Draft Four: When deception leads to harm
What Huberman's secret life reveals about our relationship
A few days ago, I got home a little earlier than usual, and I was preparing for an evening of Football Manager (don’t judge). Then I checked the feeds and came across a New York magazine profile of Andrew Huberman called Mechanisms of Control. Huberman – for those that somehow have not encountered him – is a neuroscientist turned podcaster, who has famously long and jargony conversations with doctors, researchers and other science-types. (Though other scientists rightfully questions some of the guests’ credibility).
Huberman’s aim, he says, is to turn science into actionable advice for your life: how to sleep better, eat better, lose weight, whatever. I always thought about it like self-improvement for people who live according to rigid formulas. It’s why I never became a consumer: “get X minutes of sun, within Y minutes of waking up, at ideally this angle” sounded too prescriptive for me. (I’m in the “get some sun exposure in life; not too much” camp.)
The story hooked me though and made me think about the assumptions journalists and readers operate from, and the difficulty of bridging our divides. This also comes in the context of research on young Romanians I looked at last week where journalists were barely more trustworthy than politicians. (Just 14% say they trust journalists).
Before we get to those assumptions, I thought I’d quickly track the journey as a reader of the story. The promise is obvious: the author will uncover something about Huberman that will dent his superstar status. As I start reading it doesn’t seem like it’ll take direct issue with the science – the journalist actually admits to benefitting from some of Huberman’s advice. Then it gets personal: he’s flaky, and a tad of a taker, in it for himself.
OK, but is this enough for a cover story, I wonder? Then we get into his intimate relationships: a girlfriend he doesn’t treat right, and whom he tries to mold to his liking. Some gaslighting is also going on. Oh, then there’s some cheating. OK, so: bad friend, bad partner. But then there are three women, four, five, six – all longtime partners who he is dating at the same time (without them being aware) and promising a future to. Not a good look. He denies everything. Also, there are questions about how much science the man still engages with. And a serious question towards the end: is Huberman using the podcast to work out (or sometimes even justify) his transgressions? Is a combination of personal history and fame detrimental when you’re not a well-adjusted adult? Especially if you have millions of people hanging onto your words?
In all honesty, I started off as a skeptical reader, but by the end I found it to be one of the better pieces in the genre of “celebrity takedowns”. And then I found myself thinking about why we do journalism like this, and also why some readers don’t care for it (or think we’re just after “their people”). I’d like to catalogue a few “yes, and...”s as a way of working through this. Hope they are useful to you as well.
We love taking down people. I’m generalizing here, but there is an inherent pleasure journalists get from seeing powerful people fall. ANY powerful people: politicians, athletes, artists, corporate managers, civic leaders, it doesn’t matter. This is how you are socialized in the profession: the people in the spotlight are a target – if you don’t go after them, you’re not doing your job. The instinct is fine; the danger is when it’s coupled with a messianic sense of justice. I was just recently reading about the fallout from an investigation into local corruption and the framing was: “heads are rolling”. Cynicism is worse and many of us do turn into cynics as well (exposure to news is bad for you), people for whom it’s a badge of honor to reveal to the rest of us poor saps how “life really works”.
And we believe it’s good for you. This is important. Most reporters, certainly many of those still doing field work, have an unwavering commitment to the idea of “public good”. We believe in our heart of hearts that you need to know this – in this case you need to understand Huberman is a terrible partner, so you can make a more informed decision about his podcast. You need to understand how many cars a mayoral candidate has. We don’t go into people’s lives out of pure pleasure. Cynics, yes. But hopeful ones. This is why it helps to understand part of our modern frustrations or why we’re scolding you (the citizens) for letting democracy die in darkness (or in plain sight). Next time a journalist laments TikTok and the fact that you’d rather ponder your vacation to Greece rather than the misdeeds of the city council remember that, in a way, like an overprotective parent, we believe we know better.
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We despise unsubstantiated claims. Journalists are about facts. If we get them wrong, we are wrong. Which is why we love studies, data, scientists, polls, and everything that looks like capital T Truth. The problem we run into is that we become dogmatic about what Truth is and how to measure it, or we cherry pick the facts that support of interpretation of the world. Because we do interpret the world. I heard an editor at a very important international news agency say recently “we play it straight: just give you the facts” as if her background, cultural baggage, or personal privilege didn’t exist. They do. So pure objectivity is nonsense. When we are questioning Huberman’s scientific precision, we appeal to our rational nature and point to the Truth. But we’re also the ones that often elude the gray area of science in service of punchier headlines: red wine is good for you, but carbs will kill you etc. In short, we love facts. But they sometimes get in our way as well.
And we don’t listen to what you need. For me this is the thorniest question that arises when pieces like the Huberman profile come out. Millions of people are not wrong. There is a service he is providing that we are not. So are other celebrity-influencers out there. People watch them not because of ignorance, but because they meet their need: to be seen, to get help to be better, for tools to save money, to find hacks to get rich, to get advice to find a partner even if that help comes in the form of crystals, to heal personal trauma etc. Yes, they hope all problems can be solved easily, but that’s the broken system of instant gratification we’re all contributing to.
Still: we dismiss the needs of the readers at our peril. They don’t simply need us to unmask Huberman the duplicitous man, or the possible frauds of Jay Shetty (another influencer with a dubious origin story). They also need us to fill that void with stories about how to be spiritual today. Or how to deal with stress. Or whatever. Journalists’ way of dismissing people’s personal needs – these are not important democracy-saving topics! – is making us irrelevant. I’d posit to journalists that if you help me save money when eating (this is why my friend Jo has over 25.000 subscribers to her meal planning newsletter!), you might have my ear when you say “it’s time to talk about transportation in our city”.
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You think we’re digging for dirt. Someone who read the Huberman story told me they thought the journalist was in it to create scandal. (Like so many of them do, this reader added). Part of her argument was built on the intimate details of the piece: we learn that Huberman and his partner tried in-vitro fertilization (there is a reference to him helping her with injections), and also that he might have given her an STD. Why expose such personal details if you’re not looking for a scandal? Or if it’s not meant to be a hit piece, as some have called it. Many years ago, in one of my earliest long-form profiles, I mentioned the brand of the fancy car the man I wrote about was driving. Someone told me I was doing “tabloid work” – and I was stunned.
We call it good work. Here’s a confession: this is what I always tell my students to get. Detail, detail, detail. Telling detail. Status detail. And, of course, to share it consensually. (Unless they’re looking into public officials or people with tons of institutional power). The reporting on the IVF and the STD was consensual. It was relevant to understand the depth of the relationship, to then understand the betrayal – I’m intuiting the logic because I’ve been in so many of these newsroom conversations. This level of intimacy if us at our best. When people accuse journos of “digging for dirt” they are sometimes pointing towards the things that took us months to get access to. For me, publishing personal messages of students in our stories on harassment was not an easy call – it took an enormous time to find them and then convince the women to let us run them. We were not aiming for salaciousness or scandal. Just the opposite: we were aiming for trust and meeting a burden of proof. I understand where the instinct to blame us comes from: we fuck up regularly, and we are often vultures preying on people’s personal lives. (See Kate Middleton). But for most of us, that’s not the goal.
You, dear reader, also read with your personal baggage. Here’s a tip: next time you feel like details are too intimate or too graphic (if we’re talking war they are) think not just of the journalist, but also of yourself. What is it about your background, beliefs, ideology, that influences how you read and what you see?
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We make stars and create storylines. (Maybe less so than before). I am a devoted reader of the Guardian’s football section. Every few weeks, a new storyline takes hold: Man United is the epitome of terrible club management, Man United is on a comeback to write home about, Man United is destined for mediocrity. Of course, all of those can be true, but they are also, in a way, made up by us. And yes, these days people don’t need the media to become stars: whether it’s a political candidate, a musician, or your next-door neighborhood on TikTok – they can bypass journalists. And do. But we still play the game as the kingmakers we consider ourselves to be.
Then we pretend it just happened. We crown the next star of whatever at 15, then five years later write about how they didn’t become who they were destined to be, and talk about succumbing to the pressure of being in the spotlight as if we were not the one shining it. Or look at figures like Donald Trump or other seemingly outrageous figures whom we amplified because they were entertaining (or because they drew ratings). Whether we create or just amplify the narrative, we definitely play a role. When we say we’re just “reflecting the world”, we’re not being honest. We’re also making it.
All in all, this is not an innocent game. Part of the beauty is that we play it like one – there is something endearing about the purpose of journalism to give people information so they can make better decisions and be free. But we too often avoid talking about the shadows, especially our power, our decisions, and how they shape our conversations and communities.
I do believe the Huberman piece took a lot of work, and it eventually made a case that character matters, and we should know more about the man behind the podcast. Whether we can then follow with journalism that offers a better alternative to his podcast, or that understands the needs of the audience, that is a different story.
SIDE DISHES:
Here’s a companion read to the Huberman read, about the way he exaggerates the science behind some of his claims. What I love most is less the nitpicking (scientists do pick on people simplifying their work), and more the realization of the writer that a lot of the responsibility for better information is also on other scientists: “We need good scientists and medical professionals sharing robust data, and we need resources to do that, and for those with platforms and influence to elevate it.”.
There is another piece I read recently that took on another celebrity’s character: Mr. Beast, the world’s most famous YouTuber. The argument? To be famous, you should just be a conduit for algorithms, a blank slate that people can project anything upon.
We also like “celebrity” politicians, especially when they give the establishment the middle finger, this conversation on the Ezra Klein show argues. The problem is that if they’re too good at it, they end up in power, and we end up with dictators.
I have started watching Netflix’s 3 Body Problem. Two episodes in I’m not as hooked as I was by Cixin Liu’s trilogy, but I won’t stop. I still remember being unable to put the books down a few summers back.
I’ve had this song on repeat for the last couple of weeks: The Beaches, Blame Brett.
Foarte bine scris. Nu-l știam pe Huberman (nenorocire!), până acum câteva zile, când o fană a scris despre scandalul sexual cu 6 femei. Nici nu o sa-l caut, dar analiza fenomenului de devorare a unei persoane publice mi-a plăcut.
"The broken system of instant gratification we're all contributing to" - am rezonat mult cu asta.
Ca și din textul acesta, ca și din orice se spune / scrie outthere de către oricine, cred că își ia fiecare ce are nevoie în acel moment. Iar uneori nevoia e atât de mare, cu suferință în spate poate, că filtrele personale (dacă le avem), pică. Mai ales când e vorba de online persona construită uneori să fie foarte diferită de persoana din viața reală. Întâlnind omul în carne și oase, am putea avea acces mai ușor la intuiția noastră, dacă să avem sau nu încredere. Online e mult mai greu.
Și de multe ori chiar vrem să credem povestea frumoasă care ni se vinde.