The Story of Random Talking Video
I used to dodge cameras like they’d reveal my deepest secrets. For most of my life, I avoided them. It was like they were waiting to expose something I didn’t want to see. I hated how I looked, hated how I sounded. I didn’t even show up for my high school yearbook photos—literally zero pictures of me across all four years, like something straight out of a Netflix serial killer documentary. That’s how much I avoided cameras.
But here’s the twist: the very thing I avoided—being on camera—ended up sparking a movement that connected tens of thousands of people, inspired creative projects, and transformed how I approach both life and work.
The Fog Machine Yoga Class
Back in 2013, I started teaching yoga. But not your typical yoga—I created a weird little 55-minute class called Burn Yoga.
Picture this: it’s 6 a.m. The room is dark, a fog machine is pumping, trippy lights are flashing, and bizarre YouTube videos are playing on a giant projector. The vibe was loud, unconventional, and intentionally fun—a stark contrast to the silent reverence of most yoga studios. I cared as much about the pre-class vibe as the class itself. I wanted people to feel free to talk, laugh, and connect, instead of tiptoeing around each other in awkward silence.
The class took off. People loved it, but they were also curious about me. I didn’t exactly fit the mold of a traditional yoga teacher, and my personality didn’t scream “yogi.” On social media, other instructors followed me, intrigued by what I was doing. I leaned into that curiosity—posting about the class and letting it draw people in.
But even with Burn Yoga’s success, I kept a line I wouldn’t cross: putting myself in front of a camera.
However, that was about to change—and it would spark something far bigger than a yoga class.
The Idea That Sparked It All
By 2017, after four years of teaching yoga, I decided to film myself teaching a small-group session to show people what I was actually doing. But stepping in front of a camera—something I’d avoided my entire life—felt terrifying. With the studio already booked, I had no choice but to come up with a plan to face my fear, fast.
That’s when I came up with a challenge: post a 60-second video on Instagram every day for 30 days. I called it #30daysofthesefuckingvideos—partly to set expectations, partly to poke fun at my own insecurity. No big themes, no fancy production—just me, talking about whatever came to mind.
The goal was simple: stop caring about how I looked or sounded—and get comfortable enough to film the yoga class.
There were moments I messed up or stuttered, but I usually posted the first take. If I ever ditched the first attempt, I’d call myself out at the start of the next video—“This is the 4th take…”—to keep it honest. Often, when I watched back multiple takes, the raw, stumbling version turned out to be the best—slip-ups and all. Sometimes the slip was the most memorable part of the entire video.
The Birth of Random Talking Video
A few days in, people started noticing. At the time, most social media videos were polished and produced. My raw, unfiltered clips stood out. People were curious. Some even wanted to try it themselves.
One day, I joked with a friend: “You don’t have to overthink it. Just call it a random talking video.” As soon as I said it, I realized that name had a ring to it. It felt simple, clear, and oddly catchy.
I started using the hashtag #randomtalkingvideo on my posts, and more people joined in. They’d tag me in their own videos—sharing whatever was on their minds. My feed became a mix of voices, ideas, and personalities. I’d repost their clips to show what the project could look like, especially for those who thought, “This is cool, but I could never do that.”
Suddenly, this wasn’t just a personal challenge—it was turning into a collective experiment in vulnerability and self-expression.
The Ripple Effect
What began as a personal challenge soon grew into something much bigger. By the end, tens of thousands of people had posted under the hashtag. I remember scrolling through hundreds of #randomtalkingvideo posts in a single day—people tagging me in clips labeled “Day 7,” “Day 27,” “Day 54.”
It wasn’t just about building confidence—it became a tool for self-expression on a global scale. One woman in Ireland told me she hadn’t been able to watch her wedding video for 25 years because she hated how she looked. After making a few random talking videos, she finally could—and that blew my mind. Others used the hashtag to break creative blocks, build confidence, or even launch new projects.
Sometimes, those videos left a deeper legacy. Once, while being interviewed for a podcast, the host told me about a martial arts student who used Random Talking Video to open up and share more of himself. A few years later, he passed away unexpectedly. His mother said those videos became one of the most precious gifts he left behind—a way for her to hear his voice and see his spirit shine through.
Hearing that floored me. A simple, unpolished video had preserved something deeply meaningful. It reminded me that these raw, 60-second clips were more than just “content”—they were gifts, snapshots of people’s personalities, preserved in a way that words alone couldn’t capture.
That’s what Random Talking Video became: a chaotic corner of the internet where people could be vulnerable, unpolished, and unapologetic. And from that corner, something profound emerged—a sense of community, creativity, and connection that reminded people of what’s possible when they simply show up.
Enter Yoga Sex Rock God
Here’s where things got weird (in a good way). Thanks to the confidence I built through Random Talking Video, I pushed myself further. I created an over-the-top persona called Yoga Sex Rock God—a loud, satirical alter ego poking fun at the more absurd, predatory, or just plain ridiculous sides of the yoga world. My bio literally read: “The Best Yoga Teacher in the World.”
It wasn’t just a joke. I’d post as myself, then jump into the comments as Yoga Sex Rock God, going back and forth in full character. That alter ego gave me the freedom to call out the hypocrisy I saw—how yoga culture sometimes masked questionable behavior under a veneer of “spiritual” perfection. Sometimes, I’d post short “commercials” for outrageous yoga retreats that didn’t exist—just to show how ridiculous things got when taken too far. Other times, it leaned more NSFW: I’d grab a popular yoga teacher’s questionable hands-on adjustments and add voiceovers or music like it was straight out of the world’s most notorious adult channel.
Whether it was “healing retreats” priced like luxury vacations or hands-on adjustments that blurred every ethical line, Yoga Sex Rock God became my way of saying the quiet parts out loud.
By exaggerating everything through this persona, I could critique the culture while still making people laugh. It was absurd, but it struck a chord. Other instructors started taking risks, too, saying things like, “If you could get away with that crazy stuff, I figured I could at least try my own less-extreme version.”
Random Talking Video had shown me—and others—that imperfection and humor could be tools for connection, not barriers to it. Yoga Sex Rock God amplified that lesson: by leaning into the ridiculous, I found freedom—and opened the door for others to do the same.
Confidence Breeds Creativity
Looking back, #randomtalkingvideo wasn’t just about conquering my camera fear—it was a gateway to something bigger. Those unpolished, 60-second clips opened the floodgates for new ideas. From building connections with strangers around the world to creating a satirical alter ego who mocked yoga culture’s absurdities, none of it would’ve happened without that first, imperfect step.
Six months after I started posting videos, in early 2018, I hosted my first-ever live event in Los Angeles—the “Yoga Sex Rock God Summit of Power.” People flew in from around the globe, validating that a raw daily challenge could evolve into real-life gatherings.
It’s funny how something so small—so unpolished and unplanned—can snowball into a real community. One where people dared to be unfiltered. One where something as simple as talking into a camera could turn vulnerability into confidence and confidence into creativity.
Wrapping It Up
Truth is, Random Talking Video wasn’t just about conquering my camera fear—it changed how I make things. From unfiltered daily posts to a full-on alter ego crashing the yoga scene, none of it followed some perfect plan. It was accidental, messy—maybe even chaotic—but that’s exactly what made it work.
It’s strange to think how a few shaky, unpolished videos turned into global hashtags, inside jokes, and actual friendships. I’m not saying everyone should go record themselves every day just to see what happens. But for me, it was the push I needed to stop hiding and just show up—even when I had no idea what I was going to say.
That’s the lesson I keep coming back to: chaos and imperfection aren’t obstacles to creativity—they’re the raw materials.
And yeah, sometimes you’ll look stupid. But honestly? That’s where the good stuff usually starts.