Photograph by Martin Schoeller. The night of January 10, 2013, was a triumph for Ben Shapiro, his first big score—but Jeremy Boreing, the Hollywood producer who’s the architect of Shapiro’s vertiginous rise, couldn’t get past the wardrobe. Dressed in a dark junior-banker suit, with his College Republican flop dangling over his forehead, Shapiro, then the editor at large at Breitbart News, had been booked on Piers Morgan Tonight to discuss his new book, Bullies: How the Left’s Culture of Fear and Intimidation Silences America, and to debate gun control. But Shapiro’s tactics revealed themselves shortly after the break, when he called out Morgan for “standing on the graves of the children of Sandy Hook” in order to criticize gun owners. “Honestly, Piers,” Shapiro said, “you’ve kind of been a bully on this issue.” He continued, “You tend to demonize people who differ from you politically.” At one point, he handed Morgan a pocket Constitution to educate him on the Second Amendment. Shapiro was both smart (he has a degree from Harvard Law) and obnoxious (he once described Palestinians as living in “open sewage”), snotty and fearless, and he displayed a preternatural talent for getting under the skin of gibbering libs. Fourteen minutes, and millions of views later, Shapiro had accomplished his goal: he’d gone viral. View more As he watched the Morgan hit, Boreing realized that Shapiro’s look, while perfectly adequate for a right-wing think-tank talking head, wasn’t going to cut it in many of the demographics they wanted to conquer. Shapiro quickly agreed to revise the right-wing-dork look, and the makeover began: Boreing and a wardrobe stylist emptied Shapiro’s closet almost completely, took him to Macy’s to re-stock, gave him an objectively better haircut, replaced his personal trainer, and presto, the Ben Shapiro look emerged—a decently-fitted button-up shirt in neutral blues and grays, tucked into better-fitting jeans, and a jacket that didn’t look too expensive. He wasn't exactly a GQ cover subject, but he was, quite crucially, no longer an Alex P. Keaton stereotype. “You can only be good at so many things. Ben is good at a great many things. This is not one of them,” said Boreing. “So, we structure it for him and simplify it for him. That’s why he always looks like Ben.” Before Shapiro, Boreing was a fairly obscure Hollywood figure, perhaps best known for helping to produce Etienne!, a buddy movie about a dying dwarf hamster. His primary political affiliation was as the managing director of Friends of Abe, a quasi-secretive salon of conservative entertainment-industry professionals, which he had taken over from Forrest Gump actor Gary Sinise. Years earlier, Andrew Breitbart, a celebrity in his own right within Friends of Abe, had introduced him to Shapiro, and they became fast friends, both serving time at Truth Revolt, a now-defunct Web site, started as the right’s answer to David Brock’s Media Matters, which churned out reliable content attacking the mainstream media and their secret funders. Truth Revolt placated its ancient donors at the David Horowitz Freedom Center, a nonprofit condemned by the Southern Poverty Law Center, but it was far too earnest, and barely made a ripple. Months before the Piers Morgan interview, Boreing and Shapiro had devised a site that would eventually become the Daily Wire, which they viewed as a next-gen media company representing the 21st-century right—an heir to Drudge and Breitbart, supercharged with modern-media hood ornaments, like podcasts and video, which happened to be Boreing’s specialty. To get attention, they needed personality: someone to put forward their attacks, and someone who could withstand being attacked, too. After the Morgan hit, it dawned on both that Shapiro had to become the brand. “‘You being a brand brings a lot of security. . . . You being a front man gives us a ton of security,” Boreing recalled telling him. “I can better accomplish that with video. I can expose a lot more people to you with video, I can expose them to you in a way that they’ll remember, because people are visual. . . . Let me make you famous and we’ll have a much louder voice and a much bigger platform to advance our interests.” Shapiro, who began his career in radio production working around Michael Savage and Laura Ingraham, recognized this reality, too. “People love Michael, and they love Laura, because they love Michael and they love Laura, not because they love what Michael and Laura are talking about,” he said, calling Boreing a “genius” for realizing this, long before the influencer genre had taken over pop culture. “For me, the ideas had always been paramount, and so it’s still bewildering to me that people want to engage with people rather than ideas, but that’s why I try and kind of use my platform to push ideas as much as I possibly can, or debate ideas.” Of course, the emphasis on debate and ideas eventually became a crucial part of the Ben Shapiro brand, itself. Five years later, Shapiro and Boreing, now the Daily Wire’s chief content officer and the “god-king” of the site (as the staffers call him), have become dominant players in right-wing digital media, and the Daily Wire has become an industry leader. Initially funded by fracking magnate Farris Wilks, the company has not had to seek any outside backers, according to Boreing, and became cash-flow positive within 14 months—10 months ahead of schedule. Boreing says the company now boasts 140 million page views a month; more than a million downloads per episode of The Ben Shapiro Show (the ninth-most downloaded podcast on iTunes in 2018, worldwide); sixty full-time employees, with plans to bring on more; 1.1 million subscribers on YouTube and over 400,000 on Shapiro’s personal page. And all in the span of three years, frequently beating several of the longer-established news sites on the right in terms of traffic (The Daily Caller, and video and podcast engagement (Breitbart, which has virtually no YouTube or podcasting presence). “The quality of the content is, obviously, the passion of the artist. The success of the content is marketing and distribution,” Boreing told me when I visited the Daily Wire’s studios in Sherman Oaks. “You can raise money and make a film that no one ever sees, or you can raise money and market a film that everyone sees.” Shapiro and Boreing aren’t the first to turn the culture war into an entertainment product, but they have been among the most successful, in part by avoiding the errors of Milo Yiannopoulos, who burned through millions of dollars trying to turn offensiveness into a salable commodity, and Steve Bannon, who turned Breitbart into a warship but left it rudderless when he was booted. Instead, Shapiro and Boreing have emphasized Hollywood-style marketing and distribution, prioritizing entertainment value over ideological purity. Shapiro’s heterodoxy hasn’t satisfied the culture warriors at Breitbart and the devoted MAGA crowd, who see him as ideologically impure, nor has it endeared him to the anti-Trump left, given his blunt, provocative commentary on race, gender, and academic freedom. (He continues to argue that transgenderism is a “mental illness.”) He criticizes Trump for his insufficient conservatism nearly as often as he berates mainstream media for overhyping Trump’s failures. And yet, the formula works. Shapiro’s fans are legion—enough to constitute a political faction of their own. Every time he debates a pundit, student, or high-profile liberal, his fans immediately compile his remarks into YouTube clips. (“Ben Shapiro DESTROYS race baiting Congresswoman during Congressional Hearing on Campus Free Speech,” for instance, has over 3.2 million views.) “The business model is not activism, or even news,” Boreing told Shapiro at the beginning of their venture. “The business model is personality.”

The Daily Wire headquarters in Los Angeles, located on the second floor of a vaguely art deco building in Sherman Oaks, is more reminiscent of a high-end television studio than a dingy online start-up. The lobby is lined with monitors advertising Daily Wire shows, millennials chug La Croix in a well-appointed kitchen, and a full-time makeup artist is always on call. Each of the meticulously designed and personalized sets are stuffed with enough high-end cameras, soundproofing, and lighting equipment to rival the best cable-news studios—a significant investment for online shows. Currently, the site has four personalities that are promoted regularly: Andrew Klavan, an old crank they brought over from Truth Revolt; Michael Knowles, a dapper, lib-triggering troll; Matt Walsh, a dour, self-described “extremist” Christian raging against the crassness of pop-culture; and Shapiro himself. Once a month, Boreing hosts a live show in his office—an elegant man cave featuring studio lighting, a massive cigar humidor, and several overstuffed leather armchairs—where he, the crew, and a special guest smoke cigars and shoot the shit. Though the studios are Hollywood, the content is decidedly not: in one recent Daily Wire Backstage show, for instance, the hosts discussed Judeo-Christian theology, religious history, and the pathology of the sort of perpetually aggrieved liberal who thinks Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is politically incorrect. (The War on Christmas is apparently alive and well in the San Fernando Valley.) The location is fitting. Los Angeles is a mostly liberal city, but it’s also become a crucial engine of modern conservatism. Andrew Breitbart got his start there, as did Steve Bannon and Stephen Miller. Perhaps it’s something in the water, or a response to the progressive monoculture, or the proximity to Hollywood, but the West Coast conservatives have always had a more tactile understanding of the optics of the culture war—an instinct for how to weaponize the clash of civilizations, against celebrities, against migrants, against the academics of U.C. Berkeley and the socialists in San Francisco. Instead of burying his ideas in white papers or books or think tanks, Andrew Breitbart made his first Internet project a site called Big Hollywood, devoted to bashing the Beverly Hills elite. Bannon, who eventually took control of Breitbart.com after its founder’s death, cast himself as a filmmaker and yellow-journalism media baron. Neither were intellectuals in the Wall Street Journal mold. Miller, who now serves as senior White House policy adviser, developed his reactionary political consciousness at deep-blue Santa Monica High School, where he became closely affiliated with the David Horowitz Freedom Center, an organization initially founded to combat creeping Hollywood liberalism. It was in this hostile environment, at the apex of the heady Obama years, that Shapiro and Boreing, both budding culture warriors, were introduced by Breitbart. The two made an unlikely pair: Boreing is evangelical, methodical, contemplative; Shapiro is Orthodox Jewish, bullish, constantly on the attack. And yet, they clicked immediately. Allen Estrin, who worked with Boreing at the conservative video-streaming site PragerU, compared them to Roger Ailes and Bill O’Reilly at the dawn of Fox News: “If you go to these events . . . any large event with young people, [Ben] is just mobbed. The more common term: he’s a rock star. [And] that’s Jeremy. That’s Jeremy elevating Ben’s profile, making sure that Ben makes the right decisions. That’s Jeremy guiding him along the best possible path. I don’t know where Ben is without Jeremy, but it’s not . . . he’s definitely in a whole different place because of Jeremy.” Boreing, a soft-spoken man with mousy hair and modest glasses, is nothing whatsoever like Ben Shapiro. He came to Hollywood from small-town Texas in the early 2000s, worked for a bit as a talent manager, and somehow ended up becoming housemates with Chuck star Zachary Levi. ”Life was basically getting free food and playing video games in Zach’s dressing room for several years,” he recalled. It was a good life, for sure, but the Texan soon noticed that whenever he parked his car at the Chuck set, his Bush-Cheney bumper sticker was getting some side-eye. “One day I’m walking through the stairwell and a very well-known actress, who was one of the stars of that show, stopped me and said, ‘Hey, is that your Bush-Cheney bumper sticker on that pickup in the parking lot?’ I said, ‘Yeah. Yes, ma’am.’ She said, ‘Kid, you’ve got balls of steel.’ Honest truth, even until that moment it was completely lost on me.” At his first Friends of Abe meeting, Boreing’s eyes were opened to the existence of an underground political community for people like himself. It was also there that Boreing met Breitbart—and where he was exposed to new and intriguing business possibilities. “[Breitbart] got the idea that he should start Big Hollywood and give a voice to whoever in this organization [and] outside of it might want to speak their minds politically,” he said, estimating that when the site was launched in 2008, about 80 percent of its content came from people he met through Friends of Abe. From there came Big Journalism, and from there, Breitbart.com itself, a full-on culture-war engine dedicated to fighting the decline of Western civilization by whatever means necessary. “Arguably Breitbart.com wouldn’t exist without F.O.A.,” Boreing asserted. Back then, within the Hollywood conservative community, there was an ongoing debate over how to win that war—with art or activism? “My view is you cannot make a conservative film. You make a good film that obeys craft. And if it reflects good values, then that’s it,” explained Lionel Chetwynd, an Academy Award-nominated screenwriter, director, and founding member of Friends of Abe. (See: Roseanne, Murphy Brown, and Boreing’s film The Arroyo, which focuses on a rancher defending his property against violent illegal migrants in a border town.) On the other side of the argument were those, like Bannon, who primarily saw themselves as propagandists. (See: Bannon’s “documentaries,” such as Fire from the Heartland: The Awakening of the Conservative Woman.) Breitbart went to the ramparts, having learned from his former colleague Arianna Huffington that one could create an influential media empire on the Internet for spare change. Shapiro soon joined him and eventually became editor at large at Breitbart News Network. For a while, Boreing chose the path of the artist, working on films with Levi and focusing on writing, directing, and producing The Arroyo. (“It’s a beautifully constructed movie, and he is a very talented artist,” said Estrin, who taught screenwriting at the American Film Institute.) But whenever Shapiro was stuck on something, he would call Boreing, and vice versa, and they eventually started collaborating on video projects. Boreing’s first video in the activist world, which Shapiro hooked him up with, was an animated explainer for Encounter Books debunking global warming. He soon began consulting for PragerU, which packages right-wing social concepts into slick videos. According to Estrin, Boreing came up with the site’s signature visual style after a photographer came after them with a fair-use claim; their solution was to use illustrations instead. The simple blue and orange stick figures now mark videos with more than one billion views, making PragerU one of the most effective conversion tools for young conservatives. At the center of it all was Boreing, who by then had become a leader of the West Coast conservative movement. “We would always run every major decision past him just to get his insight,” said Estrin. By Jessica Pons/ For The Washington Post/Getty Images. Making Ben Shapiro famous would become the duo’s most important project, and their most lucrative. After the post-Piers makeover, they pitched the genesis of the idea for the Daily Wire to David Horowitz and the Freedom Center’s board. They got shot down. But fate provided another pathway. In April 2015, the Freedom Center de-funded Truth Revolt, effectively terminating Boreing’s job, and Shapiro followed him out the door, refusing to work at a hobbled organization. Instead, they kept honing their pitch. Three months later, they secured several million dollars in seed funding from Wilks, the billionaire fracking super-donor who supported Ted Cruz in the Republican primaries. The concept for the Daily Wire was not to push a specific agenda—the traditional nonprofit model, with a board of directors overseeing a political project—but to build a profit-generating business, combining conservative opinion with news aggregation. They launched the following September with a handful of other Truth Revolt employees, shooting their first few episodes in Boreing’s pool house, before moving to an ad hoc studio on the same floor as PragerU, with sets Boreing and his brother built by hand. Shapiro was also working at Breitbart, but by March 2016, he had become fed up with the site’s slavish devotion to Donald Trump—in particular an ugly episode in which Breitbart mistreated one of its own reporters, Michelle Fields, after she was manhandled by Trump campaign manager Corey Lewandowski—and quit his part-time gig to join the Daily Wire full-time, a decision his former colleagues derided as opportunistic. Breitbart published and then deleted an article torching Shapiro as an “ambitious conservative gadfly, who is known to live on the edge, courting and then leaving a series of companies over the past several years.” Among some portion of MAGA world—potentially a core audience for a young, conservative media startup—Shapiro was suspect at best, a traitor at worst. The Daily Wire’s Trump-skeptical perspective, under those circumstances, was indeed risky. It was “a very volatile moment in our politics,” Boreing explained, but Shapiro felt strongly about his stance. “I mean, we took the least popular position in the election. We thought the whole thing might be over after Election Night.” Within 14 months, however, Trump had won the presidency and the Daily Wire was cash-flow positive, having won over an unlikely coalition of shell-shocked Republicans and blindsided centrists entranced by the prospect of Shapiro as Trump-era Virgil: a Breitbart exile-turned-Trump critic, who wasn’t a foaming-at-the-mouth MAGA nationalist but still delighted in trolling Hillary and Bernie for their alleged transgressions. Shapiro had achieved megastardom, even as he oscillated in his opinion of Trump. To his former culture-warrior brethren, Shapiro was trying to have it both ways: pretending to be a populist one day, then trying to stake out a position as a Respectable Conservative the next, and then pissing off everyone by, say, tweeting inappropriate comments during George H.W. Bush’s funeral. “He was hardcore ‘Never Trump’ and pretends to be pro-Trump now that it’s clear that going full Never Trump makes you a [Bill] Kristol or [Evan] McMullin,” an aggrieved conservative writer told me. But of course, neither Kristol nor McMullin are reliably delivering fresh content via multiple platforms to an audience of millions, or frequently cross-promoting with fellow podcast stars Joe Rogan and Dave Rubin (whose studios are nearby). ”It’s never been our philosophy that you succeed in this business by locking up your content. You've got to push your content out as widely as possible,” said Boreing.