A few weeks ago, my Instagram algorithm started feeding me videos of a Miami-based content creator who looked to be living a lavish lifestyle. He was in fantastic shape, drove several supercars, and occasionally rubbed the inside of a banana peel on his face (I assume this is good for the skin). I thought he was a former professional athlete easing into retirement in the style of a South Florida crypto millionaire or megaclub DJ, but I was wrong. Our creator, Ashton Hall, who has more than 9 million followers, is, uh, a coach. Who coaches coaches. Hall wants us to believe his lavish lifestyle is paid for by getting on Zoom with amateur personal trainers and giving them his playbook. Needless to say, I was immediately hooked.
Hall’s morning routine videos have gone megaviral and spawned several copycats (some mocking, some in earnest). Not unlike actor Mark “Stay Prayed Up” Wahlberg, Hall hops out of bed at 3:55 a.m. to remove his nose strip and mouth tape (duh) and then proceeds to brush his teeth, groom his goatee, do push-ups on a balcony, read the Bible, journal, meditate, watch a sermon, dip his face in a giant bowl of ice filled with Saratoga bottled water (his brand loyalty is admirable), pack his Goyard duffel with ASRV workout gear, hit the steam room, and drive his brown Mercedes G-Wagon to an unidentified parking lot to do sprints with a chest rig (while his staff films him from the G-Wagon, which serves as a pace car.) Then it’s back to the crib, where Hall showers, rubs the aforementioned banana peel on his face, eats a hearty and healthy breakfast—prepared by the Hall content universe’s most mysterious side character, the assistant (or butler, or domestic partner) who exists in these videos only as a pair of disembodied helping hands—and dip his face in a giant bowl of ice filled with Saratoga water again, before putting on an ill-fitting suit and hopping on Zoom to tell somebody that “we gotta go ahead and get at least 10,000.” This all happens before 10 a.m.
Hustle and self-improvement culture has hit a tipping point, and Hall may be the face of it. Most of us aren’t trying to live a lifestyle so devoid of fun, excitement, and joy, but the proliferation of this approach to life has made some of us feel guilty about not doing enough. I am not saying that we should all be out drinking and doing cocaine without a care in the world, but what happened to balance? Hall’s approach is aspirational because of his perceived wealth, physique, and follower count, but there are other and more enjoyable ways to get in shape and make money.
The problem with this sort of content is we never see a peek behind the curtain. How is this guy really making money? Why does he have a twerp parading as an armed guard while he exercises? Is the Miami condo rented, borrowed, or owned? Is he underwater on the cars? I am not pocket checking, but these are all the questions I ask myself. Because I love to exercise, my algorithm is flooded with lesser versions of Hall—suburban dads drinking electrolyte powders and eating chicken and broccoli—and it’s become, well, fucking depressing. These guys don’t seem happy or fulfilled; they just seem busy and fit. I will continue to hit the gym every day, eat healthy, and try to take care of myself, but life is meant to be enjoyed, not optimized.
