Amy Poehler is a great podcaster. Good Hang is warm, funny, and unmistakably hers. This isn’t about her talent. It’s about the message the Golden Globes sent when they handed the inaugural podcast award to someone who entered the medium with a built‑in spotlight. Because the truth is, there are people who have been toiling in this space for a decade, building audiences from scratch, inventing formats, and shaping the medium long before Hollywood decided podcasting was worth a trophy. If the Globes wanted to honor the craft rather than the clout, there were better choices.
Take Crime Junkie. Whether you love or critique the true‑crime genre, you can’t deny the impact. It’s a show that started in Indianapolis, not a studio lot, and built its audience through consistency and storytelling. It helped define what modern true‑crime podcasting even is. That’s the kind of work that makes a medium. That’s the kind of work that deserves an inaugural award. And if the Globes felt compelled to choose someone with mainstream recognition, Rachel Maddow was right there. Ultra wasn’t just good — it was a masterclass in narrative journalism: historically rigorous, gripping, structurally elegant. Maddow didn’t win because she’s famous; she won the audience because she did the work.
And isn’t it strange — almost revealing — that Marc Maron wasn’t even nominated. His body of work is massive. He is, in every meaningful sense, the Apple‑equivalent of audio broadcasting: starting in a garage, building something out of nothing, and eventually creating a studio that became a cultural force. He didn’t just make a show. He made a blueprint. His absence from the nominee list tells you everything about what the Globes were actually rewarding.
And it’s not just the marquee names like Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark, whose My Favorite Murder helped define the conversational‑confessional genre and built an entire network from scratch. Or the atmospheric brilliance of Let’s Not Meet, which grew through mood, pacing, and the kind of intimate late‑night storytelling only podcasting can pull off. Think about The Moth, which practically invented the modern art of live, narrative storytelling — raw, unvarnished, human stories told without Hollywood polish. Or Risk!, which pushed the boundaries even further, giving people permission to tell the stories they “never thought they’d dare to share.” These shows didn’t just entertain; they expanded the emotional and structural vocabulary of podcasting. They proved that intimacy, vulnerability, and risk‑taking could be a medium’s defining strengths. And none of them were even in the running for the inaugural Golden Globe.
The Golden Globes weren’t honoring longevity, innovation, cultural impact, or the people who built the medium. They were honoring celebrity adjacency, Hollywood‑produced shows, and podcasts that feel like extensions of existing entertainment brands. It’s the same dynamic we see when celebrity memoirs dominate bestseller lists while career writers grind for years. Visibility is not merit. It’s infrastructure.
And that’s why this moment matters. The first award in a new category sets the tone. It tells the world what counts. And the Globes just told us that podcasting is no longer a grassroots medium; it’s an entertainment vertical. That’s not a crime. But it is a shift — and it deserves to be named. Because the people who built this medium from nothing deserved to be in the room for the first toast.
Scored by Copilot, conducted by Leslie Lanagan
Stories That Are All True 