When Amelia Dimoldenberg posted a video to social media this week, telling an unknown companion “we need to talk”, it felt like a monumental announcement was on the horizon. And so it came to pass. Chicken Shop Date, Dimoldenberg’s YouTube series, is coming to an end.
The press release covering the announcement came packed with superlatives. Chicken Shop Date has generated 34m hours of views over the years, and has reached 97% of all countries on the planet. What it didn’t mention is that Chicken Shop Date helped to legitimise YouTube as a platform that has taken on – and perhaps beaten – television. The very fact that the Guardian is covering the end of a YouTube video series in the first place is, in part, down to Chicken Shop Date.
Nevertheless, the writing has clearly been on the wall for some time. Dimoldenberg is moving on to bigger and better things – she hosts red carpet interviews for several major awards and is writing a romcom film, plus a YA show for the BBC – but Chicken Shop Date has also started to ossify. What began as a fun and flirty interview show, which thrived on the genuine tension that sometimes occurred between host and guest, has gradually become just another stop on the promotional cycle. It’s hard to try to flirt with someone who has quite clearly just been shoved in front of you by a publicist, as has been the case in some recent episodes (Ben Stiller, Elmo).
Still, it’s easy to see why the show was so popular. Dimoldenberg’s entire demeanour, simultaneously needy and passive aggressive, has made for compelling viewing over the years. In terms of sheer pop culture heft, it’s worth remembering that it was Dimoldenberg who first goaded Louis Theroux into reprising a rap he first performed in a documentary 26 years ago. It immediately went viral. Shakira danced to it on Jimmy Fallon and, despite the Chicken Shop Date redux happening four years ago, Theroux still references it approximately once every 45 seconds on his podcast.
There is also the tidal wave of interest generated by her romance (showmance? Fauxmance?) with Andrew Garfield, with whom she had shared some conspicuous chemistry on various red carpets. When he finally appeared on Chicken Shop Date in 2024, public intrigue was so high that the episode ended up getting 13m views. What’s most fascinating about this is how quickly the chemistry turned to ash as soon as the cameras started rolling. The pair looked stilted and awkward, as if they’d just realised the world expected them to be its performing monkeys. It was one of the show’s biggest moments, but also a timely reminder that not all dates are dead certs.
Other, smaller moments are just as indelible. In 2022, Matty Healy treated his appearance as an actual romantic opportunity, teasing Dimoldenberg, holding her hand and, right at the end, pestering her for a kiss for an uncomfortable length of time. In 2024, Billie Eilish played the same trick, holding Dimoldenberg’s gaze for so long that the host became visibly flustered.
Of course, purists will prefer the earlier episodes, when Dimoldenberg would use the show to deliberately weird out some much more niche British musicians. An early video, before Chicken Shop Date had established its visual identity, saw Dimoldenberg pull a variety of increasingly disgusted faces at grime MC Ghetts as he discussed the physical side of his love life.
Another, slightly later one, with Raleigh Ritchie (real name Jacob Anderson) perhaps saw the moment when the show’s potential came into clearest focus. She spent the interview chiding Ritchie for his poor posture, then seemingly provoked him into unwittingly stumbling into an immediately retracted Jimmy Savile impersonation.
It’s this essence, far more than the format or the guests, that have propelled Amelia Dimoldenberg to fame. As long as she can maintain what made her so special – the flirtiness, the awkwardness, the sense that she changed her mind about being wherever she is as soon as she got there – then she’s bound to have a long career ahead of her. If not, well … we’ll always have the chicken.
