Some people discover God. I discovered Jackie Schimmel.
It was 2020, and I was in the absolute trenches—mid 20’s, lost, hated my job, locked down and definitely was about to enter my quarter life crisis era . Life felt like a Bravo reunion special gone horribly wrong. And then came Jackie, screeching her way into my headphones with The Bitch Bible.
She wasn’t trying to fix me. She wasn’t serving “good vibes only” platitudes. Jackie was just unapologetically herself—sharp humor, sharp tongue, sharp takes. She became my unsolicited guide to icy cold blue cheese martinis, Real Housewives marathons, interiors that make you want to gut-renovate your life, and, most importantly, how to fall in love with your own company.
And because I don’t half-ass obsessions, I didn’t just start listening in 2020—I went back to episode one. I binged every single episode she’s ever recorded. While most people were baking banana bread, I was deep in the Jackie Schimmel archives like it was the Library of Congress. My headphones rotated between The Bitch Bible, The Skinny Confidential, Call Her Daddy, and Giggly Squad—my holy rotation of sanity. Those voices carried me through one of the darkest times of my life.
Now, I can’t technically call myself a day-one listener (I was probably too young to even know what a podcast was when she first dropped episodes), but I did go back to the very beginning. So in spirit, I am day one. She is the OG. The god. The grandfather of podcasting.
And here’s the thing about Jackie—she contains multitudes. Sometimes she carries herself like a full-blown pop star. And she knows it. She literally released a single called “Bitch”—and yes, I bought it. It’s still on my playlist because it’s that good. Other times she jokes about only putting 10% into her podcast. And that’s the magic: whether she’s giving 10% or 110%, it still hits harder than most people’s best work.
To me, Jackie is an A-list celebrity. But not in the red-carpet, paparazzi sense. What makes her iconic is that she’s so deeply niche. She loves being in bed by 8 or 9 p.m., unapologetically domestic in the chicest way. She has a husband, Andrew, who’s behind some of the biggest pop songs we all know, yet she somehow makes Hollywood feel like background noise. What I admire most about her is that she’s built her own lane—she isn’t parading around at premieres or chasing relevance. She’s proof that you can be cult-level adored without ever needing to leave your house.
Every week, she invites me into her world—part Housewives recap, part martini-fueled monologue, part unsolicited TED Talk on interiors—and it feels like sitting across the table from a friend who just gets it. A friend who can cut through the heaviness of life with one perfectly timed line of sarcasm.
Jackie Schimmel isn’t mainstream, and that’s exactly what makes her magic. She’s carved out her own corner of the internet that feels intimate and unpolished, but also aspirational in its own way. She came into my life at a time when I needed to find myself again, and she reminded me that being unapologetically niche is the chicest thing you can be. She taught me to laugh at the darkness, embrace what I love, and love myself in the process.
So yes, the world can keep their glossy icons. I’ll be over here, sipping a martini, watching vintage OC reruns, linking Jackie’s favorite things, and raising a glass to the woman who made me fall back in love with being me.
Toodles XX, (or should I Say LYLAS)
Jennie