Jasmine Marie ❤️

@1jasmarie

When Jasmine Marie Gish films her TikTok videos, you can almost picture her phone propped on a coffee table cluttered with half-finished coffee mugs or stacked textbooks. Her comedy feels like eavesdropping on a friend’s unfiltered thoughts about modern dating chaos—like that time she dissected a Tinder bio boasting "fluent in sarcasm and bad decisions" while deadpanning, "So you’re just… verbally lazy?" Her magic lies in twisting mundane moments into something painfully relatable: a 15-second skit about pretending to "read" a book on a date to avoid small talk, or mimicking the exaggerated confidence of someone swiping right with one hand while scrolling doom news with the other. It’s the kind of content that makes you pause mid-scroll, whispering, *"This is literally me."*

What sets her apart isn’t just the humor—it’s the specificity. While many creators chase trends, Jasmine’s niche became reviewing real Tinder profiles with the intensity of a film critic, but with the warmth of your most brutally honest sister. In one now-iconic video from August 2020, she unpacked a guy’s bio claiming he "collects vinyl and emotional baggage," squinting at the screen like she’s solving a crime. "Okay, but does the baggage come with a monogram?" she shot back, sending viewers into a laughing fit. That clip exploded past 1.5 million views, turning her into a go-to for anyone who’s ever wondered if matching with someone named "Wanderlust_Dave" was a red flag.

She didn’t start with viral fame. Jasmine’s first TikTok in early 2020 was a scratchy, self-deprecating sketch about her "creative process"—mainly staring at her ceiling fan while her phone battery died. It’s a humble origin story her fans adore because it mirrors their own. Now 27 and based in the U.S. (she’s cagey about exact locations, though her hat collection hints at Midwest roots), she’s grown to 160K followers without losing that kitchen-table authenticity. She’ll switch from roasting dating apps to sharing a quiet moment where she dances alone in her living room to Mariah Carey’s "All I Want for Christmas Is You," phone held aloft like a makeshift disco ball. No fancy edits, just real.

Her fans—mostly 18- to 30-year-olds navigating the messy intersection of adulthood and digital life—call her "the voice of my anxiety" in comments. They tag friends in videos with captions like "WHY IS THIS YOU?" because Jasmine nails the tiny, universal frustrations: the panic of answering "How are you?" when you’re actually just… surviving. She never lectures; she just holds up a mirror. When she posted a POV video about pretending to "love hiking" to impress a date (cut to her dramatically sighing at a 0.5-mile trail), it felt like she’d hacked into our collective dating trauma.

At its core, Jasmine’s work thrives on imperfection. She’ll intentionally leave in takes where she forgets lines or trips over her words, making followers feel like they’re in on the joke. In an era of overproduced influencer content, her refusal to smooth out the edges is revolutionary. She’s not selling a lifestyle—she’s documenting the beautifully awkward reality of being a 20-something trying to figure it out, one shaky selfie video at a time. And honestly? We need that.