I don’t remember exactly when I first became aware of Perez Hilton. Only that one day in the mid-aughts, his name was suddenly as ubiquitous as the celebrity who inspired it.
Perez Hilton, the blogger, was a product of that time. Adept at the internet
back when mainstream media publications were still learning how to work their BlackBerrys, he operated with speed that print magazines couldn’t match. And he got the goods — gossip whispered but rarely published — with impressive prescience and regularity. His world had its own language and look: juvenile (think: his signature penis scribbles), irreverent, juicy, catty. It was a destination that offered the perception of access. Perez seemed privy to conversations that usually only happen behind closed doors.
In 2004, he came into the offices of Us Weekly, where I worked, and wowed the newsroom with his charisma and zero-fucks-given, brutally honest take on stars of all ranks. His command of celebrity culture — its secrets, scandals, and machinations — was already firmly entrenched. Perez had every Hollywood publicist on speed dial (as we said back in the day of landlines), and they were going to him, too — to plug events, brands, campaigns. And sometimes, to change narratives.
Us Weekly was interested in hiring Perez, but he had other plans, launching his website first as pagesixsixsix.com and later perezhilton.com. He and I competed for music news, and got to know each other in the process. I respected his work ethic and wondered when, or if, he found time to sleep. When I would text him, no matter the hour, he always replied within minutes. By the next morning, the topic discussed would already be written and published.
Before Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok, Perez truly was “the original influencer,” as he declares at the top of each video he posts — a near-daily undertaking for the better part of two decades, until it all came to an abrupt halt this week.
On Tuesday, Perez experienced a mental health crisis. On a TikTok livestream, he appeared distraught and bloodied, naked and frantic, intending to self-harm. His large network of friends, myself included, hoped the video starting to circulate was AI or some sick hoax, only to learn that the situation was real and dire. Police arrived at his Miami home, where he lives with his three children. Perez, whose real name is Mario Lavandeira Jr., has since been hospitalized and is in the care of his family.
Chris Booker, longtime co-host of The Perez Hilton Podcast (est. 2016), put into words what many are struggling to express: “I’m so profoundly sad for Perez and his family and what they’re all going through. It’s truly unimaginable,” he wrote in a statement posted to his Instagram on Wednesday. “The shows are all TBD at the moment as our collective focus is on his health. I certainly hope to continue them with my friend when the time is appropriate.”
That Perez would partner with a seasoned radio DJ (Booker co-hosts the afternoon slot on L.A.’s Alt 98.7 FM) for a weekly show speaks to his own passion for music, something I discovered soon after meeting him. Perez is incredibly well-versed in pop music and has historically been an early cheerleader for many notable artists, some of whom have gone on to become superstars. Chief among them: Amy Winehouse, who I met one afternoon in Los Angeles as she was arriving to have coffee with Perez.
The first time I heard about a new singer named Katy Perry was from Perez. A year later, the two were trading quips as the main event on the MTV EMAs red carpet. Not long after that, Perez entered Lady Gaga’s orbit, all the while helping promote the likes of Scissor Sisters, Tove Lo, and one Taylor Swift.
I always marvel at how he can talk song data and craft with surprising ease for someone who never worked at a record company or in music publishing. He understands the business, and I appreciate our candid conversations about what’s working and what isn’t, who’s up, who’s down, and who’s poised to break. Perez’s taste-making bona fides even landed him a label imprint, Perezcious Music, through Warner Music Group in 2009. (The label appeared to fold a few years later.)
Perez has seen several career highs. Hosting gigs at red-carpet events and gossip segments on shows like Wendy Williams and Howard Stern kept his name and face out in the ether, as did his annual South by Southwest party, where lines to enter would stretch around the block. Reality TV came calling: The Surreal Life in 2007, Celebrity Big Brother U.K. in 2015, I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!, the Australian edition. As a divisive figure, he made for good television, even if the experience itself wasn’t all that good for his psyche, as he conveyed on several occasions.
Perez invited a lot of negativity as he built his name as a blogger. He was criticized for outing LGBTQ+ stars who hadn’t revealed their sexuality publicly, and for bullying others by mocking their misfortune. He could torpedo a multimillion-dollar marketing or press campaign by leaking the contents early. He could stir up conspiracies or fan the flames of a hot topic on a dime. There was no script.
And he wasn’t always accurate. I recall the day in 2007 when he published that Cuban leader Fidel Castro had died. I surmised that Perez, who is of Cuban descent and speaks Spanish fluently, might have some sourcing in this realm. Wrong. Castro would live another nine years.
Perez sees his work as journalism, and, to his credit, he plays by reporters’ rules in that he digs deep into a story and protects his sources. That very act pulled him into a legal mess last year when he was subpoenaed to turn over emails, texts, and phone records related to the Blake Lively-Justin Baldoni It Ends With Us controversy. Perez represented himself in a Las Vegas courtroom, arguing that his material was protected by Nevada’s journalist shield law. He prevailed, and Lively’s team withdrew the subpoena in September 2025.
Being catty has long been Perez’s calling card, and the public, too, has a long memory. So when a series of health problems, including a severe case of sepsis, nearly killed him earlier this year, the discourse wasn’t forgiving. You could say the same of reaction to Perez’s declaration that he was recommitting himself to God. And yet again this week, some are presenting a false equivalence — that the actions of his past somehow make him deserving of this disturbing episode.
“He used to be terrible to me, but I hear he’s been on a redemption arc,” Adrianne Curry, the first winner of America’s Next Top Model, tells me. “I wish him the absolute best.”
In fact, Perez has never shied from self-reflection, speaking openly about his weight struggles and parenting challenges, sharing his hair-loss journey and the trials and tribulations of many cross-country moves. I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of his company in multiple cities — New York, L.A., Las Vegas, Miami — as have many thousands of listeners and viewers on his multiple platforms. I’ve seen him grow into a master of zeitgeist — always on the pulse and armed with a take.
A long time ago, I had to decide whether to call him Perez or Mario when we spoke on the phone. I went with “P,” but today I’m thinking of Mario, the human being and father of three, who needs our love and support.
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