The Celebrity Press Tour Isn’t Dead—It’s Just Having an Identity Crisis
Remember when movie stars could knock out a press tour with a Tonight Show appearance and a People magazine spread? Those quaint days feel about as relevant now as a Blockbuster membership card. In 2025’s fractured media landscape, celebrity promotion has morphed into something far more complex—and occasionally absurd.
Take last month’s viral moment when Oscar winner Emma Stone attempted the “One Chip Challenge” while promoting her latest film. The clip racked up 50 million views across platforms, spawned countless memes, and probably caused her publicist several sleepless nights. Yet somehow, it worked. The film opened to record numbers, proving that sometimes the path to box office success runs through a Carolina Reaper pepper.
The modern press circuit has developed its own peculiar rituals. There’s the “Chicken Circuit”—an unlikely rite of passage where celebrities prove their relatability by consuming poultry on camera. Whether it’s Paul Mescal sweating through Hot Ones or Sabrina Carpenter trading awkward banter on Chicken Shop Date, these moments have become strangely essential stops on the promotional journey.
Traditional media hasn’t completely lost its relevance—it’s just been forced to adapt or die. Late-night television shows now function primarily as content farms, chopping interviews into bite-sized clips designed for next-day social media consumption. Even venerable institutions like 60 Minutes have launched TikTok channels, though watching Anderson Cooper attempt trending dances hasn’t quite caught on (thank goodness).
The emergence of what industry insiders call the “newsletter aristocracy” represents perhaps the most fascinating shift in celebrity image-crafting. When rising stars like PinkPantheress share their carefully curated lists of favorite books and obscure vinyl records with boutique newsletters, they’re not just killing time—they’re methodically building their personal brands with surgical precision.
Daytime television, meanwhile, continues its strange existence as celebrity purgatory. That fever-dream energy of 4 AM tapings and forced enthusiasm hasn’t changed much since the ’90s. But now these appearances serve a different purpose. As one veteran publicist (who’d rather keep her Soho House membership than be named) puts it: “Female hosts have become modern-day reputation launders. Their tacit approval can rehabilitate even the most problematic celeb.”
Success in this landscape requires an almost impossible balancing act. Stars must maintain their traditional media presence while generating social media buzz, appear accessible while preserving their mystique, and seem spontaneous while following carefully planned scripts. It’s exhausting just writing about it—imagine having to live it.
The metrics for success have shifted dramatically. Nielsen ratings and magazine sales matter less than shares, likes, and that holy grail of promotional currency: the viral moment. When Meryl Streep showed up on Watch What Happens Live last week, the goal wasn’t just to promote her new series—it was to create something that would dominate social media feeds for days afterward.
Perhaps most telling is how this new landscape has democratized (or possibly decimated) the notion of celebrity hierarchy. When A-list actors find themselves competing for attention with TikTok creators doing elaborate coffee pours, the old rules about star power start to feel decidedly outdated.
Welcome to the brave new world of celebrity promotion—where chicken wings carry as much weight as Vogue covers, and newsletter recommendations matter more than red carpet appearances. The game hasn’t just changed; it’s playing in a different dimension entirely.
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