From Minus 100 to Relatable Chaos: Mehrab Ahmadi’s Creative Journey

When we think of digital fame, the images that come to mind are usually glamorous ones: viral videos, millions of followers, creators who seem to live carefree lives. But behind every polished thumbnail or trending clip lies a story that rarely gets told. In this episode of Cozy Corner with Hossein Nasiri, I sat down with Mehrab Ahmadi, one of Persian YouTube’s most authentic and chaotic voices—a creator who calls himself the “unlucky guy” of the internet, but whose journey is anything but unlucky when you look deeper.

Mehrab’s story begins not from zero, but from what he describes as “minus 100.” For two years, he survived on nothing but potatoes. Financial stress, health scares, and emotional pressure marked his early days. “If some people started from zero, I started from minus 100,” he told me, laughing at the irony of it all. To him, being called a role model is a mistake; his life was never meant to be idolized—it was meant to be lived, and then shared, scars and all.

Collaboration as a Worldview, Not Just a Method

From the very start of his content journey, Mehrab refused to go solo. His first attempt at making a video wasn’t a selfie-style monologue but a group effort with his shop coworkers. For him, collaboration wasn’t optional—it was essential.

“I’ve always believed there should be a complement—someone to bounce off of,” he explained. Comedy, chaos, and energy all needed multiple voices. He thrives on group dynamics because, in his words, debates, jokes, and unexpected reactions create authenticity that scripted solo work simply can’t.

Even today, he rarely moves forward without testing ideas in conversation. “I always ask for others’ opinions before I do anything,” he said. “If I know something’s off, I listen. Because the outside perspective sees things I don’t.” This philosophy has made collaboration not just his creative method but his worldview—a belief that voices woven together form stronger, more authentic stories.

The “Unlucky Guy” Persona

What sets Mehrab apart is his embrace of imperfection. While other creators polish their cuts, stage their laughs, and chase the aesthetics of perfection, Mehrab leaned into chaos. He chose to play the role of the loser, the chaotic one, the guy who never wins the challenges.

“In none of my YouTube videos am I ever the one who wins,” he said. And yet, audiences cheer when he finally does. That unpredictability—the mousetrap injuries, the cat-poop pranks, the awkward chaos—is what makes him relatable.

His self-declared “unlucky guy” persona resonates because we all know what it feels like to lose, to stumble, to be the one drawing the short straw. By making his failures part of the show, Mehrab turns misfortune into laughter, and laughter into connection.

The Cost of Blurred Boundaries

But collaboration came at a price. Early in his career, Mehrab blurred the line between friendship and work. At first, it felt natural: his closest collaborators were also his closest friends. They laughed, they filmed, they lived together. But soon, the consequences surfaced.

“When you mix friendship with work, one offhand comment can ruin your whole vibe for the day,” he confessed. He lost more than 15 friendships—some over a decade old—because of professional conflicts and emotional entanglements.

One of the most valuable lessons he learned came from his father’s wisdom: “Even bazaar partners who worked together for 50 years never once visited each other’s homes.” It was a reminder that boundaries protect relationships. Today, Mehrab maintains clearer lines: collaborations are collaborations, friendships are friendships. The few friends who stayed—like Arsalan and Alireza—proved their loyalty by surviving those blurred years.

Authenticity Over Polish

Mehrab’s content philosophy can be summed up in one word: authenticity. He rejects staged productions, forced perfection, or scripted jokes. “Pretending gets exhausting,” he admitted. For three years, he played a version of himself that wasn’t real. Only in the last year did he fully commit to showing the real Mehrab—short temper, unlucky streak, chaotic humor, and all.

“I’d rather someone watch my video during dinner and laugh for fifteen minutes than think it’s perfectly produced,” he said. “For me, breaking the script—wearing women’s clothes mid-video, sparking an argument out of nowhere—is worth it if it gives someone a small escape from their day.”

In a content world obsessed with perfection, Mehrab’s rawness stands out as a form of rebellion.

Audience Perceptions and Misconceptions

Despite his openness, Mehrab struggles with the way audiences perceive him. Many assume he’s rich, carefree, and privileged. The reality? He bought his first phone in installments, paying 600,000 tomans a month on a salary of 1.2 million.

“People see you with a million followers and assume you’re set,” he said. “But for me, the money I made in two months was gone in the next six. I couldn’t even afford to fund a new project.”

What frustrates him most is the idolization. He insists: “Don’t make me your idol. Anyone can start.” For him, social media is a platform, not a pedestal.

The Toll on Mental Health

Perhaps the most poignant part of our conversation was when Mehrab opened up about the emotional cost of his career.

He has lost friends, endured loneliness, and admits that visibility often isolates rather than connects. “Anyone who goes into social media loses about 70% of their normal connections,” he reflected. Even his family doesn’t always understand his struggles. His father, whom he affectionately calls his biggest hater, constantly grounds him by downplaying his successes. “I tell him I got 800K views, and he just says, ‘So?’”

Journaling has become his lifeline. He writes for two hours a day, pouring his solitude into notebooks. It’s not therapy in the traditional sense, but it’s a form of self-reflection that helps him cope.

And yet, he accepts the darkness as part of the deal. “Everyone has their shadows,” he said. “I just accepted mine earlier.”

Responsibility in Collaboration

Interestingly, while Mehrab thrives on chaos, he is meticulous when it comes to responsibility in others’ projects. When invited into a friend’s video, he shows up early, eats properly to keep his energy, and gives 100%. Even when injured—like the time a mousetrap cut his hand—he finished the shoot rather than ruin the production.

“I’ve always wanted someone to be for me what I am for others,” he admitted. That sense of duty has earned him respect among collaborators, even when luck seems to throw him into the worst situations.

Respect for TikTokers and Young Creators

A surprising twist in our talk was Mehrab’s defense of TikTok creators. While many dismiss them, he recognizes their cultural power. “They make a 15-second clip of a song and suddenly the whole country knows it. But society doesn’t respect them,” he said.

He sees younger creators—often teenagers—as carrying the weight of ridicule while shaping trends that even the music industry relies on. For Mehrab, respecting their work is part of respecting the future of digital creativity.

Family as Anchor

Amid the chaos, Mehrab’s family remains his anchor. His parents, especially his father, keep him humble. “They don’t let me get arrogant,” he smiled. “They remind me that one million followers isn’t a big deal.”

Even when fans approach him for photos, he looks to his father for validation, only to be met with indifference. That grounding, though frustrating at times, has kept his ego in check and his focus on growth.

Philosophy: Anyone Can Start

At the heart of Mehrab’s message is a simple philosophy: authenticity over idolization.

He doesn’t want to be a hero or a flawless role model. He wants to spark ideas—make someone believe they too can create. His advice to a struggling rapper captures it best: “Be the kind of person who makes others say, ‘If he could start from nothing, why can’t I?’”

For Mehrab, social media isn’t about showing off. It’s about showing up.

Conclusion: The Beauty of Unlucky Chaos

Mehrab Ahmadi’s journey is one of contradictions: unlucky yet inspiring, collaborative yet solitary, chaotic yet deeply responsible. His story reminds us that creativity doesn’t come from perfection—it comes from persistence, from authenticity, and from the willingness to embrace both chaos and vulnerability.

He may call himself the “unlucky guy,” but in reality, his resilience, honesty, and refusal to hide his struggles make him one of the most relatable creators of his generation.

As he said toward the end of our talk: “Idolizing people is a mistake. Just be someone who sparks an idea.”

And in that, Mehrab proves that even from minus 100, growth is not just possible—it’s inevitable.