Candace Owens’ Explosive Growth Is Rewiring Right-Wing Media — and Putting Megyn Kelly in a Bind

The story of Megyn Kelly’s transformation is, in many ways, the story of what happens when a traditional television career collides with the influencer economy — and loses, then adapts.

Kelly, 55, first gained national prominence as a Fox News anchor who, during the network’s first Republican primary debate in 2015, pressed Donald Trump on his treatment of women — a confrontation that triggered a very public feud and helped precipitate her exit from Fox in 2017. That departure was bound up in something larger: alongside Gretchen Carlson and others, Kelly accused then–Fox News CEO Roger Ailes of sexual harassment, a reckoning later dramatized in the 2019 film Bombshell, in which Charlize Theron portrayed her as a complicated but sympathetic figure of workplace defiance.

But not long after achieving mainstream respectability, Kelly’s career suffered a sharp blow. Her much-hyped NBC morning show, Megyn Kelly Today, was canceled after less than a year following her widely condemned remarks defending blackface Halloween costumes — a rupture that may explain both the chip on her shoulder and Kelly’s urgency to rebuild her brand on her own terms.

Her reinvention has been swift and, by most metrics, successful. In 2020, Kelly launched The Megyn Kelly Show as an independent podcast. By March 2025, she had expanded into MK Media, a growing podcast network under her Devil May Care Media banner, with ambitions to rival established conservative outlets. Her YouTube channel now exceeds four million subscribers and drew 138 million views in February alone.

As she works to expand that empire, Kelly has found herself navigating a shifting political and media landscape — one in which her proximity to Candace Owens, and her reluctance to distance herself from Owens’ increasingly controversial claims, has drawn scorn and scrutiny from some of her longtime allies on the right.

In the arms race for attention that defines political podcasting, few figures have expanded their reach as rapidly as Owens. Since January 2025, she has added an estimated 10.9 million followers across platforms, including YouTube, Instagram, Spotify, Rumble, Facebook and TikTok, while generating roughly 805 million YouTube views and more than 81 million TikTok likes, according to a report released in early March by Media Matters. The growth has elevated her from partisan provocateur to one of the most influential — and polarizing — voices on the right.

As her audience has grown, so too have the controversies that define her brand. Over the past year, Owens has promoted a series of  increasingly extreme and often unsubstantiated claims — including repeated assertions that French first lady Brigitte Macron was “born a man,” at one point declaring on Piers Morgan Uncensored that it was “beyond obvious” Macron “has a penis.” The remarks prompted a defamation lawsuit from the Macrons in July.

Owens has also advanced a series of outlandish narratives surrounding the 2025 killing of Turning Point USA founder Charlie Kirk, alleging — without evidence — the involvement of multiple governments and intelligence agencies, and suggesting the killing was tied to what she has described as a broader “deep state” agenda enabled by his wife and complicit Turning Point executives. She has claimed that Kirk, who was assassinated at Utah Valley University in September 2025 — is a literal time traveler, stating he told her so “repeatedly” and that CIA-linked “agents” had monitored him since childhood through a program she calls “Project Looking Glass.” She has said that the Israeli and French governments, and possibly Egypt, orchestrated Kirk’s murder because he threatened to speak out against “the Zionist deep state.” 

Her attacks on Jews and Israel have also intensified. Owens has urged her followers to read Der Talmudjude, a 19th-century antisemitic pamphlet, and suggested it revealed what Jewish public figures “really think.” In past episodes of her podcast, she inaccurately claimed that Jews dominated the slave trade and questioned historical narratives about Nazi Germany, describing aspects of Holocaust education as “indoctrination.” Critics, including such prominent right-wing voices like Matt Walsh, have raised the alarm about her increasingly incendiary rhetoric. But that criticism has not meaningfully slowed her growth.

What matters in this context is not simply the content itself but the scale at which it is consumed. With an audience estimated at roughly 24 million across platforms, Owens operates at a level of reach that forces both competitors and peers to respond — or seek to emulate her.

Owens’ rise is not pulling everyone in one direction so much as forcing a sorting mechanism within conservative media.

On one side is a loose, personality-driven ecosystem — Owens, Tucker Carlson, Steve Bannon and, at times, Kelly — where provocation, skepticism of institutional authority, conspiracy-mongering and boundary-testing rhetoric are central to audience growth. On the other is a more traditional faction — Ben Shapiro, Sean Hannity, Mark Levin and the Turning Point USA orbit — that, while firmly right-wing, has drawn a clearer line against overt conspiracy theories and antisemitic framing.

The divide is less ideological than structural: a clash between legacy conservatism and an influencer economy in which attention, not institutional affiliation, is the primary currency.

That tension has placed Kelly in an increasingly precarious bind.

She has built a large and growing independent platform, but one that still operates in the same attention marketplace Owens now dominates. Condemning Owens risks alienating a segment of that audience; embracing her risks reputational blowback and further blurring the boundaries between commentary and conspiracy.

The conflict came into sharp relief at Turning Point USA’s AmericaFest conference in December, where Shapiro criticized Owens’ claims as “hideous and conspiratorial nonsense” and rebuked Kelly for her refusal to denounce them. Kelly responded from the same stage, dismissing what she characterized as Shapiro’s attempt to police the boundaries of the movement.

The feud escalated further in February, when Owens launched a multi-part series targeting Erika Kirk, the widow of Charlie Kirk, delving into her family background and advancing insinuations about her role in his death that were widely condemned across the conservative spectrum. Shapiro called the content “evil,” while figures including Dan Bongino and Mark Levin publicly broke with Owens.

Kelly, despite previously attempting to broker a private truce between the two women, declined to directly address Owens’ claims — a stubborn silence that drew renewed scrutiny.

The dispute has also produced a revealing subtext about how success is measured in this new media order. In early March, Kelly touted her show’s 138 million YouTube views in February — roughly double the total for CBS News over the same period. Shapiro, responding on his podcast, declined to engage on metrics. “That’s not how I measure morality,” he said, before adding: “Megyn’s bravery stops precisely where the clicks end.”

It was a pointed critique, but also an acknowledgment of the reality both now operate within. In the influencer economy, audience growth is not just a byproduct of success; it is the organizing principle. The incentives are clear: more provocation, more intimacy, more boundary-testing — whatever keeps the numbers moving.

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Researchers who study online political movements say that the dynamic can shift audience expectations over time, blurring the line between commentary and conspiracy.

Kelly, who built her reputation in a system defined by editorial constraints and institutional guardrails, now operates in one where those limits are largely absent. Like many traditional media figures who have migrated online, she has gained independence, scale and direct access to her audience. What she has lost is the buffer those institutions once provided.

And for all the new eyes on her online content, she has to deal with the nastiness that comes with that crowd. It’s how she ended up with the nickname “Granny Groyper,” given to her by Levin and taken up by other MAGA types after she praised white nationalist Nick Fuentes (Groypers being the latter’s gaggle of “America First,” Holocaust-denying, permanently online Christian nationalists). In an X post on Sunday morning, Levin said Kelly is an “emotionally unhinged, lewd, and petulant wreck,” and that she’s “never made an intelligent, thoughtful, or substantive comment.” Kelly responded by telling Levin that he’s “sorry about his micro-penis.”

“When they go low, we go micro-penis,” Kelly proudly told her audience on her show this week as she mocked Levin for referring their spat to President Trump.

The Hollywood Reporter submitted questions to Kelly via The Devil May Care Media on Tuesday for but did not hear back from her representative.

Whether her reluctance to break decisively with Owens reflects ideological sympathy, a commitment to free expression, or a calculation about audience retention remains an open question. But the broader dynamic is less ambiguous.

In a media landscape increasingly shaped by individual creators rather than institutions, the gravitational pull is not toward the center but toward the rough edges. And the question facing figures like Kelly is not simply where they stand, but how far they are willing to abandon their principles and follow their audience to stay relevant.