Connor Wood, a comedian, podcaster, and social media personality who rose to fame with jokes about being unemployed during the COVID-19 pandemic, loves watching a good TV show. Broad City, Curb Your Enthusiasm, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Seinfeld, and Veep make the top of his list. So, naturally, when we met up in New York City’s West Village one May morning, he can’t help but tell me about his life like it’s a TV show.
Each story is remarkably episodic: There’s the one I’d title “The Gang Gets a Pig,” in which Wood and his sister bought a pig without their parents’ permission and hid it in their rooms in Texas. “The One Where Connor Broke His Arm” is an episode about Wood faking a broken arm for the attention (celebrities, they’re just like us!) multiple times before his arm broke for real. “The Cowboy Trials” is when he discovers that, despite his greatest attempts, he does not want to be a cowboy. And then there’s “Connor Gets Put on a Watch List,” in which we all discover Wood was born on 9/11.
Connor Wood: Man of the People
Credit: Joseph Maldonado
Shortly after Wood moved to the West Village in February, The Cut published a story highlighting how the It girls of the West Village spend their time. It went relatively viral, as a piece from The Cut does. When I bring it up, Wood acknowledges that his new home could be considered the influencer capital of NYC. But, he says, he didn’t choose the Village because of its proximity to influencer culture — a culture he doesn’t necessarily identify with — but because he was in a rush to find a place and his new apartment has “amazing light” which allows him to “film all day” and also not “fall into a deep, deep void.”
We meet at a cafe owned by a guy who privately asks me, before even setting eyes on Wood, not to bring out cameras because he “fucking hates that TikTok shit.” Wood brings his own coffee, which he quickly finishes and discards so he can order an iced coffee from the shop instead. We sit at the bar and chat. I ask him about how, in the half a decade since he has been creating content, he has amassed more than one million followers across TikTok and Instagram. Online, he predominantly posts his comedy or clips from his podcast, Brooke and Connor Make a Podcast, which he co-hosts alongside his creative partner, Brooke Averick, known online as @ladyefron. If the internet had its way, they’d be co-starring in a romantic comedy, too. Fans obsess over their chemistry, shipping them with the intensity only parasocial relationships can fuel.
Connor Wood: Big Tchotchke Guy
Credit: Joseph Maldonado
“That level of friendship is the foundation of a marriage,” one person wrote in a subreddit dedicated to the duo. “I think it’s possible Brooke could have had feelings for Connor at one point, but they’re truly not each other’s types at all,” a separate fan wrote. “I think they’re strictly friends who have probably made out while drunk,” another posted. To be clear: It doesn’t seem like any of these posters have ever actually met either Wood or Averick.
So when Wood insists it’s strictly platonic, saying they both find the fan theories “really funny,” it’s clear he’s being honest. “We laugh at it,” he said. “People have a lot of time.”
Leaving the coffee shop, we embark on Wood’s goal for the morning: buy some tchotchkes for his new apartment. We wander into a quirky West Village shop, where Wood is taken by a series of art prints depicting famous people as sandwiches. Then, Wood’s press person, who’s tagging along, gets yelled at for touching one of those prayer candles with a celebrity on it. We quickly leave.
Plenty of fans have pointed out that while Wood and Averick can be physically affectionate, that might just be a way they hang out. And that perception goes beyond fans. Dave Portnoy, the 48-year-old founder of Barstool Sports, called Wood the “top 1 most annoying dude” because, seemingly, Wood is too friendly.
It’s true: Wood is friendly. That warmth might lead people to read more into his relationship with Averick, but actively disliking someone for being nice is a pretty wild stance.
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And being friendly is one of the reasons Wood has so many fans showing up to his shows. He started touring with his comedy — and without Averick — in 2024, including doing two sold-out shows as part of the New York Comedy Festival and two shows in the UK and Ireland. Still, he’s often faced with being the “TikTok Guy at comedy clubs,” a name he doesn’t exactly adore because, as he sees it, his work on TikTok isn’t all that different from what comedians used to do — it’s just another medium.
Connor Wood: West Village Girl
Credit: Joseph Maldonado
“I read all these books with comedians, and [they talk about] doing shows every single night,” he told me, referencing books like Jerry Seinfeld’s Is This Anything? “We’re posting TikToks every single day. And it’s not the same, but it is immediate feedback that we take to the clubs and try out longer bits. We just have this extra tool now to use as a sounding thing before we go to the clubs.”
He doesn’t post a set number of TikToks every day, but he posts a few each week, most of which garner hundreds of thousands of views, and some of which garner millions. He uses TikTok as a tool and listens to his audience — what do they find funny? What do they find interesting? He gathers all of that information to create a set. And then, he heads on tour. Right now, Wood is finishing up his “Fibs and Friends” stand-up tour, after performing everywhere from Virginia to Hawaii.
Connor Wood: Loves a park
Credit: Joseph Maldonado
We stop at another kitschy store full of girlboss items with exorbitant prices for about 20 seconds, and then try to go to three antique stores that are all closed. Wood is trying to shop for something to decorate his apartment with, and he’s also trying to show me around his neighborhood, so it’s not going exactly as he pictured, but he’s taking it like a champ.
“This is really fabulous that everything’s closed,” he says with a laugh after the second failed attempt.
During our walk, Wood moves with the loose, slightly crooked energy of someone unsure of where he’s going, but kind of OK with that. He pauses to admire dogs, grows distracted by directions, and tells me he once rerouted his entire day just to drink a coffee near Will Ferrell in reverent silence.
Wood’s jokes don’t tend to hit like punchlines in person; they unfurl, more confessional than performative. It’s all amusing and engaging, but it’s hard to get through to Wood’s genuine vulnerability. He’s working on something he won’t tell me about. He’s forgotten about his New Year’s resolutions, or refuses to share them with me. When I press him on upcoming projects, he doubles down.
Connor Wood: What??
Credit: Joseph Maldonado
“And I won’t [tell you],” he says, playfully confirming his quiet strategy. If you forget your goals completely, maybe that’s the real secret to accomplishing them. Keeping that distance is something I can respect — although he’s not entirely tight-lipped and feels fine sharing how sweaty he is (very, although you can’t tell). “There’s a level of fame where I want to cap out,” he says, describing his dream career arc, and joking that “no one on his team wants to hear that.” “But I can’t imagine not being able to go for a run on the West Side Highway or go out to eat.” It’s like he’s already envisioned the cost of notoriety and decided he wants to keep a few parts of himself untouched.
Still, it doesn’t seem like he thinks he’s anywhere near that yet. Wood has a predominately female fan base, and when I ask if he’d like more men in the mix, he laughs and says: “I wish I had more fans. I don’t care who they are,” then, pretending to flag down a waiter: “Please, more fans! I’ll do a double.”
That tension between ambition and groundedness drives much of what makes Wood compelling. He’s ambitious, but not insatiably so. He’s self-aware, but not tortured. He wants to be funny, but not at the expense of care. He’s one of those rare personalities who seems to get that every comedy career, no matter how digital, is still just an ongoing pilot season. You try things. You see what sticks. You rewrite the script. You hope the audience grows with you.
After a final stop at Restoration Hardware, which we walk through for a moment before giving up, we take a seat at one of the tables on Little Island, a small and beautiful artificial island in Hudson River Park. The humidity is at its peak. I’m thinking that my episode with Connor would have been called “The Antique Store,” reminiscent of that Seinfeld episode where everyone gets lost in the parking garage.
Wood does not seem like he wants to impress me, and it works. I’m not impressed by him. He doesn’t have a larger-than-life aura. Usually, that kind of detachment only works if you’re talented enough that your work speaks for itself, or cool enough that your taste emanates beyond your silence, but Connor is just…some guy. And that’s what so many people love about him. That’s what I like about him.
If Wood’s life really was a TV show, the recent season would be considered monumental. The cast is changing, the set is flipped, and the career has evolved from youthful TikTok jokester to on-stage comic. It’s still about hijinks — a full episode would be devoted to the “I have purse” line from their podcast, a joke reminiscent to me of Paul Rudd’s “I love lamp” line in Anchorman — but it’s also about craft. He’s showing up to open mics, focusing on his creative partnership with Averick that’s part podcast, part friendship therapy (and not at all romantic), and learning how to balance visibility with something that looks like real life.
And that, honestly, feels like the kind of finale that deserves a green light.
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