Good morning, friends!

When I shadow someone I’m profiling, I’m mostly looking for what’s not said — the glance, the pause, the contradiction. Why? Because we are the masters of our own narratives, and, at the same time, the least reliable ones to tell them.

If we met in person and I told you a story filled with colorful characters, conflict, and a gripping plot, your instinct would be to trust me. Why wouldn’t you? I seem trustworthy. You just met me. You have no reason not to believe me.

That’s why the “unreliable narrator” works so well in literature.

We trust the storyteller. The voice we hear first becomes the voice of truth — until it’s not. Only later do we see the cracks: the addiction, the mental illness, the compulsive lying, the distorted lens. Suddenly, the narrator’s credibility unravels.

You’ve seen this before: The Girl on the Train. Fight Club. Rebecca. Edgar Allan Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart opens with a narrator who tries to convince us he’s sane. (Pro tip: Never trust a narrator who tries to convince you he’s sane.)

Here’s the twist: We’re all the unreliable narrators of our own lives. We distort, we deny, we embellish — all while having unshakable confidence in our version of events. Few of us stop to fact-check our own beliefs. We listen to the main character in our head instead of checking in with the supporting cast. But our version of the story isn’t the only one, and it might be wildly off.

That’s why I love writing profiles.

Because when Anthony Scaramucci tells me he doesn’t need to be vindicated, and I spot a figurine of himself in a cape that says, “We won! Fuck off.” Or when Ryan Serhant builds a “nice guy” brand all over the internet, but tells me, with a smile, that his symbolic animal of the year is the orca: “We are graceful while we kill.”

That’s the moment I know I’ve struck gold.

Now, indulge me for a second as I psychoanalyze myself.

If you were profiling me and asked, “Why did you start The Profile?” I’d give you a heartfelt answer: how much I love peeling back the layers of a person, understanding their motives, humanizing them beyond status or celebrity.

Your next question would be obvious: “Then why, since 2017, haven’t you written a single original profile yourself?”

Shit.

That’s the exact question my husband asked me at dinner in December 2024. He looked up mid-bite and said casually, “I really think you could be the greatest at what you do. But I also think part of you is scared of that.”

He wasn’t wrong. I was defensive at first. Of course I want to be great. Who doesn’t?

But that’s the contradiction that reveals the truth. I wasn’t writing profiles. I was circling around them — interviewing people, writing Q&As, curating others’ work. I enjoyed all of it, but it wasn’t the thing I enjoyed the most.

Here’s what I’ve learned: High-achievers don’t self-sabotage because they lack ambition. They do it because they’re terrified of going all-in and still falling short. Writing original profiles meant risking judgment, being seen. It forced me to shift from “protective mode” to “creative mode.”

Now I ask myself one question: Am I playing to win, or playing not to lose?

For years, I was playing not to lose. Always on defense. Avoiding the leap. Skirting around the risk. Now I’m playing to win — and it’s changed everything.

Writing profiles cuts through my overthinking. It clears the fog. It gives my brain a puzzle to solve. There’s nothing more satisfying than piecing together someone’s outer life with their inner world by trying to understand how they built something from nothing, justified their choices, and crafted the story they tell others.

Because sometimes, to see your own life clearly, you have to understand someone else’s.

And sometimes, it takes a profile — or a person you love — to show you just how unreliable your own narrator has been.

— Polina

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P.S: Yes, there are not one but two profiles on Airbnb founder Brian Chesky that published this week. Naturally, there is some repetition across both, so I made only one of them the ‘highly recommended.’ I hope you enjoy!

PROFILES.

— The Airbnb founder who wants to redesign your life [**HIGHLY RECOMMEND**]
— The founder behind the ‘everything’ app
— The CEO behind the billion-dollar meat snack
— New York City’s most legendary doorman
— The art dealer who turned a breakup into business

PEOPLE TO KNOW.

The Airbnb founder who wants to redesign your life: Brian Chesky turned Airbnb from a quirky home-sharing startup into a global platform for experiences, services, and human connection. Embracing a leadership style coined by Paul Graham called “founder mode,” Chesky rejects corporate norms, obsessing over design details and staying deeply involved in every decision. Guided by mentors like Barack Obama and friends like Sam Altman, he’s now betting that Airbnb can become much more than just a place to stay — it can be the Airbnb of everything. (Wall Street Journal; alternate link)

“We’re in the business of human connection. There’s an ancient history of people-to-people hospitality. I think that’s what Airbnb is about.”

The founder behind the ‘everything’ app: After rallying behind Sam Altman during OpenAI’s leadership crisis, Airbnb CEO Brian Chesky channeled his adrenaline into an audacious reinvention of his own company. No longer content with being the “vacation rental guy,” Chesky is transforming Airbnb into a platform for everything— from booking chefs and trainers to forging verified digital identities and even planning your life via AI. Inspired by Apple, fueled by design obsession, and backed by $200M, Chesky’s vision is bold: make Airbnb a magical, daily-use utility rather than a twice-a-year travel app. (WIRED)

“My ambition is kind of like the ambition of an artist and designer.”

The CEO behind the billion-dollar meat snack: Chomps, the viral meat snack brand, is nearing $1 billion in sales, but it still can’t meet demand, fulfilling only 84% of orders. CEO Rashid Ali is doubling production with new facilities and a $100M credit line to catch up. Fueled by protein trends and GLP-1 hype, Chomps has paused expansion to focus on making more sticks. As Ali puts it, “We don’t know what the ceiling is.” (Bloomberg; alternate link)

“Chomps says it was profitable after only 30 days. Its original beef recipe hasn’t changed in 13 years.”

New York City’s most legendary doorman: Fabrizio Brienza, 55, is NYC nightlife’s most legendary doorman — the man who decides who gets into Paul’s Casablanca and who gets left on the sidewalk. With slick suits and sharper instincts, he curates the party vibe like it’s an art form. Supermodels, billionaires, and even Giants players have been turned away. In a city obsessed with exclusivity, Brienza is the velvet rope incarnate. (The New York Times; alternate link)

“I see a person, and I can tell their background in three seconds.”

**The art dealer who turned a breakup into business:** Nick Hissom, art dealer, model, and Steve Wynn’s stepson, is at the center of a real-life Palm Beach soap opera involving a high-profile breakup, social media drama, and accusations of betrayal and business fallout. After his fiancé allegedly cheated — with a friend, no less — Hissom took to Instagram to blast the affair, then flew to L.A. for a nude photo shoot and a fresh music drop. Despite the public implosion of their relationship and joint gallery venture, he’s determined to keep the clients and the spotlight. (New York Magazine; alternate link)

“I don’t know what it says about me that I get dumped and the first thing I do is get on a plane to L.A. and get naked. But, like, what else am I supposed to do?”

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