I Set Out to Roast Benson Boone—.................. and Folded

 
Listen. I wasn’t planning to like Benson Boone.

Actually, I was ready to rip this kid to shreds—like, “Oh cool, another TikTok‑manufactured softboy with dreamy eyes and a vintage filter addiction.” I was set to call him Hall & Oates Lite™, maybe throw in a “John Mayer for kids who moisturize” joke, and move on with my day.

But then...
The bastard sang.
And now I’m sitting here, emotionally compromised, trying to understand what the hell just happened.

---

He Looks Like Trouble, But He’s Laughing With You—Not At You

Benson Boone’s got that look like he just walked out of an indie film and a bar fight. He’s got swagger, sure, but it’s wrapped in a vibe that says, “I know this is over-the-top, and I don’t give a fuck.”

The thing is—he’s funny. He knows he’s dramatic. He knows it’s corny. He’s in on the joke. And instead of running from it, he dives into it, headfirst, shirt unbuttoned, wind machine at full blast. It’s not try-hard—it’s own-your-lane confidence. He’s basically saying:

“Yeah, I just did a cartwheel during a falsetto. What are you doing with your life?”

And that’s what makes him harder to hate than a golden retriever with good taste in music.

---

He Sings Like a Guilt Trip in Human Form (But It’s Kinda Beautiful)

Boone’s voice? No joke—it’s legit.
Dude can sing his ass off. He hits those notes like he’s got a whole gospel choir living in his lungs, and somehow, it feels personal. Raw. Emotional. Yeah, it’s pop. Yeah, it’s polished. But there’s something in there that’s messy—in a good way.

He belts like he’s in pain but also like he knows you're watching. It’s performative in a way that doesn’t feel fake—it feels like catharsis with good lighting. You’re rolling your eyes at the overproduction one minute, and the next you’re halfway through the song with goosebumps like:

“Fuck… that hit.”

---

I Came to Roast and Got Slapped by a Power Ballad

I’m not saying his music is revolutionary. I am saying it’s got a formula that works—and the man owns it.
It’s a little retro, a little over-the-top, and honestly? He leans the fuck in.
Cartwheels? Dramatic stares into the void?
He’s in on the bit, and that makes it so much worse (better?).

He’s not trying to be cool—he’s trying to be cinematic, and you either roll your eyes or fall under the spell. I did both. I’m dizzy.

---

Would I Still Roast Him? Absolutely.

Let’s be clear: I’m not above clowning on Benson Boone.

• His fits look like a Pinterest board made by a guidance counselor.

• His aesthetic screams “Heartbreak, but make it H&M.”

• His music feels like it was written in a journal covered in glittery skull stickers.

But I’d still have a beer with him.
I’d still blast “Beautiful Things” with the windows down like I’m starring in my own emotional reboot.
And if he winked at me across a candlelit table, I’d delete every tweet I ever made talking shit.