothered. 

Berner’s comment was not only stupid, it reinforced dangerous stereotypes about Black women and was an insensitive thing to say to Megan, a victim of violence herself. In response to the backlash, Berner apologized. “Looking back at the interview, I wish I used any other word except ‘fight’ to describe how her songs impact me,” Berner said. “It was a careless choice of words and though there was no ill intent, I recognize and acknowledge that what I said has a deeper meaning and I am so sorry to Megan.” As far as public apologies go, it’s not the worst I’ve seen, but Berner doesn’t name what was so wrong about what she said. She hints at a “deeper meaning” but doesn’t acknowledge how her words played into the Angry Black Woman stereotype and how that myth is harmful to Black women and girls in real ways (like the disproportionate punishment of Black girls in schools, and over incarceration of Black women in the criminal justice system). To dismiss the interview as simply “a careless choice of words” doesn’t hold Berner, or Vanity Fair, accountable for the ignorance on display. 

In the past week, many other writers and journalists have rightfully reiterated the above. They’ve pointed out that it was unfair that Megan had to endure an egregious microaggression on a red carpet when her peers were able to just pose and have a good time. They’ve blamed influencers for the downfall of entertainment journalism. None of this is wrong per se, but what I’ve seen missing from the conversation is that Hannah Berner should never have been interviewing Megan Thee Stallion in the first place — and not just because she isn’t a journalist. Sure, if she was, she probably would have been able to anticipate the impact vs intent of her words, like we, as journalists, are trained to. She may have been more researched and equipped to come up with a better question. In a perfect world, if Berner was a journalist, she would have actively listened to Megan, picked up on her apparent discomfort and pivoted in real time to a question more worthy of her. But Berner would still be white — specifically, the kind of white girl who gets in the face of a Black woman and yells at her that her mere existence inspires violence. 

“Countless of amazing entertainment journalists have been looking for jobs and opportunities and Vanity Fair chooses to hire influencers,” Kathia Woods, a contributor to the Philadelphia Tribune, wrote on LinkedIn. “There are amazing Black women that never get a chance like this… this need to tap into these influencers that are beyond untrained and exercise microaggressions is horrible. Blame Vanity Fair that used to stand for journalism but now is about clicks.”

Woods is right, and the crisis facing entertainment journalism right now is that few Black women are given opportunities to be in situations like the one Berner was in. It’s not just Vanity Fair’s fault. Hiring talent to be on camera who don’t have journalism degrees has been happening in entertainment media forever, long before TikTok. On-air talent are the OG personality hires. That’s not the main issue here. It’s that it’s mostly white talent who are being given the loudest microphones. It’s that you can be unqualified, obnoxious, and incompetent and still get a job if you’re a white influencer. If you’re a Black journalist, you’ve likely been laid off or have been forced out of the industry due to lack of pay, opportunities and resources. Last year, we published a piece called Black Women Are Leaving Journalism & It’s A Huge Loss written by Habiba Katsha. “When you look at the state of the industry, it’s hard to imagine a future within it. The golden era of journalism has long gone and many are choosing to make an escape plan — especially Black women,” Katsha wrote. 

Black journalists only make up 0.2% of the industry’s workforce. And when we are in full-time positions, we’re faced with our own workplace microaggressions, pressure to only work on stories about race and trauma, and given far fewer chances to fuck up. When it comes to influencers, Black creators are promoted and paid less than their white counterparts. So if influencers are the new go-to when it comes to hosting and entertainment reporting, there are going to be inequities. It’s not fair to journalists that we spend time and money going to school to hone our interviewing skills, study film and TV to make sure we have understanding of the craft we’re talking to artists about, and stress over every word to get it right, only to have influencers swoop in and act like bumbling dolts with tiny mics and get rewarded for it (TikToker Easton Simpson asked nonsensical questions to celebs on purpose as a prank). And it's not fair to Black creators that their follower count might stop them from getting gigs, when the system is rigged against them.

In efforts to go viral on red carpets, outlets rely on the spectacle of influencers. I’m just speculating here, but I imagine that the Megan Thee Stallion interview, as controversial as it was, was considered a win for Vanity Fair. To date, the clip has 1.9 million views and 207.7k likes on TikTok, easily one of their most popular videos of the night. And that’s the game: go viral or go bust. Entertainment journalism, even at a legacy publication as revered as Vanity Fair, is getting more and more unserious. Outrage is currency. A hit clip at all costs. 

The bigger problem here is that journalists are being encouraged to behave like influencers, and all outlets are prioritizing clicks — and popularity — over quality interviews. The problem is that it's all about being first (this piece is coming a solid four days after the controversy erupted online, so it may as well be obsolete), not the best. The problem is that a red carpet, where most of the access to these stars is happening now, is mostly not the place for nuance or depth. With all that said, good hosts (whether it be journalists or influencers) are able to find a real moment amidst the chaos, or a minute or two of unfiltered fun with a celebrity, exposing them in a light we rarely get to see. We are a generation of short attention spans, 250 characters, and YouTube shorts. Red carpets as the persistent celebrity interview are the natural culmination of our succinct-obsessed culture. 

The two most popular stops on a press tour for long-form interviews are Chicken Shop Date and Hot Ones, two very entertaining shows. Two white hosts. I’m a fan of them both — Chicken Shop Date’s Amelia Dimoldenberg has a background in journalism and is actually very sharp, funny and clever and Hot Ones’ Sean Evans is clearly well-researched and refreshingly over-prepared — but it’s clear that there is a divide between who gets time to sit in front of a celebrity and build a rapport (the closest Black entertainment has right now is Club Shay Shay, heavy sigh). In the absence of long-form access, quick interactions are what many entertainment journalists have to settle for. Like the rest of the industry, Black talent faces barriers that are frustrating and unavoidable. Black publications are deprioritized. We’re the ones pushed to the back of carpets. We’re the one publicists rush their clients past first. When you spend days prepping and hours on a red carpet waiting for a fleeting moment with stars whose project you’re trying to promote, it’s understandable that watching an influencer waltz in with the top spot and zero experience and subsequently flop hard is infuriating.

“The argument of influencers replacing journalists is a little cheap,” influencer Drew Afualo shared on her TikTok after covering awards season red carpets for InStyle. “Before influencers were a thing, journalists have always been a thing. There have been many a viral moment where they were disrespectful to talent,” Afualo used the Babyface moment with the Associated Press as an example of journalists being bad at their jobs. It’s a valid point, but those (white) reporters disrespected Babyface to get to Chappell Roan, someone they presumably deemed more likely to go viral. It’s all the same problem. Afualo went on to share that she has two degrees, one in journalism and one in communications (which you can tell by how good she is on red carpets), and stressed that “the issue is not journalists vs influencers.” Afualo’s point is that it’s about hosting skills and being able to perform well on camera, which many journalists can’t do (this is correct). 

I understand where Afualo is coming from, and I agree with some of her sentiments, but when she claims that the industry is not moving towards favoring influencers, she’s wrong. She said she is one of two influencers on red carpets and that people are constantly questioning her credentials, something journalists don’t have to face, according to Afualo. Except that we do. If you are a Black woman, you are constantly having to defend why you deserve to be in coveted spaces. I covered five red carpets this awards season and there were more than two influencers on each carpet. And each of them had a better spot and more access than we did. Influencers as celebrity interviewers is a growing trend, and it’s definitely where the industry is headed. We’re not making this up. “It’s not the profession, bitch. That doesn’t give you a sense of decorum [or] professionalism,” Afualo continued. “Having a degree is not going to guarantee that you do a good job on these carpets.” Now, this I agree with. 

It’s not about degrees, it’s about work ethic, experience, and the current state of journalism, which is prioritizing all the wrong things. I don't think it's as simple as abolishing the influencer red carpet host. I think we need to question who is being platformed and why. For those of us who genuinely love music, film, TV, and pop culture, and who want to see our favorite stars asked interesting, engaging, unique, fun, or informative questions, we’re watching that era slip away. Influencers rarely challenge stars or ask follow-up questions. They rarely have the background knowledge or the aptitude to engage in real journalism. They are personalities. And that’s OK. There’s a place for that, and sometimes, that place is a red carpet. But the more that mediocre white creators are given platforms, the more blunders like Hannah Berner's are going to happen. It’s too easy to just blame the influencers. The entire celebrity interview ecosystem is flawed. Entertainment journalism needs an overhaul and, like most big questions, the answer is to invest in Black women.