This fall, after a historic bull run, markets started to wobble—in part due to fears of an AI bubble. At the same time, the hosts began to process feedback that they appeared to be blindly pro-tech. “The normie write-up on TBPN so far has been like, ‘It’s SportsCenter for tech. And they just love tech and they just sit here all the time, like, ‘Tech good!’ ” Hays said in a November interview, pretending to clap like a seal.
They say they’re not afraid to question overinflated valuations or unrealistic revenue projections. “We’re in a position where we feel responsible to call out the big players, even the players that come on our show,” says Hays. They have also begun to weigh in more often on the negative externalities of technological progress, like chatbot-induced psychosis, AI labor displacement, and the industry’s overeagerness to lean into adult content and gambling.
“Finding that line of, ‘Technology is good, but we can still have real concerns around humanity’ ” is the goal, says Hays. “We both have, between us, five kids under five. We care not just about what data center development looks like in the next 12 months. We actually care about what—”
“Data center development looks like in the next 12 years!” Coogan interrupts, unable to resist a punch line.
“No, like, what is education going to look like in 12 years,” says the more serious Hays.
I wondered aloud how long they would realistically ride out the show before getting bored. Coogan stopped me, dead serious, from the back seat of a Maybach an intern was chauffeuring us around in. “I would be shocked if the show isn’t 90 percent of [our] income, or net worth, in a few years.”
For the last few years, All-In has been the rising star of the tech media universe. Four entrepreneurs and venture capitalists in their 40s and 50s offer commentary on the day’s tech news, markets, and—increasingly—politics. But as the middle-aged podcasters grew whinier, less self-aware, and more consumed by the kind of culture war bugaboos you’d expect to see from your great-aunt on Facebook, a gap opened up in the market. Combined with the powerful divorced-dad energy emanating from Elon Musk and the cringey midlife crisis makeovers of Zuckerberg and Jeff Bezos, it started to look like getting filthy rich off technology was, well, not a very cool thing to do.
Coogan and Hays never watch playback of their own show. For them, the only metric of success is asking themselves, “How do you feel at the end of that three hours?” says Coogan. “Do you feel happy? Were you laughing?” For now, the answer is consistently yes. Youthful, well-dressed, and charismatic, TBPN is making Silicon Valley wealth look fun again.
They know they’re no saints—one of them runs an addictive nicotine company. But they have drawn certain lines in the sand. They don’t swear on air, they try to avoid vulgarity, and they don’t promote alcohol or drug use—mostly because they’re not big drinkers themselves. Perhaps most importantly, “This show is never going to promote Burning Man,” Hays deadpans.
“You can just count the billionaires that follow the show,” says Hays.
On July 31 the brothers reported live from a booth at the New York Stock Exchange for the IPO of the design software company Figma, cofounded by their friend Dylan Field. Throughout the day, they hosted a revolving door of people whose personal net worths had just ticked up seven-plus figures. “We had them holding their own microphones and ringing the gong…like kids!” Coogan told me later, laughing. The president of the NYSE Group, Lynn Martin, stopped by off the air, according to Coogan, to tell them she was a big fan and that she hoped they would be back soon. In December, NYSE announced that it would become TBPN’s “exclusive exchange partner,” giving the podcasters direct access to future IPOs and an ongoing presence on the floor, not unlike CNBC’s.
