Live streaming has emerged as one of the most powerful forces in social media over the past decade. What began with gamers sharing their play sessions on Twitch has expanded into a massive industry encompassing everything from esports competitions to "just chatting" hangouts to political punditry. And as the medium has grown, it has minted a new generation of online celebrities who have built massive audiences and cultural influence from their bedrooms.
One of the most successful and controversial of these new stars is Adin Ross. The 22-year-old streamer first made a name for himself on Twitch with his gaming content and irreverent, high-energy streams. But as his profile has grown, so has his reputation as a magnet for drama and a platform for pushing the boundaries of acceptable discourse.
Adin‘s "Comedy Night" streams, in particular, have become notorious for featuring guests trying to one-up each other with shocking, offensive jokes. Playing the Comedy Night game on Steam, where players perform virtual stand-up sets for each other, Adin and his rotating cast of characters trade in humor that is often nakedly racist, antisemitic, and crude. Here‘s a small sample of the type of "jokes" you might hear on an Adin Ross Comedy Night:
- "What separates black people from society? Prison."
- "What‘s the difference between a Jew and an orange? Nothing, they‘re both concentrated."
- "Why do black people only have nightmares? Because the last one who had a dream got shot."
To outside observers, this content is clearly hateful and dehumanizing. But Adin‘s fans, who skew heavily male and trend younger (primarily Gen Z), seem to revel in the cartoonishly offensive humor. His streams regularly draw tens of thousands of concurrent viewers, and clips of the most outrageous moments circulate widely on social media. The more hate it attracts, the more buzz it generates, and the more Adin‘s notoriety grows.
It‘s a flywheel that has served Adin well as he has cultivated a carefully contrived brand as an unfiltered, uncancel-able renegade. After getting banned from Twitch for his controversial content, Adin jumped to the upstart streaming platform Kick, where he recently signed a staggering $180 million exclusivity deal.
So what makes this type of edgelord content so popular, especially among younger audiences? On a psychological level, offensive and taboo humor triggers a powerful reaction. It feels naughty and subversive to laugh at something we know we‘re not "supposed" to find funny. That rush of adrenaline and endorphins can be addictive, leaving viewers craving the next hit.
For Gen Z in particular, shocking, irreverent content also plays into their desire for authenticity and rebellion against authority. Adin and other controversial streamers position themselves as truth-tellers who refuse to be censored or constrained by political correctness. This anti-establishment posturing resonates with young people eager to define themselves against the norms and mores of older generations.
However, this "authenticity" is often just a cover for deep-seated prejudices and a toxic worldview. Racist, sexist and antisemitic jokes don‘t become less harmful because the teller insists they‘re not being serious. In fact, a large body of sociological research has shown that disparaging humor actually increases tolerance for discrimination and prejudice by desensitizing us to the hurtful ideas underlying the punchline.
A 2019 study published in the Journal of Applied Psychology showed that people exposed to jokes disparaging Muslims and LGBTQ+ people subsequently demonstrated more prejudiced attitudes and were more likely to discriminate against those groups. Another study from Loyola University found that sexist humor increased tolerance of hostile sexism and gender discrimination among male participants.
When hateful ideas are couched as "just jokes," it becomes easier for us to let our guard down and internalize toxic assumptions. The more these ideas are repeated and applauded, even in supposedly non-serious contexts, the more normalized they become. And when massively popular entertainers like Adin Ross act as superspreaders for this type of poisonous ideology, the impact can be immense.
The livestreaming medium itself also contributes to this dynamic through what sociologists call "context collapse." In a live broadcast, the performer is often feeding off the instant feedback of the audience – the flood of LOLs and fire emojis in the chat that light up when they land an "edgy" joke. This feedback loop between the artist and audience rewards the streamer for pushing the boundaries further and further for the most explosive reaction.
Add to that the gamified systems of follows, subscribes and donations that many streaming platforms use to monetize engagement, and you have a powerful incentive structure for creators to keep escalating the provocative rhetoric that wins eyeballs and sparks controversy. It‘s not so different from the economic forces that pushed radio shock jocks like Howard Stern to build their brands on explicit, button-pushing material. But the internet allows controversial entertainers to find and cultivate their niche audiences at a scale previously unimaginable.
So where does this leave us? It‘s clear that as long as there is an appetite and financial reward for edgelord content, creators like Adin Ross will keep serving it up. He is far from the only streamer profiting from this brand of anti-social performance art. But that doesn‘t mean we are powerless to push back against it.
As consumers, we can vote with our attention and refuse to give views, follows or money to entertainers trafficking in hateful speech. Instead of amplifying their antics, we can boost the work of diverse creators who are modeling more productive and empowering forms of comedy and social critique.
Social media platforms also have a responsibility to be more proactive and consistent in enforcing their community guidelines around hate speech and dangerous misinformation. The patchwork approach and uneven application of content moderation policies has allowed too many bad actors to thrive unchecked.
But most importantly, we need a cultural shift to create space for new voices and new sensibilities to flourish. We have to be willing to confront the deep-rooted biases and structural inequalities that make punching down at marginalized groups such a reliable laugh line. It‘s on all of us to cultivate a higher standard for what we consider entertaining — one based on punching up at power rather than stomping on the vulnerable for cheap shock value.
Comedy can and should be provocative, and no topic should be off-limits for smart satirists. But the tired, 4chan-esque tropes regurgitated by Adin Ross and his ilk aren‘t cutting-edge commentary, regardless of how loudly their adolescent fans might cackle. They‘re just bullying in the guise of rebellion, a last gasp of a stale sensibility the rest of the culture has largely outgrown.
As the rise of Adin Ross demonstrates, the market for edgelord humor is alive and well. But as livestreaming enters its second decade and begins to mature as a medium, here‘s hoping more of us start to demand better. The health of our information ecosystem and our collective psyche might just depend on it.
