He’s Not a Good Interviewer. So How Did He Become One of the Most Popular Ones on the Planet?
At the internet’s most elite club, there’s no bouncer, no VIP list, no line of twentysomething hopefuls looking for a good night out on the dime of strangers who might offer to buy them drinks. Instead, there are matching brown leather tufted chaise lounges, a blazing fireplace, a coffee table, and one of the most famous interviewers in the world. This is Club Shay Shay, a weekly video podcast hosted by Shannon Sharpe, the NFL hall-of-famer turned popular (and oft-memed) sports commentator.
Club Shay Shay trades in celebrity candor. The visual podcast, which launched in September 2020 as a peak-pandemic-era project, is known for its viral conversations with aggrieved Black celebrities, who often take the opportunity to air out grievances that have publicly plagued them for nearly their entire careers. There was Steve Harvey on his beef with the late comedian Bernie Mac, former NFL running back Marshawn Lynch on his failed friendship with quarterback Russell Wilson, and Oscar-winning actor and comedian Mo’Nique on being blacklisted from the industry, purportedly at the hands of Oprah and Tyler Perry. The most famous of these conversations is Sharpe’s January interview with comedian Katt Williams, which attracted an ungodly number of eyeballs with its explosive allegations about everyone from rapper Ludacris to Kevin Hart. With more than 72 million views and counting, the podcast episode has become the most-watched interview on YouTube, bigger than even the likes of Joe Rogan’s interview with Elon Musk, or Oprah’s interview with Meghan Markle.
Since the Williams interview, which skyrocketed the channel’s subscriber count in a matter of days, the list of celebrities clamoring for entrance to Sharpe’s VIP section has only gotten longer, with actor Meagan Good and even Megan Thee Stallion among recent guests. But how did Sharpe manage to successfully create the new soapbox of choice for (predominantly) Black public figures, becoming one of the culture’s premier interviewers in the process? Well, certainly not by being good at interviewing. One of the keys to Club Shay Shay’s success is Sharpe’s steadfast inability—or refusal—to engage meaningfully in conversation. He barely asks questions or follows any leads in the chat, provides no fact-checked rebuttals of blatant lies spewed in his face, and apparently has zero opinions to butt up against his guests’ ideals. His hands-off approach to these conversations makes them almost entirely one-sided; the most we’ll get in response to an off-color comment or wild accusation is a stuttering “Ah, c’mon now” in Sharpe’s signature Southern drawl.
Take the infamous Williams interview, for example. While there is one moment where an off-camera producer stops the interview to fact-check some dates Williams threw out, Sharpe otherwise lets a lot slide. When Williams states that he read approximately 3,000 books a year from ages 8 to 12—an objectively absurd claim, even if we’re talking picture books—Sharpe doesn’t ask any follow-ups, but moves to a different question entirely. When Williams alleges that he was canceled for talking about Harvey Weinstein’s abuse, claiming that Weinstein “offered to suck my penis in front of all my people at my agency,” all Sharpe does is stay silent, until Williams tells a follow-up joke at which Sharpe laughs. When Williams calls comedian Chris Tucker “Epstein Island Chris Tucker”—insinuating that Tucker is affiliated with Jeffrey Epstein’s circle of abuse—Sharpe merely mutters, “Oh Lord, Lord have mercy,” before pivoting to a different question. There’s even a moment where, while rehashing Williams’ friendship with the late, great Prince, Williams boasts that Prince trusted his opinion on lyrics, women, and cars—and Sharpe doesn’t even have the professional curiosity to ask him what songs Williams supposedly lyrically consulted on. The most we get is Sharpe exclaiming, “Now, Katt, don’t do that!” when Williams alleges he can run a 40-yard dash in 4.3 seconds. And when Sharpe attempts to stop Williams’ periodic slights at comedian Faizon Love, Williams serves Sharpe the sarcastic retort heard around the world: “You having an unnatural allegiance to losers is not like you.”
Naturally, the interview instantaneously went megaviral, with Black Twitter clipping and retweeting the juiciest parts of Williams’ three-hour-long rant in record time. At first glance, it seemed like the stars had aligned for this moment—and in a way, they did. Williams is one of the most successful and most beloved comedians among Black Americans, has well-known, long-held issues with multiple people of note, and is historically known for Having Something To Say and the gumption to say it. Sharpe merely provided the space, both physical and conversational, for Williams to get it all off his chest at once, and in front of a wider audience than usual.
But this was proven to be more than a mere stroke of luck when the aforementioned interview with comedian and actor Mo’Nique the following month also went viral, as did an interview with actor Amanda Seales two months after that. This is proof that Sharpe’s formula is working: Club Shay Shay’s most attention-grabbing headliners tend to be a few years shy of their career peaks, meaning they have much less to lose and a lot more to say than those on the up-and-up. What may have started as a natural talent restraint of starting a small podcast during the pandemic turned out to work in the show’s favor as it grew.
Now Club Shay Shay has joined other shows like The Breakfast Club and Sway in the Morning as a worthy stop on the promotional tour for Black artists’ and athletes’ next album or project. But where the Breakfast Club’s host, Charlamagne Tha God, is known for rage-baiting, Sharpe takes the opposite tack: His is the squeaky-clean Black success story of a young man who grew up in poverty and emerged with legendary talent and all the charm a good Southern boy should possess. He hasn’t ruffled many feathers, if you conveniently forget about his history of alleged domestic unrest and violence. His nickname is Uncle Shay Shay (or Unc), for God’s sake. He is a placid blank slate, there to facilitate celebrity mess and subtly promote his own line of VSOP cognac, Le Portier Shay, which he and his guests imbibe as they talk.
If interviewing is an art, then Sharpe’s masterpiece is in his rejection of it. While celebrities increasingly turn down interviews with reporters who will pose hard questions, they’ll flock to a show like Sharpe’s, where they can work themselves up to new, sometimes shocking, revelations without fear of pushback. Love it or hate it, this is the club everyone wants in on.
