Do you remember Fred? Schephil? Ray William Johnson?
Try this quick exercise: Close your eyes and try to name five YouTubers who had over a million subscribers in 2009. It’s the OGs who ruled the platform when Charlie Bit My Finger peaked content and auto-tune remixes were revolutionary, not today’s creators.
Struggle? You are not alone.
I recently fell down a YouTube rabbit hole (sort of) and came across an old channel that I follow religiously. The creator had 2 million subscribers in 2009. Today? The channel sits abandoned, with comments from confused viewers wondering what happened. This really hit home for me – this person was once YouTube royalty and I had completely forgotten they existed.
It’s a strange phenomenon when you think about it. These creators pulled in numbers that would make today’s influencers jealous, but most of us can’t even remember their usernames. They shaped internet culture, created the video formats we still see today, and then…were erased from our collective memory.
What happened to them? And most importantly, what can we learn from their rise and fall?
1. Forgotten pioneers who shaped everything
Let’s talk about Marriage for a moment. Ryan Higa became the first person to reach 3 million subscribers. Think about it – in a world before influencer marketing, brand deals and YouTube millionaires, this guy was pulling in big numbers doing comedy skits in his bedroom.
Or take KevJumba. This dude had over a million subscribers by 2009, made videos about Asian stereotypes and his father. He was getting tens of millions of views per video. Today? Chances are, most Gen Z creators don’t know who he is.
Then there was Shane Dawson – okay, people still know him, but for very different reasons. In 2009, he was making a character comedy that seemed almost outlandish by today’s standards. Hour long documentaries, no arguments, just a guy in a wig making jokes.
These creators didn’t just make videos; they invented the plan. Jump cuts? They popularized them. Confessors turning straight to camera? They normalized it. An idea to build a personal brand through video content? They were guinea pigs.
2. Why success does not guarantee longevity
That’s what fascinates me about this whole thing: these creators had it all. Mass audience, cultural fit, first mover advantage. But for some reason, most of them could not withstand it.
Why?
The platform developed faster than them. In 2009, YouTube was about five-minute comedy sketches and vlogs filmed on webcams. By 2015, it required high production values, longer content, and constant adaptation to algorithm changes.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially after reading about the Buddhist concept of impermanence. Everything changes, nothing stays the same. These YouTubers learned this lesson the hard way. In my book Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How to Live with Maximum Impact and Minimum EgoI explore how attachment to success can actually become our biggest obstacle.
Instead of evolving with their audience, many of these creators were trying to recreate their early success. They continued to create the same content that worked in 2009, not realizing that their audience had grown and gone.
3. The burnout no one talks about
At the time, no one really understood creator burnout. These pioneers uploaded daily, sometimes several times a day, without any team, editor or manager. Just them, the camera and the pressure to entertain millions of people.
I remember working in that warehouse in Melbourne, changing TVs all day, thinking I was exhausted. But at least I was done when I got off work. These creators? They were always “open”. Every life experience has been turned into potential content. Every moment was measured by its loading.
Take Mystery Guitar Man. Joe Penna created incredibly complex videos, frame-by-frame animations. He hit a million subscribers doing this crazy, unstoppable thing. Finally, he just…stopped. He switched to directing films. Can you blame him?
The psychological impact was real. Many creators from that era have since spoken out about anxiety, depression, and an identity crisis stemming from viewing your self-worth in numbers and subscriber numbers.
4. Platform changes that leave them behind
YouTube’s algorithm is like a shape-shifting beast, and these early creators were its first victims.
In 2012, YouTube switched from prioritizing views to viewing time. Suddenly, those quick five-minute videos that made these creators famous became algorithmic poison. The platform wanted longer content, more engagement, more of everything.
Then came the advertiser-friendly content guidelines. Edgy humor flying in 2009? Demonetization. Controversial topics? Shade is prohibited. Many creators have watched their income disappear overnight.
Some adapted. Smosh has become a media company. Rhett and Link became talk show hosts. But many others just couldn’t turn it around. They were comedians being asked to turn into a corporation, and that’s not an easy transition.
5. Where are they now? (And why it matters)
Some of these forgotten YouTubers found happiness away from the camera. KevJumba became a monk for a while (seriously). Ray William Johnson produces content behind the scenes. Others focused on completely different platforms or careers.
What surprises me is how many of them seem happier now. There’s something liberating about stepping away from the constant performance of Internet fame.
But the real question is: what does this mean for today’s creators?
Will the YouTubers who killed him now – MrBeast, Emma Chamberlain, whoever – suffer the same fate? Will we forget them too?
6. Tutorials for anyone building something online
Whether you’re a content creator, entrepreneur, or someone trying to build a career in our digital age, these forgotten YouTubers offer important lessons.
First, diversify your personality outside of your work. These creators often felt lost when their channels were rejected because of their online personas. As I discussed Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How to Live with Maximum Impact and Minimum Egomaintaining a sense of self beyond our accomplishments is essential to long-term well-being.
Second, evolution transcends sequence. Yes, consistency builds audiences, but evolution maintains them. The surviving creators adapted relentlessly. They were not valuable in their old format.
Third, build systems, not just content. Ongoing creators have turned their channels into businesses with teams, multiple revenue streams, and strategic planning. One-man shows rarely survive long-term.
Since recently becoming a father, I’ve been thinking a lot about sustainability and legacy. What we build must be able to exist without constantly feeding it. These early YouTubers built audiences, but not systems. When they burned, everything fell apart.
Last words
The forgotten YouTube millionaires of 2009 were not failures. They were the pioneers that paved the way for today’s creative economy. They proved that individuals can build media empires from their bedrooms. They showed us what was possible.
But they also showed us the price.
Their stories remind us that internet fame is fleeting, platforms change, and success in one era does not guarantee relevance in the next. They learned these lessons so that today’s creators don’t have to.
Next time you watch your favorite YouTuber, remember Fred, remember Kassem Gi, remember all those creators whose names you’ve forgotten. They left so MrBeast could escape. They burned so others could learn about self-care. They were demonetized so others could diversify.
Being strangely forgotten may be their greatest achievement. They proved that there is life after internet fame, you can build something big and then walk away, your worth is not measured in the number of subscribers.
Maybe not to be remembered. Maybe it’s about what you learn, how you grow, and who you become along the way.
And right? Most of them seem pretty okay with that.
