In the bid for attention, discovery stopped living in podcast apps somewhere between 2015 and 2020 and moved into short video clips shaped by platforms built for engagement. Charts gave way to algorithms, and discovery shifted with little resistance. That change pulled even the most traditional podcasts towards video, long before many producers consciously chose it.
Social media was never where long conversations actually lived. Facebook and Instagram trained audiences through 30–90 second clips, dropped into feeds alongside influencers, memes, and family photos. TikTok took it further by breaking the link between discovery and the social graph altogether, surfacing content without users needing to follow, like, or recognise anyone. The conversations teased in those feeds did not unfold there. They moved to YouTube, first on laptops and phones, then increasingly on TV screens, where people watch when they want to and listen when they don’t. YouTube now reports more than one billion monthly users watching podcast content, with hundreds of millions of hours consumed on connected TVs, which explains why it has become the default home for long-form video and audio conversations.
That dominance carries risk for creators, whether they are national broadcasters, influencers turned podcasters, or independent operators. YouTube remains a platform owned by a single company, with algorithm changes that can lift or flatten entire categories overnight. Audience growth and monetisation can rise quickly, then disappear just as fast. The scale is unmatched, and it comes with dependence and limited control.
Spotify followed with a different advantage. It used its position in music to pull podcasts into the same environment, then added video and tied it to engagement and revenue. The Netflix partnership for high-profile podcast talent extends that approach to the big screen, treating long conversations as scheduled viewing rather than background listening. Distribution improved, while the rules stayed the same. Algorithms still decide who is surfaced.
This shift, accelerated by the pandemic, pushed production costs up across the board. What once worked with a plain background and a couple of microphones now often comes wrapped in crews, sets, screens, and constant visual movement. Smaller operators feel it hardest, as clips increasingly demand graphics, stock footage, and edits designed to satisfy algorithms as much as serve the conversation.
In 2026, the line between a podcast and a YouTube channel will be largely academic. New shows will launch video-first for long-form viewing, clip aggressively for reach, and keep audio as an essential layer for daily routines. Even with video growth, over 90% of weekly podcast listeners still listen in audio form. As algorithms continue to swing, the audio feed, still powered by RSS, may regain value through direct distribution that reaches people without asking permission.
There is a warning here for podcasting, drawn from what happened to news. Platforms took control of distribution first, then audiences, then advertising, and returned only a thin slice of what they captured. Video has delivered reach, but control still sits elsewhere. The more durable revenue paths are forming around direct subscriptions, sponsorships sold outside platform systems, live events, and products creators own outright.