Did you happen to watch Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue that aired last month—the highly discussed one that followed the moment Disney officially reinstated his late‑night program? Millions of people tuned in to witness that return. In fact, more than six million viewers watched the broadcast on the night of its comeback, an impressive figure by any measure—particularly notable not only for Kimmel himself but for the entire late‑night television landscape, which has seen steadily declining numbers in recent years. Yet the real astonishment appears when one looks at the digital sphere. Kimmel’s performance, once uploaded to YouTube, amassed over twenty‑two million views, a staggering count that eclipsed the live television audience by a wide margin. That enormous gap between traditional viewership and online engagement reveals almost everything one needs to grasp about the deeper struggles now confronting Kimmel’s show and, by extension, virtually every program that still inhabits the late‑night genre. Regardless of who occupies political office or what cultural moment the country finds itself in, one fact stands firm: the act of sitting down late at night to watch television as it airs has become an increasingly rare habit. The conventional ritual of tuning in after 11:00 p.m. is fading, replaced by an on‑demand culture in which audiences consume those same comedic highlights via YouTube, social media feeds, and other streaming platforms—often the very next morning.

Although it remains possible, at least under certain circumstances, for television creators and networks to generate some revenue from the views gathered online, those digital earnings pale when compared to the amounts cable broadcasters still bring in from traditional TV advertising and syndication. The financial equation, in other words, no longer balances: what is lost in television revenue cannot be made up by the relatively modest sums produced from digital engagement. This new arithmetic, unfavorable as it is, places the entire late‑night business model under pressure.

Even Jimmy Kimmel himself acknowledges this complicated, almost contradictory dynamic. Speaking with notable candor at Bloomberg’s Screentime conference earlier this month, he demonstrated that he is far from oblivious to the industry’s evolving economics. As he explained, he is acutely aware that while ABC—the network—funds the production of his show, YouTube does not pay for the privilege of distributing those same clips. Yet, paradoxically, the video platform is still able to profit from selling advertisements alongside his content and even keeps a portion of that income. Kimmel described the arrangement as quite a deal—for YouTube, not necessarily for the creators or the networks footing the bill.

Still, as much as he laments the financial imbalance, Kimmel also expressed an unmistakable sense of appreciation for the platform that has, inadvertently, become critical to his show’s cultural visibility. Speaking to Bloomberg journalist Lucas Shaw, he admitted, almost wistfully, that he loves YouTube—not merely because it amplifies his personal reach, but because it grants any performer or creative professional instantaneous access to a vast, global audience. Deep down, like most entertainers, what he desires most is for as many people as possible to encounter and enjoy his material. Yet he also recognizes the paradox inherent in that affection: YouTube’s convenience, the very quality that allows his content to find immense success online, has simultaneously drawn millions away from traditional late‑night ratings. In his words, the ease of watching clips on YouTube hurts viewership—not just for his show, but for all of them in the late‑night field.

For those who regularly examine the ever‑evolving tension between legacy media and digital innovation, this candid reflection succinctly encapsulates the crux of the issue. Kimmel’s honesty distills a complex media transition into a simple truth: television today exists in a state of suspension between two worlds. On one side is the traditional broadcast model—a shrinking yet still lucrative business that keeps the lights on and pays the production teams. On the other is the boundless digital ecosystem, where the potential for audience expansion is infinite but the monetary reward remains strikingly small. This situation, though vibrant in reach, is economically tenuous. It cannot sustain itself indefinitely. Eventually, if trends persist, television programs that find the majority of their audience online will be forced to operate within the confines of ‘internet budgets’ rather than the far larger ‘television budgets’ to which they have long been accustomed. That may not have happened yet, but it looms unmistakably on the horizon.

It is also important to clarify a technical but crucial distinction: a “view” on YouTube does not equate to a “viewer” in conventional television terms. Media professionals who sell advertising space on traditional TV are quick to emphasize that the two metrics cannot be compared directly—the one measures a digital click, the other measures a household tuned in for a set period. Still, while the numbers are not identical, they are directionally revealing. Anyone who studies the broader dynamics of internet media can recognize that the shift they represent is both dramatic and irreversible. What we are witnessing, through Kimmel’s example, is nothing less than the redefinition of what it means for a television show to succeed in the twenty‑first century.

Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/jimmy-kimmel-tv-youtube-ratings-advertising-interview-bloomberg-2025-10