Samantha South

Why Our Competition Rules Keep Getting More Complicated

One of the most common comments we receive on our competition videos is that the results are rigged. Sometimes people are joking, but other times they genuinely believe that because I’m the host of the channel, the outcome must somehow be predetermined. The reality is that we’ve spent years trying to do the exact opposite.

When we first started filming these competitions, we didn’t have pages of rules, participant packages, scorecards, waivers, or legal agreements. We were simply a group of builders getting together to have fun, challenge each other, and create entertaining content. Looking back, we probably trusted people a little too much. We assumed that if someone agreed to participate, they understood what they were signing up for. We assumed they would understand that someone had to win, someone had to lose, and that regardless of the outcome, everyone would walk away respecting the process.

For the most part, that’s exactly what happened. We’ve had some incredible competitors over the years, many of whom have become friends. However, it only takes one bad experience to expose weaknesses in a system.

Several years ago, we had a competitor who took a loss far more personally than anyone expected. What was intended to be a friendly competition became something much bigger because they simply could not accept losing publicly. The issue wasn’t that they disagreed with the outcome. People are allowed to disagree. The issue was that they began attempting to undermine the release of the video and create a narrative that the competition itself wasn’t legitimate.

In the end, we chose to remove the video entirely. Not because we were legally required to, and not because we believed the complaints had merit, but because we asked ourselves whether it was worth giving that individual a platform. The answer was no.

That experience changed the way we approached competitions moving forward.

Today, every competitor signs a media release, liability waiver, competition agreement, and additional documentation outlining expectations and responsibilities. Some people may look at that stack of paperwork and assume we’ve become overly cautious, but the truth is that experience taught us where the risks are. Those documents protect everyone involved. They protect us as creators, they protect the competitors, and they protect the integrity of the competition itself.

One of the biggest changes over the years has been our judging process. In the early days, a judge would simply evaluate the finished projects and choose a winner. While that sounds reasonable, it left too much room for speculation. If a judge selected one build over another, viewers and competitors could always claim the decision was based on personal preference rather than objective evaluation.

To address that concern, we developed detailed scorecards that judges are required to complete before a winner is announced. Rather than simply choosing the project they like best, judges must evaluate specific categories such as craftsmanship, execution, creativity, functionality, and overall quality. More importantly, they have to assign scores in each category. The goal isn’t to eliminate subjectivity entirely—because construction and design will always involve some level of personal opinion—but to ensure that every decision is supported by a documented evaluation process.

Another important lesson involved material selection. In the beginning, competitors occasionally requested special products or materials that weren’t included in the original challenge package. At first, we thought this would make the builds more creative. Instead, it created unnecessary complications.

If one competitor requested a specific product and lost, questions would immediately arise about whether the other competitor had access to similar options. Even when both competitors were treated fairly, the perception of unfairness remained. Eventually we realized that allowing different material selections was introducing variables that had nothing to do with skill.

Today, material piles are identical. Tool kits are identical. Fasteners are identical. Both competitors receive the same resources and work within the same parameters. We want the competition to be determined by creativity, planning, craftsmanship, and execution—not by who happened to choose a product, colour, or material that appealed more to the judge.

We have also made a conscious effort to remove any possibility that Gordon receives information before the competitor does. Challenge details, scoring criteria, project parameters, timelines, and expectations are provided to both participants at the same time. If a challenge package is being distributed two weeks before filming, both sides receive the exact same information. If there is a scorecard, both sides see it at the same time. We don’t just want the competition to be fair; we want it to be impossible for anyone to reasonably claim it wasn’t.

Even seemingly minor details have been addressed. The side of the build area that each competitor receives is randomized. Materials are counted and verified. Displays are built to be as identical as possible. Over time, we’ve found that eliminating small points of contention prevents much larger arguments later.

What’s interesting is that many of the rules people see today were never part of the original vision for these competitions. Most of them exist because a situation occurred that forced us to improve the process. Every disagreement, complaint, misunderstanding, and challenge taught us something. In that sense, the competition format has evolved the same way any successful business evolves: by learning from mistakes and continuously improving.

Will people still occasionally claim a result was unfair? Absolutely. That’s the nature of competition. No matter how transparent the process becomes, there will always be someone who disagrees with the outcome.

What matters to us is that the process itself can withstand scrutiny. We don’t expect everyone to agree with every judging decision, but we do want competitors, judges, sponsors, and viewers to know that the winner wasn’t determined by favouritism, special treatment, or hidden advantages. The winner was determined by a process designed to give both competitors the same opportunity to succeed.

At the end of the day, that’s what we’ve been working toward all along. Not a perfect system, because no such thing exists, but a system that is fair, transparent, and able to stand up to criticism. Every rule we have today exists for a reason, and almost every one of those reasons comes from a lesson we learned the hard way.

It’s been a while..

The last time I sat down to write a blog post was in the beginning of April – it’s crazy how fast time is going!

Looking back, I don’t think I realized just how much was about to happen over the next few months.

Since then, we’ve been busy.

Really busy.

Between filming, travel, partnerships, planning, and some of the biggest projects we’ve ever attempted, the blog ended up taking a back seat while we focused on building what comes next for Bully Media.

One thing that has been incredibly rewarding over the past few months is seeing our work recognized on a global stage.

Our series, YouTuber vs. Real Carpenter, earned two Webby Awards, was recognized as a Webby Honoree in the Reality & Unscripted category, and brought home five Telly Awards, including Gold, Silver, and Bronze recognition.

For a show that started with a small team, a camera, and a lot of determination, those moments are pretty surreal.

The awards are exciting, but what means the most to me is what they represent. Every view, every comment, every share, every sponsor, every collaborator, and every person who has supported us along the way played a role in getting us here.

None of it happens without you.

Speaking of exciting things happening…

Fun fact: as I’m writing this, the Wood Bully Truck Competition is happening right now.

The cameras are rolling, competitors are battling their way through a series of construction challenges, and by the end of today, someone is going to drive away with a truck.

For months, this event has existed as notes on whiteboards, planning meetings, spreadsheets, phone calls, sponsor discussions, and countless conversations about how we could pull it off. Seeing it finally come to life has been incredibly rewarding.

By the time you’re reading this, we’ll already know who won. But right now, as I sit here writing, I genuinely have no idea who it’s going to be.

And honestly, that’s pretty exciting.

The Truck Competition is just one of several projects we’ve been working on behind the scenes. We’re also continuing to explore new opportunities through podcasts, live events, larger collaborations, educational content, and entirely new series that continue to showcase the incredible people working in the skilled trades.

What excites me most isn’t what we’ve already accomplished—it’s what’s coming next.

We have some big goals for the future.

Webby Awards

I was told this show wasn’t possible to make. That’s where this all starts.

Back in 2022, I had the opportunity to meet Bryan Baeumler at the International Builders’ Show in Orlando. Someone I had looked up to for years. What was supposed to be a quick conversation turned into something more, and he gave me more time than he had to. At one point, he said if I ever came up with a show idea, I could pitch it to him. If it was good, he’d put me in front of a production company and take it to a network.

That wasn’t something I took lightly.

Standing there, I came up with the idea on the spot.

At the time, it was called Beat the Bully. The idea came from what I was dealing with online every day. The comments were constant. It didn’t matter what I posted, someone always had something negative to say, someone always knew how to do it better. So the idea was simple: if you think you can do it better, come prove it. Step out from behind the keyboard and compete against me in a real build.

I pitched it right there. He loved it. He put me in front of his production company, and I pitched it properly.

They said no.

They were respectful about it, but the feedback was clear. It wouldn’t work. Haters wouldn’t actually show up. It would be too volatile, too difficult to produce, and too hard to make financially viable.

And to be fair, they weren’t wrong about the difficulty. This is a hard show to make.

But I wasn’t willing to let that be the end of it.

We had another production company take a run at it. They signed a small deal and shopped a sizzle reel around, but it never went anywhere meaningful. At a certain point, I realized if this was going to exist, I was going to have to build it myself.

So I did.

No production company. No budget. No real plan beyond figuring it out as I went.

The first episode was exactly that. I had the vision and I knew what I wanted the show to feel like, but everything was happening in real time. There was no structure. No contracts. No schedule. No judging criteria. We were borrowing a corner of a warehouse, using whatever materials we could get, and trying to pull off something that shouldn’t have worked.

Episode one wasn’t a production. It was me trying to accomplish a mission.

Episode two is where everything changed.

Samantha had been there from the beginning, but stepping into that second episode meant stepping into the chaos and turning it into something that could actually run. What I had was the idea and the direction. What we didn’t have was structure.

So she built it.

Schedules were the first thing. Then contracts. Media releases. NDAs. Liability forms. The things nobody sees, but the things that make a show possible. Without that, there’s no protection, no control, and no way to grow it.

That shift changed everything.

We went from scrambling through a shoot to actually running one. We had call times. We had structure. Judges were coordinated properly and set up in hotels. Competitors had a space separate from the build zone. The camera crew had a dedicated area to set up audio and equipment away from the construction chaos.

It went from me trying to make something happen to us running an actual show.

From there, things started to build the way they were supposed to.

We changed the name from Beat the Bully to YouTuber vs Real Carpenter, and that alone made the concept make sense immediately. People understood it. They clicked on it.

The competitors changed too. The haters didn’t show up the way everyone thought they would, but the right people did. The first competitor, Bradley Dell, set the tone. He wasn’t there to talk, he was there to compete.

Since then, we’ve filmed 18 episodes. We’ve had people drive across provinces, fly in from Newfoundland, and show up because they wanted to prove what they could do. We’ve had creators, framers, builders, and people who had never been on camera before.

We’ve had judges like Michael Holmes, Deck DaVinci, Paul Lafrance, and Jon Dawson, all judging blind with no idea who built what.

And because the comments never stopped, because there was always someone saying it was rigged, we built a system to remove that completely. We created a formal scorecard. Judges fill it out on camera before the winner is announced. The result is decided before anyone hears it. It’s documented, it’s structured, and it’s fair.

That wasn’t part of the original plan. That’s something we built because we had to.

Behind the scenes, we’ve gone through multiple film crews and different production setups trying to figure out what actually delivers the best result. We’ve tested everything from small crews to full-scale productions and rebuilt the process more than once.

We invested in learning. We went through the Changer Studios Accelerator program put on by YouTube to understand packaging, storytelling, and how to actually hold attention. I’ve spent years refining the creative side of the show, while the structure behind the scenes kept evolving to support it.

We pushed it beyond just the shop. We filmed in Nashville. We ran a live version of YouTuber vs Real Carpenter with sponsors, booths, and a multi-day build that ended with live judging.

With the support of Owens Corning, we were able to move into our own warehouse and actually scale production.

And now, after all of that, we’re here.

We’ve been nominated for three Webby Awards in the DIY category: Explainer / How-To, Home & Design, and Brand Ambassador. We’ve also been named an Honoree in the Unscripted Series category for YouTuber vs Real Carpenter, out of over 13,000 entries.

This is considered one of the highest recognitions in digital content.

The reality is, we were never supposed to get here.

This started with an idea that got rejected, a first episode that barely held together, and a process that had to be built from nothing. I had the vision and refused to let it go. Samantha made sure it could actually run, grow, and become something real.

This wasn’t one viral moment. It wasn’t overnight success.

It was built episode by episode, mistake by mistake, fixing what didn’t work and doubling down on what did.

And what this proves to me is simple.

You don’t need permission to build something real.

– Gordon

The switch up

For a long time, Wood Bully lived in two worlds at the same time. One foot was firmly planted in the day-to-day public construction grind—quotes, timelines, weather delays, materials, client expectations, and the constant pressure of doing everything right while still staying profitable. The other foot was already standing in media—filming builds, telling stories, educating, entertaining, traveling, collaborating, and building something much bigger than a single job site. For years, we tried to balance both. And for a while, that worked. Until it didn’t.

The truth is, the construction side started demanding more and more of our energy while giving us less room to grow creatively and strategically. Not because we don’t love building—we do—but because running a public-facing construction company comes with a level of responsibility and risk that makes innovation harder, not easier. Every job meant real clients, real deadlines, real stress, and real consequences if anything went sideways. At the same time, the media side kept pulling us forward. The audience was growing. The impact was growing. The opportunities were growing. And we were constantly asking ourselves why the thing that was clearly working had to be treated like a side hustle.

So we made a decision that looks big from the outside, but honestly felt inevitable on the inside. We chose focus. We chose to stop splitting ourselves in half and go all-in on what Wood Bully has already become: a media brand built on real construction knowledge, real personalities, and real storytelling. Moving away from day-to-day public construction wasn’t about walking away from the industry—it was about serving it better. Through content, we can reach millions instead of dozens. We can educate, challenge, entertain, and push the trade forward without being limited by one project at a time.

What’s important to say clearly is this: the Wood Bully channel is not changing. The builds don’t stop. The chaos doesn’t stop. The honesty doesn’t stop. The sawdust doesn’t magically disappear. If anything, this shift allows us to do more—bigger builds, better production, deeper education, more behind-the-scenes, and more time spent actually creating instead of constantly firefighting logistics. We’re not becoming a talking-head media company. We’re doubling down on being builders who know how to tell a story.

We’re excited because this move gives us control. Control over our schedule. Control over our creative direction. Control over how we grow and who we collaborate with. It allows us to build sustainable systems, invest in our team, and think long-term instead of job-to-job. It also lets us protect the Wood Bully brand in a way that public construction simply doesn’t anymore. No rushed timelines. No compromising quality. No forcing creativity into the cracks of an already overloaded calendar.

This isn’t an ending—it’s an evolution. Wood Bully was never just a construction company. It was always a voice, a perspective, and a way of showing the industry as it actually is. Going full-time media doesn’t take us away from that. It finally puts us exactly where we were heading all along.

You heard it here first …

We’re starting a podcast.

Not because it’s trendy. Not because “everyone has one.” And definitely not because we needed another thing on our plates. We’re starting it because there are too many conversations happening off-camera that deserve to be heard — the real ones, the uncomfortable ones, the funny ones, and the ones that never make it into a perfectly edited video.

If you follow our work, you already know we don’t do polished-for-the-sake-of-polished. Our world is loud, chaotic, opinionated, and built on real experiences — wins, mistakes, lessons, and a lot of trial by fire. The podcast is an extension of that. It’s a space where we can slow things down just enough to actually talk, reflect, and say the things that don’t fit into a 60-second clip or a build montage.

This podcast isn’t about teaching you how to build something step by step. It’s about the people behind the tools. The mindset. The behind-the-scenes decisions. The stuff no one posts because it doesn’t look good on a highlight reel. We want to talk about the industry honestly — the good parts and the parts that make you want to throw your phone across the room. The successes, the failures, the burnout, the ego, the pressure, the money conversations, the loyalty conversations, the “what the hell are we even doing?” moments.

It’s also not a sales pitch. You won’t hear us reading off scripts or pretending everything is perfect. If something’s working, we’ll say it. If something didn’t, we’ll say that too. Guests aren’t coming on to impress anyone — they’re coming on to talk like real humans who have been in the trenches, made mistakes, learned lessons, and lived to tell the story.

At its core, this podcast is about paying attention — to the details, to the people, to the things most get wrong, and to the truths that get ignored because they’re uncomfortable. It’s about calling things what they are, laughing when it’s ridiculous, and being honest even when it would be easier not to be.

If you’re looking for something overly polished, perfectly structured, or filtered to death — this probably isn’t for you. But if you want real conversations, real opinions, and real stories from people who are actually living it, then welcome. This is us, unfiltered, on a mic — and we’re just getting started.

Why I Don’t Match Cheaper Quotes (And Why You Should Think Twice About It)

When a client tells me they got cheaper quotes and asks if I can “do any better,” I always take a breath, smile, and remind myself that this is part of the game we all signed up for. But the way I see it, the answer isn’t just about defending my price — it’s about understanding what I’m actually offering. Most people jump straight to blaming the industry, blaming the “cheap guys,” blaming the undercutters, but I think you have to look inward before you look outward.

The first thing I want to know is simple: how different is the price, really? There’s a big difference between someone being a little cheaper because they’re hungry for work and someone being drastically cheaper because they’re cutting corners everywhere. And yes — we work in decking and exterior carpentry, so shortcuts absolutely exist. Fast installs, low-grade material, cheap labor… it all shows up eventually. But price differences don’t mean much until you understand what’s behind them.

That leads to the next thing no one talks about: is your product actually better, or are you just more expensive because you know your numbers? This is the question almost no “internet business gurus” address. Everyone loves to say, “People charging less are destroying the industry.” But here’s the uncomfortable truth: sometimes the problem isn’t them. Sometimes the problem is you. If your build quality is the same as the guy charging less than you, then he isn’t the issue. He’s beating you — fair and square — because his business model is working and yours isn’t.

And here’s the reality that guides everything I do: there are only two ways to make money in this business — high volume or high quality. You pick one. You cannot be both. If you’re high volume, you’re fast, you’re affordable, and the product is decent but not premium. You’re running through jobs and stacking profit through speed. There’s nothing wrong with that if that’s the lane you choose. If you’re high quality, you’re slower, more methodical, more expensive, and your product reflects that level of care. Again — completely valid if that’s the lane you choose. The problem is when people try to charge premium prices for average work. That’s the death sentence. If you’re expensive and your product is the same as everyone else’s, you will not survive. Clients aren’t stupid. They shop around. They compare. You will lose — every time.

So when a client brings me a cheaper quote, I don’t immediately assume the other contractor is doing bad work. I don’t trash them. I don’t get defensive. I simply explain that my pricing reflects what it takes for me to deliver the deck I’m proud to stamp my name on. If someone else can offer the same craftsmanship, the same materials, the same experience, for less — then maybe they’re the right fit for that client. But I’m not interested in lowering my standards just to win a job. I’m interested in giving clients a product they won’t need to replace, repair, or regret later.

At the end of the day, clients who want the cheapest price aren’t looking for what I build, and I’m okay with that. The clients who want something done right — those are my people. They understand why I charge what I charge. They value longevity, reputation, communication, and craftsmanship. They’re not just buying a deck; they’re buying peace of mind.

So the next time someone tells you another contractor quoted less, don’t panic. Don’t justify yourself to death. Don’t race to the bottom. Just ask yourself the real question: Is my product truly worth what I’m charging? If yes — stand your ground. If no — fix the product or fix the price.

Because in this line of work, you get to choose your lane…

but the market decides if you stay in it.

The Most Important Lesson I’ve Learned Working in This Industry

If there’s one thing this industry has taught me — the kind of lesson you only learn after years of trial, error, and stubbornness — it’s this:

If you don’t know what you’re building toward, everything around you will pull you in a hundred directions at once.

And not gently.

This space is loud. Everyone has an opinion, everyone has a strategy, everyone swears they’ve cracked the code. And if you’re not anchored by something real, you’ll find yourself scrolling Google for escape plans and foreign residency requirements before your coffee gets cold. (Hypothetically. Maybe.)

People see the final outcome — the polished videos, the polished projects, the audience numbers — and assume there’s a straight line connecting all of it. But nothing about what we do is linear. Growth has a personality disorder. Some seasons feel electric and effortless; some feel like you’re dragging the entire internet up a hill.

What has surprised me most isn’t the workload. It’s the emotional weight of leading something that has its own identity now. Wood Bully and Bully Media aren’t just “our businesses” anymore — they are a living, breathing thing with expectations, momentum, and people who rely on it. There’s a responsibility that comes with that, one that grows louder the bigger this gets.

And that’s exactly why Gordon built this the way he did.

Not for attention.

Not for clout.

Not for internet fame.

He built it because he hoped that someday, all of this effort would circle back to his family — to more time, more stability, and more choices than either of us had growing up. Wood Bully started as a way to build something that would outlive the hustle. Something that could create freedom, not chaos. Something that could rewrite what “work” looks like for our family in the long run.

The part people don’t see is that purpose evolves.

It’s not a moment — it’s a discipline.

A practice.

A constant recalibration.

Purpose is what forces you to make decisions that aren’t popular but are necessary.

Purpose is what keeps you from taking shortcuts when the easier road is right there.

Purpose is what stops you from letting ego run the show.

Purpose is what keeps the entire thing aligned when the outside world feels messy.

And in a space where trends flip every five minutes, where platforms reinvent themselves overnight, and where everybody swears they found a “new formula,” that purpose has become the only compass worth following.

I’ve learned that success isn’t one big decision — it’s a thousand tiny agreements you make with yourself:

Who you want to be.

What kind of company you want to run.

What kind of impact you want to leave behind.

What kind of example you’re setting while you build it.

Everything around Wood Bully has evolved. The audience, the content, the direction, the opportunities — all of it has changed dramatically from where we started. But the intention behind it hasn’t drifted even an inch.

We’re here to build something that outlasts trends, noise, and algorithms.

Something anchored in the kind of values that don’t go out of style.

Something our kids can look at and understand exactly what we stood for.

That — not the numbers, not the platforms, not the industry chaos —

is the reason we’re still standing.

And the reason we’ll still be standing ten years from now.

OC Lumber x Wood Bully

If you told me five years ago that I’d be traveling across the U.S. for two months straight with Gordon, building, filming, and chasing an idea that had been in my head for years, I probably would have laughed and told you that stuff just doesn’t happen to anyone. And yet, somehow, that idea — this crazy, half-dreamed, half-insane notion of a traveling carpenter media tour — actually happened. Twice. In 2024 and 2025, we set out on what became the OC Lumber Tour, and it was everything I thought it would be and nothing I expected at the same time.

The whole thing started in January 2024. I’d been talking about the traveling Wood Bully idea for years, begging Gordon to do it. And then, out of nowhere, we met Casey ( in person anyways) And Casey had been thinking the exact same thing. For a moment, it was almost unreal — like someone finally spoke the same language we’d been dreaming in all along. From that instant, everything clicked. Casey became more than a planner or organizer; he became a guide, a partner, and someone whose expertise we leaned on in ways I can’t even describe. He knows every hotel in the country, but he also listens, believes in your vision, and somehow manages to make chaos feel manageable. Having him there made this impossible dream feel achievable.

We left for the first tour on June 29, 2024, right after our son’s grade 12 graduation ( he graduated with honors 🎉) We drove to Washington, D.C., jumped on an overnight auto train to Sanford, Florida, and began the whirlwind. From there, we drove down to the Keys, settling into a hotel in Marathon right on the water. Huge iguanas wandered around the pool, completely unbothered by humans, and it was one of our first “holy shit, we’re actually doing this” moments. Florida stole my heart immediately.

From Marathon, the stops came fast: Key Largo, Fort Lauderdale, Fort Myers, Cape Coral(which Gord kept calling Cape Canaveral – I have the videos to prove it!) Sarasota (Siesta Key sunsets!), Bradenton, Winter Haven, and Orlando — after Orlando we flew home for four days for our son’s birthday. Then Clearwater, St. Pete Beach, a pizza stop in tiny Tarpon Springs, Hudson, Daytona Beach, Jacksonville, Savannah, Dutch Island, Charleston, Greenville, Birmingham, Nashville, Knoxville for a competition series, Charlotte, Wilmington (where we surprised Gordon for his birthday), Newport News, Baltimore (never again), Atlantic City, Barnegat, Long Island, Butler, NJ, and finally Providence, Rhode Island.

Every day was early mornings, building or appearances, sleep, then driving to the next city. Just Gordon and me traveling together. I handled production, logistics, and everything at home, while Gordon was the creative genius on camera. Casey and Kevin were there almost every stop, keeping everything organized, anticipating problems before they happened, and somehow making the tour feel possible. Casey’s dedication went far beyond logistics — he was our mentor, our problem-solver, the calm in the chaos, and someone who believed in us when we were still figuring out if we believed in ourselves.

Some moments were unforgettable. Watching Gordon, who couldn’t swim, get on water skis ( TWICE! ) was absolutely hilarious — and terrifying. He had practiced swimming in hotel pools for days beforehand. He was sore for a week. I laughed so hard I cried ( I also have videos of this). And there was that pizza in Wayne, New Jersey. I swear I dream about it all the time. And then there were the contractors everywhere recognizing Wood Bully — telling us we’d inspired them, taught them what they knew, or motivated them to start their own companies. That part hit me in a way nothing else did. All the chaos, stress, and long drives suddenly had meaning.

2025 was different. We went back to the drawing board and decided to slow down. Instead of flying in and out of job sites in a day, we stayed a week, really building relationships, learning from crews, and creating more meaningful content. We started in Detroit with Theo Von ( watching his stand up show ), then Cleveland, Massachusetts, Boston, Fargo (a two-day drive!), Short Grass Resort in South Dakota, Billings, Montana (where our brand-new vehicle broke down, nightmare), Toledo for the Owens Corning headquarters, and finally a bowling alley hangout before heading home. Spending more time at each stop made everything feel more connected — less rushed, less stressful, and way more rewarding.

Even the tough moments are now part of the story. The Billings breakdown could have broken me emotionally — six of us stranded, rentals, flights, logistics — but we somehow made it work. That experience taught me more about adaptability, patience, and teamwork than anything else on either tour.

Through it all, the biggest lesson was about people. Casey became family. Contractors became friends. Gordon and I learned how capable we really are, how adaptable we can be, and how incredible it feels to turn a five-year idea into a tangible reality. I also learned that I can thrive in chaos, that I can hold everything together when needed, and that relationships — real, honest, human relationships — are what make the grind worth it.

If I had to sum up both tours in one sentence, it would be: holy shit, that was epic. I can’t wait to do it again, and I know that with Gordon and the incredible people we met along the way, the next chapter will be even bigger.

I put some photos at the bottom because writing about this just doesn’t do it justice –

-Samantha

Q: How do you price brand partnerships? Is there a formula to make sure you’re not undercharging or overcharging?

When I asked Gord this question, he didn’t hesitate. He said, “No. There’s no formula. The best advice I was ever given—and it actually makes sense—is you charge what the market will allow.” He explained that in this space, we’re not negotiating with regular people who saved up for their backyard. We’re dealing with corporations. These companies are handed budget money, and their job is to take that budget and generate as much buzz and visibility as possible. So when they come to you, they’re not coming with emotion or personal sacrifice. They’re not stretching their personal savings. They’re looking for a return.

“That humility, that blue-collar shame that gets built into us from the time we’re kids—the idea that we shouldn’t ask for more, or that we don’t deserve more—that’s wrong. Corporations don’t care what your rates are. They care what fits in the budget. They’re not taking it personally. Smaller companies might take it personally, and honestly, you might have to avoid those, the same way you avoid small construction jobs that cause more trouble than they’re worth.”

He pointed out how strange the landscape is. “These companies will go pay ten times more to a magazine that nobody reads anymore, or a TV show that doesn’t give them proper credit, or some outdated website with no audience. They’ll throw huge amounts of money at dead marketing channels, but hesitate with creators who get millions of views. That’s the part people forget—you’re not just making content. You’re editing, producing, hosting, broadcasting, and your likeness also costs money. You’re basically the production company, the network, the actor, and the editor, all in one.”

Then he made the comparison that most creators never say out loud: “We actually perform better than TV. Our company reaches more people in a month than HGTV does. So technically, we should charge more than a traditional TV commercial. But we don’t. And that’s because the space is still new, and a lot of the decision-makers are older. They don’t always understand the value they’re getting.”

What about when a brand gets offended by your price? Gordon was blunt: “If someone’s offended that you asked for the rate you feel you deserve, that’s not someone you want to work with anyway.”

He also talked about something that creators rarely discuss publicly—the tension with certain marketing directors. “Some smaller companies hire marketing directors who went to university, got their marketing degree, and they’re very proud of that. They look down on people like me—a construction worker who one day tossed his apprentice a phone and started this whole thing. But now they need me to push their product. They’ll give you attitude, try to micromanage your edit, or ‘fix’ your video. Yet when you look at their socials? Nothing going on. They might know a lot academically, but they don’t know what I do.”

He wasn’t bitter about it—just realistic. “You have to ignore the egos. Keep moving. Don’t let someone else’s pride or credentials make you doubt your worth.”

Then he said something I think every creator should hear: “You can’t take yourself too seriously, but you’ve got to know what you’re worth. And you can’t work backwards. You can’t work for free. You can’t work just for money. And you can’t let your ego drive the bus.”

He talked about creators who will do massive work for almost nothing, just so they can say they have a “paid partnership.” “That’s an ego thing. It’s not business. For me, I’ve always stayed away from paid partnerships. I don’t want my whole page to turn into a commercial. I don’t think that helps build a brand. In fact, I think it hurts it. You’ve got to be selective. You’ve got to pick partners who understand value and respect your work.”

In the end, Gord’s answer wasn’t a formula—it was a mindset. Know your worth. Know the market. Don’t let old-school thinking or someone else’s ego convince you that you deserve less. And price based on value, not fear.

Q: In YouTuber vs. Real Carpenter, how much is real and how much is staged? Are there rules or time limits we don’t see?

When I asked Gordon this, he didn’t even let me finish the question before he jumped in.

He said, “There’s nothing staged. Literally nothing. When that timer says ‘go,’ and when that timer says ‘stop,’ that block of time is sacred. There are no shenanigans, no retakes, no recreating anything for camera. That time is competition. We take that part extremely seriously. Everything else you see—the interviews, the talking heads, the commentary—those are done before or after, not during. Sometimes on the longer builds we’ll call a break halfway through so everyone can breathe, grab water, maybe film a couple quick interviews, have some food, but the timer stops. I usually don’t leave those breaks in the final edit because they just don’t make sense in the flow of the story, but they’re real. The competition itself though? Completely legitimate. The timer is real. The rules are real.”

He added, “Even the judge has no idea what’s happening. They’re completely blind. Except for that one time where we tried having the judge watch the whole thing—that was an experiment, and we won’t be doing that again. Fun to try, but yeah, not happening again. It’ll always be blind from now on.”

When I asked him about materials, he explained that the goal is always fairness. “The usual structure is two identical piles of materials. You pick what you want to build within the parameters, and both piles have more than enough to do any style you can think of for that type of challenge. Now, we’ve had a couple of the bigger episodes where, because of budget, competitors could request special items. I can’t buy two of everything—we don’t have a million dollars to make an episode—so sometimes someone would ask for something specific. And then the other guy would complain that he didn’t get the same special thing. It turned into chaos. So no more special things. Equal piles only. It keeps it simple and fair. And honestly, when people lose, they get sore. They’ll point out things we didn’t even think about. That actually helps us keep improving the rules so they’re impenetrable. Equal time, equal materials, equal parameters. That’s the formula.”

So I asked him what he says to the people online who comment that it’s rigged.

He said, “They’re just saying that. People say things. Sometimes we edit episodes to look closer than they were because that’s how storytelling works. So the audience thinks it was neck-and-neck when really one person absolutely dominated. But if we showed it exactly as it happened, it might not be as fun to watch. Then people get mad because in their head, the guy who lost ‘almost won.’ But they weren’t there. And some people think I care whether I win or lose. I don’t. I’ve lost before. I want this thing to be bigger than me. This competition is for the entire carpentry community. Carpenters deserve representation, respect, a platform. People watch reality shows where someone cooks a steak. I promise you building a house is harder than cooking a steak—I know, because I cook steaks after building houses. No disrespect to chefs, but what we do deserves a spotlight too.”

I asked him how competitors and judges are chosen. Competitors apply through the JotForm link that’s in every episode description. “Skill level matters,” he told me, “but attitude and availability matter way more. We’re working around the camera crew’s schedule, my schedule, the judge’s schedule, sponsors, materials… so many moving parts. Sometimes we make a shortlist. If you’re worried because you don’t have a million photos of perfect work, don’t be. We’re looking at how you represent yourself and whether you can actually show up.”

For the judges, he keeps it simple. “The judge has to match the challenge. I’m not bringing in someone who tiles bathrooms to judge a staircase. That makes no sense, and it’s not fair to the tradespeople watching at home. And to the people saying I know the judges—yeah, I do, because our industry is small. But they don’t see anything beforehand. They show up on judgment day, they’re handed a scorecard, and that’s it. They have no context. They’re blind for a reason. And honestly? I think some of them want me to lose. Some come in thinking they’re going to pick the other guy just to see me go down. But sometimes they choose the wrong one assuming it’s mine, or they assume it’s the competitor’s when it’s really mine. There’s no way for them to guess. I build something different every single episode, and we flip a coin for which side I’m on, so the judges can’t identify anything.”

Before he wrapped up, he said “My goal has always been to keep this as official and fair as possible. This is one of those things I always wished someone else had done years ago, but now that we’re actually doing it, I understand why nobody did. It is hard. I don’t think TV could do this. I don’t think Netflix could do this. The challenges are too big, the materials are too big, the equipment, the space, the logistics, and honestly the price tag is enormous. That’s why this has to be independent and on YouTube. But I love doing it, and as difficult as it is, I’m not stopping.”