We spent 8 hours finding the best stuff on X. Here it is.

Ben opens with a viral idea: a website lets people buy tickets to attend someone else’s wedding, reportedly with a similar service in India. The site is “vibe-coded” but allegedly already has 20,000 users. Sam and the others are baffled by the premise—not paying people to attend your own wedding, but paying to occupy an empty seat at a stranger’s wedding. Sam says he would not attend a wedding outside a 50-mile radius and generally does not even like giving gifts for children’s birthday parties. The group jokes that the service is for people who voluntarily want the experience they normally regard as an obligation. They compare the idea with Airbnb, where an initially strange behavior became a huge company, but conclude this wedding marketplace does not appear to have the same potential. Shaan says he once heard a comedian joke, “If you invite me to your wedding, you’re an asshole,” and agrees that attending is usually just “the cost of doing business as a friend.” The only exception might be an unusually appealing theme, such as their friend T&D’s “Enchanted Woodland” dress code. They say fake-dopamine shopping sites—where users buy imaginary vacations or products that never arrive—make more intuitive sense because they deliver the thrill of shopping without the expense.

Ben then discusses Clavicular, a popular looks-maxing influencer who claimed at the All-In Summit that he invented the peptide movement. Clavicular is considering a men’s skincare and makeup line and asked interested people to email him. Sam says he would not email him, while Sean calls the idea reasonable and compares it with Kylie Jenner’s success in women’s beauty. Shaan uses Bryan Johnson as the main example of how an internet personality can turn attention into a business. He calls Johnson “the Michael Jordan of social media,” saying Johnson constantly creates reaction-generating content—from live-streaming psychedelic use to discussing his wife’s urine—and turned that attention into Blueprint. Blueprint reportedly generates roughly $40–50 million annually, while a high-end protocol waitlist represented more than $100 million in potential revenue without much marketing. The hosts think Clavicular could similarly help create a men’s beauty market, but warn that being both a celebrity influencer and a capable CEO is unusually difficult. They point to Emma Grede’s work with the Kardashians and Congo Brands’ founders, who built Alani Nu and Prime while remaining largely anonymous, as evidence that a behind-the-scenes operator may be essential. Their conclusion: the influencer can create demand, but someone equally strong may need to run the business.

Ben shows the group Elon Musk’s new Tesla Roadster announcement. The car, developed in collaboration with SpaceX, is shown driving up a curved ramp and traveling upside down. The hosts explain that it stays attached through aerodynamic suction and that an optional “rocket package” would put SpaceX rocket boosters in the car, allowing it to perform extraordinary acceleration and handling. Sam repeatedly asks the practical question: why would anyone want rockets in a car? The answer is essentially that it is awesome, and that owners could use it on private tracks much as gun owners use a firing range. The excitement is tempered by Tesla’s history of delayed Roadster promises. Shaan says the best possible demonstration would have included proof of when customers would actually receive the car; “punctuality would have been nice.” At a San Francisco table, someone described the demo as a Rorschach test separating people with vision from fundamentally lame people, a line the hosts mock while admitting the product is impressive. They also quote Nikita’s viral post: “Sometimes a demo is simply meant to remind the world that your competition has no desire to dream and no ability to evolve.” The group likes the spectacle but does not put down a deposit.

Ben says Elon also announced a plan to give one SpaceX share to every child in America—roughly 72 million children, representing around $10 billion in value. The hosts contrast this with Anthropic’s reported plan to give value to an effective-altruism-related foundation rather than directly to individuals. They agree that putting an actual asset in each child’s account is far more psychologically powerful than donating to an intermediary. Shaan argues this could begin Elon’s redemption arc because recipients and their families would become emotionally invested in SpaceX. He shares a story about a family member who had kept her retirement money in cash, then accidentally bought about $500,000 worth of SpaceX stock while intending to invest $3,000. After the stock initially fell, loss aversion stopped her from selling. She became obsessed with Starship launches, prediction markets, and SpaceX reporting—even skipping an event to watch a launch live. Shaan says the investment made her aligned with the company’s success, much like giving a child a rare Pokémon card can turn the child into a Pokémon collector. The hosts think the giveaway is a powerful adoption and loyalty strategy, although Shaan doubts Elon can avoid behavior that will upset people over the next four years.

Ben highlights a Men’s Health YouTube series called “Gym and Fridge,” including a segment with Andrew Huberman. Huberman says he owns cucumbers and eats two or three a day; he also recommends Momentous protein and displays an affiliate code, “Huberman 15,” in the fridge segment. The hosts joke that Huberman routinely says viewers should consult their doctor even though they want to treat him as their doctor, and they imagine rebooting Grey’s Anatomy with him as the male lead. Ben says the main appeal is the “Gym and Fridge” brand, which he thinks could inspire a similar My First Million format combining physical habits with business or investing—for example, “boxers and your portfolio.” The discussion then shifts to creative hobbies. Sean has started piano, while another creator, Epic Gardening’s Kevin, taught himself sketching and became impressively good. Shaan recalls Tim Ferriss describing a daily “creative gym” session: just as exercise charges the body, drawing, music, or brainstorming can charge the mind. The activity does not need to become a business; it can simply create flow and refill the person’s battery. The hosts admit that after putting their children to bed, their own preferred “creative” activity is usually watching television.

Ben summarizes Peter Levels’ shift from building AI apps in 2022 to saying he no longer believes in ordinary SaaS unless it has a strong moat. Levels identifies proprietary data or content, network effects, audience or distribution, physical capital, and regulation as defensible advantages. Shaan says Levels is probably being somewhat alarmist but remains one of his favorite thinkers. A debate involving Beehiv’s Fred Tyler made Shaan more concerned: Tyler listed the many components a competitor would need to replicate, but Shaan says only about 2% of Americans currently pay for ChatGPT or Claude, so the market is still early and could change quickly. The hosts prefer moats where AI does not perform the core job but makes delivery cheaper or easier. Amazon is their example: people will still want physical goods, while robots could reduce manufacturing, warehouse, and delivery costs. They also favor businesses based on human presence, including live sports, art, entertainment, and communities such as Hampton, because customers want people and shared experiences rather than AI substitutes. Shaan adds that Levels’ own life—making roughly $2–3 million per year from a laptop in Bali with a small team—is more aspirational to many people than being a stressed billion-dollar founder. They contrast this with Sam’s father-in-law, who worked six days a week for decades running a commercial moving company.

Ben shows Bryan Johnson, who is approximately 49, training to dunk a basketball as proof that he is becoming younger, fitter, and healthier. The hosts call this a smart social-media benchmark: hemoglobin levels attract limited attention, while a nearly 50-year-old man trying to dunk is visually compelling. Johnson reportedly stands 6 feet tall, has a 91-inch standing reach, and says he needs a 39-inch vertical—above the cited 35.5-inch NBA average—to dunk. Sam, who has played basketball and volleyball, argues that Johnson may misunderstand the challenge by focusing on strength and ground force. Dunking also requires coordination, approach timing, and the “penultimate step,” which is familiar to people who grew up playing basketball or volleyball. Sean says he included dunking in his own fitness challenge alongside doing the Murph and losing weight, but has not actually started training because he believes losing 25 pounds will make an alley-oop dunk possible. The hosts mention Jason Kelce’s six-month dunk attempt as a more favorable comparison because he is 6'4", was a professional athlete, and could palm the ball. Sean bets Johnson will not dunk; Ben bets he will, with a Five Guys burger at stake.

Ben shares Alexander Wang’s view that failure matters less than how big you eventually win, and that in a changing world the biggest risk is not taking any risk. The hosts connect this to their positive view of Mark Zuckerberg, saying this mindset keeps Meta dynamic instead of letting it become slow and bureaucratic. Shaan then recounts a conversation with Stanford instructor and investor James Currier, who gives founders a “speed talk.” Currier tells them they think they are moving quickly but are not, then asks what is slowing them down. His answer is often fear: fear of being wrong, changing one’s mind, asking for money, or being rejected. Currier says founder psychology is the highest point of leverage in a business, and the most important part of founder psychology is identifying what the founder fears and avoids. He has advised companies such as Poshmark and found that the most valuable intervention is often psychological rather than a growth tactic. Founders frequently reach an “effort moment” when cash is nearly gone; urgency makes them decide faster, simplify the product, and stop being precious. The hosts joke that the lesson is to yell at one’s business partner, but they clearly take the underlying point seriously.

Ben plays a clip of NBA player Jalen Brown describing his favorite purchase: a gold harp and a harpist who comes twice a week while the sun sets and the chef cooks. The hosts call it one of the craziest rich-person purchases they have heard. They then compare YouTube recommendation feeds. Jensen Huang’s algorithm reportedly includes fried rice, geopolitics, dogs, and panda bears; the hosts’ feeds include succession clips, live music, piano tutorials, conspiracies about aliens and Jesus, Luka Dončić highlights, children’s cartoons, and fitness content. They invite listeners to identify their own unexpected “fried rice.” The final story is Ben’s younger brother Sam Levy, a Phoenix real-estate agent who has listened to the show for years and started many side businesses. Inspired by the podcast’s advice to package an unsexy local service like a polished direct-to-consumer brand, he launched Howdy Pest, wrapped a truck, built a website largely with AI, hired a technician, and booked his first $1,000 in revenue during the first week. The hosts praise the branding and encourage Phoenix listeners to use the service, jokingly setting goals of $3,000 and then $10,000 in revenue. They offer to coach him toward $1 million and close by directing listeners to Ben Levy on Twitter for more interesting finds.