In this latest episode of The Floorplan with Dr Libby Sander, Bond University's expert on work and the workplace, talks to YouTuber jmancurly about his unconventional career path.
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At just 22 years old, Julian Elchakieh - better known online as jmancurly - has already lived several lifetimes’ worth of creative risk and reinvention.
The prolific YouTuber, whose videos have been viewed more than two billion times, enjoys a fiercely loyal fanbase and oversees a diverse creative empire spanning YouTube, music, fashion and video games.
Elchakieh represents a new employment model - one that looks nothing like the careers his parents’ generation grew up with.
“This is the only job I can ever remember wanting,” he says. “Probably since I was eight years old.”
Long before brand deals, VidCon stages or VR studios, Elchakieh was a kid recording gameplay videos on an iPad - for no audience at all.
“I would literally talk to nobody in my videos,” he says. “I’d say, ‘What’s up guys?’ but no one was watching.”
But even if Elchakieh’s audience wasn’t building, the same couldn’t be said for his enthusiasm to communicate.
He fell in love not just with games, but with editing, storytelling and the technical craft of making something feel cinematic.
“I loved the technical side of it,” he says. “I loved making things that made me laugh.”
That obsession carried him through high school - a period he describes as aimless and ill-fitting. Rejected from 14 colleges, Elchakieh eventually found himself at the kind of crossroads many young people know too well.
“There was a lot of discourse in the house,” he recalls. “Like, what am I going to do? Where is college going to take me?”
A turning point came in the form of a VR headset and a game called Gorilla Tag. Elchakieh made a simple tutorial video.
It exploded.
“It got 1000 views, 4000 views,” he says. “At the time, I was like, ‘I’m Drake right now’.”
That spark of momentum changed everything. Instead of university, Elchakieh moved to Canada, set up in a basement, and committed fully to YouTube.
“All day, every day,” he says. “Editing through the night, making video after video.”
Four years later, the grind hasn’t stopped - but the stakes have grown.
Elchakieh now runs a team from his operational bases in Vietnam, leads multiple creative ventures, and operates successfully in one of the most volatile industries imaginable.
“YouTube is the only job where you’ll probably never be satisfied,” he says. “If you don’t upload for a month, all your stats go away. You have to constantly prove yourself to the algorithm. It’s like a big, hungry monster.”
Burnout, isolation and pressure are constant companions.
“It’s a very isolating job,” he says. “I don’t really have friends here. I work, I sleep, I eat, I work out, and I make YouTube videos.”
Yet what keeps him going isn’t fame or money - it’s community.
“The number one value at our company is community,” he says. “Every decision we make is: is this right for the community or wrong? If it’s wrong, we don’t do it. Money doesn’t come into it.”
That philosophy has shaped his ever-expanding audience - the ‘Curly Gang’ - into something that is much more than a fanbase.
Elchakieh is deeply present - replying to comments, talking daily on chat platform Discord, and involving fans directly in his videos.
“I always wanted to post a video and spend the whole day replying to people,” he says. “That was the dream.”
He’s also deliberate about gratitude.
“I say it over and over - I am nothing without you. And it’s true.”
That authenticity resonates, particularly with his young audience.
“Kids are extremely loyal,” he explains. “They’re genuine. And when parents approve, it locks everything in.”
Beyond content, Elchakieh is thinking long-term - particularly through intellectual property. “IP is the secret weapon,” he says. “It’s the Disney effect.”
From his signature yellow tape and blue hair, to mascots like Gonzalez - a baby doll that accidentally became iconic - Elchakieh has built a recognisable creative universe.
“Once you lock down colours and shapes, people know immediately,” he explains. “A yellow rectangle? That’s us.”
That world-building extends into his most ambitious project yet: Schmackle, a VR game and digital universe years in the making.
“It’s by far the most difficult project I’ve ever taken on,” Elchakieh says. “A video game is the ultimate art project.”
Schmackle was born partly out of frustration.
“When I was a smaller YouTuber, the game developers never acknowledged creators,” he recalls. “But without creators, games don’t grow.”
So Elchakieh built Schmackle with a promise: “Schmackle will always take care of its creators.”
For him, leadership isn’t about coding expertise. “I’m a visionary,” he says. “I have ideas for what I want to see in the world. Steve Jobs didn’t build the iPhone either.”
That same mindset carried over to digital culture conference VidCon, where Elchakieh’s massive inflatable Schmackle character became a meeting point for fans.
“I wanted to solidify myself as a force,” he says - not through ego, but presence.
Despite the confidence he projects now, Elchakieh’s journey hasn’t been easy. He speaks openly about insecurity, illness, anxiety and self-doubt.
“I used to be insecure about my own shadow,” he admits. “I had Crohn’s Disease. I missed so much school.”
There was no instant fix, but regularly tackling insecurities head-on certainly helped desensitise him to any lingering awkwardness.
“That’s how you build confidence,” he says. “You consistently make yourself uncomfortable.”
Today, Elchakieh manages pressure through discipline: gym, sleep, music, and constant self-reflection.
“I had to practise controlling my thoughts,” he says. “Focusing on my breath. Reminding myself everything’s OK.”
Looking ahead, Elchakieh sees himself as a “triple threat”: videos, music and video games, all underpinned by community. An album is coming. Schmackle is being rebuilt from the ground up. New experiments are underway.
“I’m not into projects that blow up and die,” he says. “I want to work on a few things for a long time and make them excellent.”
And yes, he wants big things.
“It’s OK to want to be successful,” Elchakieh says. “It’s OK to want to be famous or rich. You just can’t let that be the only reason.”
For a generation questioning traditional pathways, Elchakieh’s story offers a powerful alternative: believe in your craft, show up relentlessly, and build something that means something.
“Every day we move the needle one percent,” he says, “Over time, that becomes something really big.”