I Shadowed IShowSpeed, Here's What Happened

It’s day two of ComplexCon and the second floor of the Las Vegas Convention Center is getting crowded. While the first floor is packed with people shopping on the convention floor, the second floor is comparatively tranquil. There’s a conference room full of Complex staff clacking away at keyboards, a hospitality room where bartenders pour drinks for industry bigwigs, a makeshift photoset where a lonely photographer idles away, a breakroom for security, a 900-seat auditorium for ComplexConversations, and several green rooms for talent.

There’s just one problem: IShowSpeed is here. And fans are sneaking into places they shouldn’t be, inching towards one of the green rooms hoping to catch an IRL glimpse.

A group of boys ascend from an escalator. One of them, dressed in a black hoodie, Realtree camo pants, and scuffed-up New Balances, asks a security guard: “Do you know where Speed is?” The guard shows no interest in helping him locate the internet’s most popular streamer.

Another group of guys—one of whom must be a Playboi Carti acolyte, as he’s draped in a hoodie with devil horns—posts up near security’s breakroom, perhaps assuming a flock of guards is an indicator of Speed’s location. (It’s not.)

Then there’s Bigloaaf, a Kick streamer with long blonde dreads who livestreamed his time at ComplexCon. “I always wanted to meet Speed, no glaze,” he says on stream, while sitting in the audience for a live taping of his hero’s appearance on 360 With Speedy. As soon as the convo ended, Bigloaaf tried rushing the stage, only to be rebuffed by security. Now he’s looking for the green room, telling his viewers he’s determined to get a photo with his biggest inspiration.

It wasn’t always this hectic for Speed. Born Darren Jason Watkins Jr. in Cincinnati, Ohio, he started streaming in December 2017. His streamer handle came from his childhood nickname "Speedy"(he credits running from dogs for making him fast). His first stream was literally amateur hour; the then-12-year-old played Fortnite for only two viewers and forgot to turn on his mic. Fast forward to today, and Speed, now 19, has a channel that boasts over 33 million YouTube subscribers. His "IRL Stream in Indonesia" garnered over one million live viewers, the most for an English-speaking streamer ever.

He’s become the most entertaining person on the internet. Kids writer and Spring Breakers director Harmony Korine called Speed the “new Tarkovsky”—the legendary Soviet film director known for long takes—adding, “What’s happening in Hollywood … is that they’re losing a lot of the most talented and creative minds to gaming and streamers. Like IShowSpeed is a movie.”

That movie is always on. Speed is famous for his globe-trotting adventures on YouTube, fans watch him jump over cars, race professional athletes, get attacked by fire-breathing dogs, fanboy over his idol Cristiano Ronaldo, and get mobbed by fans.

With that in mind, tension is in the air back in Las Vegas. Fans keep popping up like comments in the chat. But preparation is in place. Eight security guards emerge from behind black curtains, looking like a casting call for The Expendables. Sending the big guns might seem excessive. After all, at ComplexCon, you’ll catch everyone from rappers like 2 Chainz to Olympians like Noah Lyles (more on him later) to WWE stars like Cody Rhodes freely walking the floor.

Yet, Speed is no regular celebrity. Behind ComplexCon headliners Playboi Carti and Travis Scott, Speed is easily the most beloved and famous person here. Some celebrities don’t like going in public for fear they’ll get recognized. But not all fame is built the same. When Lyles—the world’s fastest man who narrowly beat Speed in a recent race— walked the ComplexCon floor, some fans took pics with him, while others trolled him, flashing “SPEED BEAT YOU” on their phones.

As a point of comparison, earlier this year, when Speed visited a random gift shop in Norway, hundreds of fans gathered outside in just 20 minutes. He had to be escorted out as fans pulled his hair, jumped on his car, and started a mini riot. The world’s fastest man is no match for the world’s most popular English-speaking streamer.

That might be why when Speed finally emerges from the ComplexCon green room, he’s got a 15-person entourage. The fans are ready, though. Some are polite enough to stand back and yell “I love you!” while snapping phone pics as he walks by.

Others are more aggressive. As Speed and crew make their way to an elevator, Bigloaaf darts to him, and he’s got a gang of other fans with him. “Speed, you’re my GOAT!” yells one. “Just one picture!” yells another. Loaff tries to get in the elevator with Speed but gets boxed out. Before the doors can close, someone shouts “Look at me!” and barks.

“Streaming is like the new era, it just is what it is right now,” said Speed, on stage with Speedy. “Streaming is a way we can talk to our fans every day… and interact with what's going on with the world every single day. People like to see genuine live stuff, people would rather watch a livestream rather than a video.”

That idea might seem counterintuitive to people over 30 whose idea of a livestream is a highly produced awards show with a seven-second broadcast delay or a nauseating CNN pundit regurgitating corporate talking points. For people under 30, however, the concept of “TV” isn’t shaped by linear television; it’s shaped by YouTube—the most beloved public utility on the internet.

On stage, Speed explained he aspired to be a YouTuber—as opposed to a Twitch, Kick, or Rumble streamer—because he considered it the “most stamped” platform, i.e., the most legit. And he’s right. YouTube is to Gen Z what television was for millennials and Gen X. It’s the overlooked yet obvious center of culture: A 2024 Pew Research report on Americans’ Social Media Use claimed YouTube is on the whole “the most widely used online platform,” especially for teens.

It’s not just Gen Z though; everyone uses YouTube, even your parents. In the Pew report, YouTube was grouped in with platforms like Instagram, the epicenter of millennial cringe, or Facebook, the washed auntie retirement home, but YouTube is more media than social. You likely follow at least some of your IRL friends and family on Instagram, but the YouTube pages you follow are almost entirely parasocial.

“I can’t go anywhere in this world, in any country, without somebody knowing me,” said Speed, on stage during 360. “It's been moments when I went to a country, when I fly in, literally everybody's waiting on me. Like, how ya know I'm flying in?”

He appreciates the recognition, but it doesn't come without occasional frustration.

“There’s always a line, and sometimes a country goes over that line where I can't even walk around and try their food or interact with people.”

As Speed emerges from the elevator, there’s two things he’s determined to do: play the Secreto Maximus soccer tournament inside of a cage at Travis Scott’s Cactus Colosseum and hit Jacob and Co. to get a $29,000 Epic x Heart CR7 watch.

He makes his way to the arena and the vibration changes. There’s a mad rush from Nike staff to get him a jersey. “Do we have a medium? Do we have a medium??” asks one worker to another, who immediately skirts away to find Speed a jersey. Behind him there’s a kid screaming into his phone, “No! Come here, I’m with Speed!” A soccer player who had been waiting to play in the tournament turns to his buddy and exclaims, “We’re gonna play with Speed, bro!” as they dap each other up. Once Speed gets suited up and enters the cage, the announcer remarks, “Damn, we got an audience all of a sudden.”

The five-a-side street soccer games are played inside a cage, with the first team to score three goals declared the winner. During his 360 convo, Speed made bold claims about his athletic prowess, stating that he was a “four- or five-star” high school recruit in both basketball and football; that he intended to compete in the 2028 Olympics; and that he could easily beat Jake Paul in a boxing match. The first soccer game backs up his claims: His team wins 3-2, and he scores the winning goal.

The second game is tougher. The kids who dapped each other up before are in the game now. When miscommunication leads Speed’s team to give up an uncontested goal, his competitive side emerges as he throws his hands up in frustration. Suddenly he’s going full tilt, hip-checking his opponent on the next play and nearly scoring. It’s too late, though; his team ends up losing 3-1, and he puts his hands on his knees in defeat. After working up a sweat, he loses his shirt, revealing the Ronaldo tattoo on his arm that he got last year.

“He’s usually shirtless by now,” remarks one member of Speed’s entourage.

By now, it seems like everyone has heard he’s here. There’s a few dozen fans with their phones out yelling at him to his left. There’s an identical group 30 feet to his right. There’s another litany of fans surrounding the cage (including Bigloaaf) who stuck their phones in between the fencing to get footage of him playing. He doesn’t actually make it to the Jacob and Co. booth; instead they come to him to hand-deliver a green Cristiano Ronaldo watch. He currently wears the red one every day, but now he’s got a complete set.

“I need that! I need that!” he says, opening up the box.

Speed interacts with some fans on his way out, but one tries grabbing him. That’s the closest they’ll get because security steps in once again. He exits the arena via the convention center’s secret tunnels and backdoors. Bigloaaf spots Speed’s entourage in the distance on his stream and realizes he won’t get his pic. “Oh, he gone. We tried bro—motivation though,” he tells his viewers. A second later, he’s over it. “Let’s get some content, man,” he says. The stream doesn’t stop.

Two black Escalades are waiting in a lot, ready to whisk Speed off. He hops over a barricade while his team politely zigzags through it. As he’s leaving, a bored security guard, one not part of his detail, yells “I can beat you in a race!” Everyone wants a piece of Speed, but if you want one, you better keep up.