The Science Behind Great Interviews

Hey honeys and hustlers,

If you’ve ever watched an interview and felt secondhand embarrassment creeping up your spine—congratulations: you’ve experienced the modern hosting crisis. Somewhere along the road from “serious journalist” to “indie audio creator,” we created a third genre: the chatcast that forgets it has listeners. It’s not completely terrible. It’s just… self-indulgent. And when a cultural moment demands a little curiosity (hi, Oscars red carpet discourse), the stakes of a bad question suddenly feel weirdly high. Like, society is counting on you to follow up, and you’re asking, “So… what was it like being there?”

Here’s what I wish someone had told me when I first started podcasting: hosting isn’t a personality trait. It’s a craft. A learnable, sweat-able, slightly nerdy craft. You don’t need to be born with extrovert energy. No shade to my extroverts or folks with big, bubbly personalities at all. You need reps, taste, and a willingness to watch yourself back without spiraling.

When I started podcasting, I was basically freestyling in real time. I’d forget questions mid-sentence (thank goodness for editing). I’d panic and fill the silence with a joke that at least didn’t make the guest feel awkward. I’d let the conversation meander into things that weren’t super relevant because I didn’t actually know where I wanted it to go. And the tech stuff? Let’s just say some early recordings sounded like they were captured inside a backpack at the bottom of a pool – another sticking point with coworking spaces. Back in 2020, they weren’t designed with a podcast studio around every corner.

Now? I’m still podcasting and hosting interviews, but I’m doing it with a plan and more experience. I want guests—especially the ones who don’t do many interviews—to leave thinking, “Wait… that was actually great.” Not because I’m chasing gold stars, but because the best interviews feel like a conversation. The host is building rapport so the guest can feel comfortable expressing thoughts or telling stories they don’t usually get to say out loud. I think that’s more important than having a big personality as a host – it’s that you ask something that invites honesty, specificity, and story.

Studying other interviewers helped me level up in a big way, season after season and documentary after documentary. Zane Lowe has this gentle intensity that makes you feel safe and seen at the same time. Guy Raz knows how to guide a business narrative without detracting from the founders themselves. Colin and Samir are great at asking specific questions that feel like they were written with the audience in mind. Scott Evans treats guests like a real house guest—warm, prepared, attentive—without losing the playful edge.

That house guest thing is a north star for me. Before we hit record, I try to set the room: a quick temperature check, offering them something to drink if we’re recording in person (I need to get some more coffee mugs, now that I’m thinking about it), give them a quick run of show so that they know what to expect, get a sense of what the guest wants to talk about, and a little permission slip for them to ignore the time if we go slightly over our desired record time. Is there something they’re excited about? Something they’re avoiding? Something they wish people would ask but never do?

Research is the part people love to romanticize. They want to appear as though they did a deep dive into their guest, while secretly doing the laziest version of it (like scrolling their Instagram for three minutes and calling it journalism). Real research is less about facts and more about context. What do they return to again and again? What topics do they light up around? What do they do outside of work that might explain how they think? It can look like watching old interviews for the questions that they get asked frequently or dodge giving a straight answer to, reading the essay they published three years ago, scanning the comments they leave on other people’s posts, or—if you’re feeling bold—asking a mutual connection what they think would make for a good question or story that might not be public knowledge.

And then there’s the moment of truth: the interview itself. The biggest upgrade I made wasn’t adding more questions or better gear—it was learning how to hold a thread. Eye contact. Listening. Being willing to ditch the questions I prepared when the guest opens a door to something way more interesting. Trusting that a conversation can be structured without becoming stiff. Also: you’re allowed to be a fan. A thoughtful fan is different from a fawning fan. One asks better questions because they care and are genuinely interested. One notices the craft. One has the biggest smile on their face when they’re taking a photo with the guest. (And yes, this has been me at times with dream guests. haha)

My goal is simple (and slightly chaotic): I want the interview to feel like a guided tour of a person’s journey that’s relevant to my audience, not a pop quiz. And when I blank—which still happens, because I am a human—I keep a few prompts in my back pocket. Not as a crutch, but as a critical part of my interview plan. Because nothing kills momentum like getting stuck on something mid-conversation.

Hosting is hospitality. You’re not there to perform your intelligence; you’re there to make the guest comfortable enough to be interesting. When it works, the listener feels it. The guest feels it. You feel it. And someday, if you’re lucky, a high-profile guest who does interviews all the time will tell you, “That was one of the best conversations I’ve had. I got asked questions about things people don’t usually notice.” That’s the dopamine hit that keeps me going (and what made Creative Architects one of my favorite shows to work on).