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Emma Chamberlain and I are sitting in our bedrooms in our pajamas, talking to virtual versions of each other on our laptops' glowing monitors. It could be an unbridgeable distance, the only warmth emitting from my PC's hot, breathy exhaust vents, but Chamberlain, with her gravelly voice, knees drawn up to her chin, hair hastily pulled into a bun that misses all the front pieces, makes it feel like we are the kind of friends who stay up late talking. I certainly feel that way. So do her millions of followers.
It's hard to describe who Chamberlain is and what she does. Even she can't do it when I ask her to try: "If an Uber driver is asking me, I'll say I'm just a college student because I don't want to get into it." Chamberlain doesn't plan to go to college. She's already become so many things the brightest, summa cum laudest graduates hope to be, and some they would never dream of being: an entrepreneur with her own direct-to-consumer business, a content creator who counts Louis Vuitton among her ongoing collaborators, and a podcast host (Anything Goes, produced by Ramble) in which people exchange their valuable free time for the opportunity to hear Chamberlain talk about any topic of her choosing.
Chamberlain's career began when she started a YouTube channel two years ago, as a high school student in the San Francisco Bay Area. She vlogged about anything that struck her fancy (melting a bunch of lip balm together to make one mega, mutant lip balm; shopping at dollar and thrift stores; driving around in her Subaru).
Though her occupation is murky, her singularity is clear. There are not many 18-year-old, self-made millionaires. There are even fewer who can count themselves so famous that their fans outnumber the citizens in some countries (Switzerland, Singapore, and Swaziland are all somewhere on the list). And I would bet that there are even fewer in that group who give really good breakup advice. In passing, I mention a recent split, and she immediately launches into girlfriend-triage mode. "It's so stressful," she says, enumerating several of the painful events I will have to endure in the aftermath of the break (seeing my ex again, possibly reestablishing a friendship). Plenty of fun ahead, she promises. "We can be each other's wing women when we can finally leave the confines," Chamberlain says. "Being single now kind of blows. It's like, ‘Can I go to Saddle Ranch?'"
We can't go to Saddle Ranch. Like the rest of the world, we cannot go anywhere that isn't a pharmacy or a hospital or a grocery store. But Chamberlain and I did meet in person — about 30 days before that virtual bedroom conversation. Back in that other world, we wheeled around Target's beauty and snack aisles with a big red cart and a modest expense budget, periodically getting stopped by fans with whom she was "absolutely, absolutely" happy to take a photo. Then, in the weeks that followed, the globe began to pulse with news of a spreading threat, a breath-stealing virus, COVID-19. California Governor Gavin Newsom issued a stay-at-home order a few days after Chamberlain's Allure shoot, and paradoxically, I was left to interact with her in the only way most people have been interacting with her for years: online.
First, we link up on Houseparty, where we guess slang by its definition and play Pictionary; the interview is unusable because we are laughing too hard and too much. Then we talk on Zoom, the suddenly ubiquitous video chat that now hosts 99 percent of American social interactions. Interviews can be daunting, but they are less so when each participant is nestled in their bedroom wearing sweatpants. Chamberlain flips her screen to show me Frankie, her white kitten, sulking in the corner. She tells me how her life has been since we were ordered to stay at home. She's been worried about her parents, who still live in the Bay Area, at the time a COVID-19 hot spot, and checks in on them daily via phone. But in many ways, Chamberlain is relieved to have a reason to press pause. "I can't put in my two-week notice and then go and do a little vacation, because I'm my own boss," she says. "Weekends are not off for me. Nighttime, morning, early in the morning, there are no limits... I've been going for two years straight. So this is kind of a nice forced break." She's been passing the time playing Fortnite (a first for her), painting, and coming up with new ideas for videos. "It's given me a lot of time to think. I have a lot of [new] ideas, which is such a relief because, my God, being out of ideas as a YouTuber is so tough. You end up making content people hate and then you get roasted," Chamberlain says.
The irony is not lost on me, a struggling M.B.A. candidate, that Chamberlain bypassed college and has already singlehandedly cracked the code to audience engagement, branding strategy, and influencer marketing. And that was before she founded her own business: Chamberlain started selling her blend of roasted coffee under the name Chamberlain Coffee this year, and she calls the shots for the brand's handful of dedicated employees. "It's kind of weird being like, ‘Hi, 30-year-old grown adult. I want you to do this for me,'" she says.
It's in these moments when she's worried about being a good boss, or explaining how she cried on the phone with her parents when eager customers were temporarily not getting their orders, that it's most clear what sets Chamberlain apart from the sea of other high schoolers willing to document their lives with minimal editing. Her paradoxical approach to self-effacement — and her magnetism as a personality — makes her something of a "people's princess." (She says she never planned on being internet famous; she always dreamed of opening a café and still hopes to.) As much as she is wildly authentic, Chamberlain is also thoughtful and has the increasingly rare gift of being able to give you her full attention. I never sense that she's itching to pull out her phone, checking the time, or uninvested in our conversation. This is the side of Chamberlain that you won't see online: "On the internet, I'm just kind of my goofy self," she says. "But I actually do have a side of me that's very business-minded, more analytical and thoughtful about things. I wish that would come to the front more."
In the BC era (before COVID-19), Chamberlain met me dressed in vintage Levi's, a Calvin Klein crewneck sweatshirt, and worn Nike tennis shoes, her hair in a high ponytail, and carrying a teeny Louis Vuitton bag — the only clue that she is a big freaking deal. She leaned on the cart's handlebar for support as we scanned those Target aisles. "I put on makeup for you," she says, "but I actually think I look worse with makeup now that I'm on Accutane because it [the foundation or concealer] just crisps up." For the record, she doesn't look worse with makeup; her features are delicate, her wide eyes are a pale, crisp shade of blue — usually reserved for shading glaciers — and her ready laugh makes her presence feel instantly familiar. She is grateful when I swap out an item she picked for one that looks less dirty. I joke that I'm being like my mother. "Do you know how much I appreciate that, though?" Chamberlain says, earnest for a minute. "My mom doesn't travel with me, so I need you to do it." She finds ways to look out for me too, advising me to take home Aztec Secret Indian Healing Clay, a 100 percent calcium bentonite clay mask you're supposed to mix with apple cider vinegar. "When I was using it for a few weeks, my skin was glowing," Chamberlain says. "I would wake up and look like a newborn." She picks up a sheet mask that makes it look like you have the face of a cartoon flamingo. "Four dollars for one mask? This better be the best thing in my life," she says before putting it back, examining it again, and finally deciding to toss it in the cart. Unlike most internet stars, Chamberlain doesn't rely on brands to send her free products for her beauty routine. "Even if I did a deal with [a brand], and I like it, I will literally go and buy it myself. I've done it hundreds of times," she says.
Back in our present (virtual) reality, Chamberlain's appeal is becoming more and more apparent. In the middle of a pandemic, people have begun to sour on the cadre of uber-perfect influencers; many have publicly fallen from grace for showing their privilege in gauche missteps. But Chamberlain's following has rapidly grown. They want somebody more like them, and here she is. In fact, she'd like this to be her legacy: "I hope I would be seen as somebody who, this is kind of a big thing to say, is an inspiration to other girls — to anybody — to be a little bit more honest on the internet," Chamberlain says. "Growing up on the internet, it was just a lot of fake stuff. Since I started on YouTube, many people are being so much more real, and I would like to think that I added to that, that I helped make people feel better in their own skin." Chamberlain hesitates. Not many of us have to pinpoint our place in the American cultural landscape, ever, much less at 18. Finally, she puts it into words: "I would hope that people say, 'She lifted the curtain.'"
Photographed by Lindsay Ellary. Fashion stylist: Leah Adicoff. Hair: Laura Polko. Colorist: Daniel Moon. Makeup: Kali Kennedy. Manicure: Marisa Carmichael.
This story originally appeared in the June/July 2020 issue of Allure. Learn how to subscribe here.
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