Jessica Ryan

The scale of differentiation necessary to produce an MVIP has historically been determined based on the past behavior and preferences of demand.  People liked to consume IP via books, movies, TV shows and comic books, not via an outline, or a few chapters, or a single picture.

Now, however, the disruption of traditional IP distributors via streaming and social media networks allows IP owner to have more flexibility in terms of production and distribution.

Lil Nas X, for example, is able to distribute his music (his IP) instantly by publishing a song (‘Old Town Road’) on SoundCloud and have it explode in popularity via remixing and UGC on TikTok. Previously, he would have had to wait to be discovered by a record label, who then would decide when to release his music and in what form factor — most likely as an album rather than a single.

ATG Entertainment, which has a long-term lease on the Lyric, has collected more than $34 million in rent on Broadway from Cursed Child. In the year ending in February 2025, rent consumed nearly 11% of box office sales. To be sure, ATG has its own real estate expenses. In 2013, it paid $64 million for the lease to the Lyric, and later spent millions more on Cursed Child renovations.

“House of _____” Producing Cohort

It’s not just that creators use the internet

It’s that they were raised by it.

Their feedback loop is instant

They understand internet culture

They publish, adapt, and evolve in real time.

They’re more attuned to thinking like product designers than studio executives

They test ideas, respond to feedback, and ship what connects.

They understand momentum.

They’ve already absorbed the logic of bottom-up SaaS, intuitively.

This is why the next great storytellers won’t come from film school.

They’ll come from YouTube, Discord, & Substack

All thats missing is proper infrastructure.

But its five-second intro, a post-toke cough followed by a throaty scream, had popped up in a few TikToks of MMA fighters pummeling each other and weightlifters grunting beneath squat bars. Experience had taught 25/7 Media that when brief “recreates” of these kinds of songs burble up in those particular TikTok communities, virality can soon follow. When the number of recreates climbs into the tens or hundreds of thousands, Magana told me, two of 25/7’s core tenets become germane. The first: Once a social media user hears an audio snippet nine times, it gets stuck in their head to some degree. The second, which Magana has dubbed the Ten Percent Rule, is that 10 percent of those earwormed users will end up tracking down the snippet’s original source. 

Rather than pay one or two famous influencers to use the “Toxic” intro in the hopes of producing a trickle-down effect, the firm appealed to scores of MMA and weightlifting TikTokkers whose followings rarely top more than a few hundred. (Some were given small payments to push the song, but others were happy to do it for free.) Flooding the zone this way caused TikTok’s algorithm to funnel posts featuring “Toxic” into the feeds of users who consume gym-centric content. Inevitably, some of those users were creators themselves, and they began to weave YoungX777’s clip into videos targeting related subcultures—like the region of TikTok obsessed with highlights of soccer players bursting past hapless defenders.