I paid an athlete $120 to send me a personalised video. You can, too

Sydney Swans midfielder Chad Warner is standing on a suburban balcony as he records me a video message. We’ve never met. But it feels a bit like I’m listening to a friend as he smiles into the camera.

“Hey, Gemma, how you going? It’s Chad Warner here. I just want to wish you the very best for the story that you’re doing … I hope it goes well, I hope you get it in time. And that everyone likes it,” he says.

Warner is one of almost 1500 personalities listed on Australian company Swysh who use the platform to send personalised videos to fans. And local outfits such as Swysh are part of an even larger global market of celebrities sending personalised messages to fans around the world.

Michael Roth, the chief executive of Swysh, founded the company in 2019 after leaving buy-now-pay-later business Afterpay. He says Swysh was born out of a need for an easy way for players to interact with fans.

“It was something that was being done, but not done well,” says Roth. “A lot of fan engagement is done at probably the worst time for an athlete – that’s the end of the game.”

Swysh sets itself apart through its focus on Australian athletes – particularly AFL and NRL stars. These faces are the drawcard of the company, with bestsellers including the likes of AFL Carlton captain Patrick Cripps, rising Collingwood star Nick Daicos, and the NRL’s Andrew Johns and Brian To’o.

Swysh chief Michael Roth.Credit: Edwina Pickles

It’s an intuitive system. Customers find a person they like and send a note about what to say – perhaps a birthday message or a motivational speech. Then you pay a fee, which can vary widely.

The most expensive star on Swysh is American UFC announcer Bruce Buffer, who will set you back $605 a message. Former cricketer Michael Clarke ($440), open water swimmer Chloe McCardel ($385) and Cripps ($330) also charge top dollar.

Some more economical names include retired national netball player Tegan Philip ($22), Australian NFL punter Arryn Siposs ($28) and Melbourne Storm player Nick Meaney ($55). Roth says Swysh staff work with a celebrity to find the rate that suits them best.

“It’s ultimately up to the talent [how much they charge],” says Roth. “To be honest, when we started, we were absolutely guessing what the market would pay … We eventually worked out where certain profiles of athletes should sit based on demand and supply.”

Patrick Cripps, Bruce Buffer and Michael Clarke are among the most expensive Swysh stars.Credit: Swysh

Athletes get 50 per cent of the video fee, while at least 10 per cent is donated to one of the company’s chosen charities. After accounting for costs, Swysh collects about 30 per cent.

Former AFL player Trent Cotchin, who captained Richmond to three premiership trophies, has been on the platform since September 2021 and recorded almost 500 shout-outs. He calls Swysh a great commercial opportunity for players, providing some with an extra income stream, while being able to give back through charitable donations.

While growth of social media has allowed fans to keep up to date with their favourite players, personalised videos bring a new level of intimacy, Cotchin says.

“People really thrive on that feeling of personal connection, which often you don’t get to experience all that much.”

Gayle Stever, a professor of psychology at Empire State College in New York, specialises in this interaction between celebrities and fans. She says videos sent by celebrities are an example of a parasocial relationship – where someone is familiar with a person who doesn’t know them back.

Trent Cotchin has sent almost 500 videos to fans on Swysh. Credit: Getty Images

She compares the feeling to watching a late-night talk show on television. “[The host] is talking to people as if they are interacting. Except they’re not. He doesn’t really know I’m at home watching. He’s talking to the audience, but I psychologically personalise that,” she says.

Just as interactive social media such as Twitter or Facebook allowed fans to connect with their idols in the mid-2000s, personalised video services created a new form of interaction.

“It’s really exciting for a minute that you just got this video, and it’s this person whose work you admire, or who’s famous that you like … It’s a little bit of a buzz,” Stever says.

Perhaps for this reason, there is a global market for personalised celebrity videos. International companies include Memmo and Hi-Ya, while Australian business Pickstar also offers “video shout-outs” from celebrities.

But the biggest name in the industry is US company Cameo. CEO and co-founder Steven Galanis says the business began in 2017 with the idea that “the selfie was the new autograph”.

“We wanted to find that thing that could be that magical moment … basically making memorabilia even more experiential,” Galanis says.

While not the first people to try building a business around the idea, Galanis attributes his team’s success to the rise of a new kind of celebrity – people who “were more famous than rich”.

“No brands [were] giving them deals. They [weren’t] able to make money,” Galanis says. “We always felt that direct-to-fan monetisation would be the way to go to solve that problem … and [personalised videos were] requiring the least amount of the talent’s time as possible.”

Steven Galanis, co-founder and CEO of Cameo. Credit: TNS

Nikki Blonsky, who played the main character in the popular 2007 musical film, Hairspray, is having a viral moment after some of her own Cameo video messages have been shared on social media.

Providing fans with a way to connect with their favourite famous people proved a profitable feat.

Or as Galanis puts it: “They hear from somebody they’ve always admired and loved, and it’s literally the greatest moment of their life … That’s basically how our business came to grow.”

Cameo was once considered a unicorn start-up in the US market – a private company valued at more than $US1 billion – fuelled by the COVID-19 pandemic popularity and an influx of stars joining the platform.

But overspending and expansion woes led to a slowing of income. In July 2024, the Office of the New York State Attorney General found Cameo failed to implement measures to ensure that celebrity videos were correctly disclosed as paid endorsements. They were fined $159,000.

When Cameo began, talent could join the platform only after an invitation from staff, a referral from another celebrity or through an application. It was a monitored process that included a mandatory social media presence (those with fewer than 25,000 followers could not sign up, Galanis says).

But now a lot of the names on Cameo are unfamiliar. The once-exclusive group was expanded to account for overnight success stories – such as people who go viral online or gain popularity on a new reality-TV show.

“There were over 100,000 people who had applied to join that we hadn’t let on … We realised we were really missing talent at the beginning of their growth trajectory. And about 18 months ago, we opened it up broadly, so now anyone in the world can have a Cameo account,” Galanis says.

Cameo has a global presence, and claims to have sold videos in 235 different countries (an impressive number, considering that the United Nations only recognises 195). But Roth from Swysh has no ambitions of global expansion that would rival Galanis.

“I did get to see a part of that journey, and see what it takes to make a beast of a company like that … [The Afterpay founders] really lived and breathed that company. They really tried to always do things in the right way, while still being aggressive in their approach,” Roth says.

“At Swysh, we work hard, and the small wins still motivate us … it’s not the money or a potential exit that drives me day in, day out.”

He sees the company’s strength as its ability to connect Australian fans with their favourite athletes, while supporting important charities. Since 2019, they’ve donated more than $1.3 million to partners including Movember and the Starlight Children’s Foundation.

“Ultimately, we’re a gifting business with over 90 per cent of our purchases being bought for other people. So you don’t need to be a sports lover … you just need to know one,” Roth says.

“I felt like I knew what would work for the fan because I am one … It’s authentic. There’s no AI. It’s real.”

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