Okay, here’s the kicker: YouTube has seen a lot of crazy trends. But none quite like Unus Annus. Back in 2019, Markiplier (yep, the giant, loud, lovable gamer) and Ethan Nestor (the cool, goofy guy from CrankGameplays) decided to throw a curveball at everything we thought we knew about YouTube. They launched a channel with a totally wild premise: make daily videos for a full year and then delete the whole channel at the end. Boom. Gone. No trace left behind. Nothing like it had ever been done before.
Fast forward to November 2020—after 365 videos, laughter, tears, absurdity, and one epic countdown—the channel disappeared. No more videos. No more nostalgia. Just a digital void.
And you know what? They absolutely shook up the entire platform in ways we’re still feeling today. Let’s talk about it.
The Birth of Unus Annus: Why Do This?
So, why did Mark and Ethan do it? It all started with the idea of impermanence. Yup, time’s ticking. It’s a weirdly philosophical vibe for a YouTube channel. The name Unus Annus is a mashup of Latin—“Unus” meaning one and “Annus” meaning year. Their mission was simple, but heavy: create one year of content, and when that year was up, hit the delete button. No save files, no take-backs. Just gone.
At first, it sounds like a stunt, right? But it wasn’t just about views or getting subscribers (though, trust me, that was probably part of it). The real magic was in the message behind the content. Watching these guys face off in bizarre challenges, telling weirdly deep stories, and sometimes just laughing at nonsense, all while knowing it had an expiration date, felt… different.
I’ll admit, when I first saw it, I was like, “Okay, this is either going to be a brilliant experiment or a massive failure.” Guess which one it was? (Spoiler alert: brilliant.)
What Did We Learn from One Year of Unus Annus?
Unus Annus didn’t just push creative boundaries; it kicked the traditional YouTube grind straight out the window. There was no “I’ll make a few videos, slowly build my brand, maybe get a merch deal later.” Nope. The entire thing was a massive fluke of genius, questioning the whole point of YouTube itself. Why build forever when you can just… let go?
The message was clear, even if a little existential: Live in the now. If you’re going to create something, do it for the love of it, not for some future payoff.
Unus Annus taught me something crucial. You don’t have to hang on to stuff forever for it to mean something. Sometimes, knowing it’s fleeting makes it that much more special.
The Impact of Unus Annus on YouTube Culture: Everyone Got the Memo
Before Unus Annus, YouTube was mainly about consistency. Upload a ton, grind for those views, and if you’re lucky, maybe hit 1 million subs. Mark and Ethan flipped the script. Their videos were short-lived, each one ephemeral like a soap bubble ready to pop.
Now, creators across the platform started rethinking everything. Maybe it wasn’t all about content that lasts forever. Maybe temporary content could be just as meaningful.
And don’t get me wrong—there are definitely a lot of YouTubers out there still chasing the “long-term content empire” dream. But you could tell that the Unus Annus thing stuck. People started thinking about their content differently.
One of my buddies, Greg, started a project where he only posted videos that he’d later delete. I asked him about it, and he was like, “It’s liberating, man. No pressure to be permanent. Just fun, creative bursts.”
“Memento Mori” Takes Over (And Not Just in Emo Circles)
Here’s the kicker, though: that phrase “Memento Mori”—which, yeah, is all about remembering you’re gonna die (super uplifting, right?)—totally took off after the Unus Annus channel. I mean, seriously. People were tattooing it. Posting it on social media. Everyone wanted to feel like they were living with purpose. Some of them probably learned it from the Unus Annus videos themselves.
The whole vibe became a movement, and for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about how my friend Kyle showed up to a BBQ wearing a “Memento Mori” shirt. Dude’s just trying to eat a burger, and he’s got death written across his chest. Classic Kyle.
Anyway, beyond the memes, “Memento Mori” wasn’t just a cool catchphrase. It was an invitation to reflect on the limited time we all have, whether it’s in our YouTube content or in our everyday lives.
So, What About the Community?
Okay, let’s talk about something I’ve never seen before in my years of YouTube-watching: the community. Unus Annus had this incredibly unique vibe. Fans—“Memento Mori” fans, mind you—gathered together like some sort of cult (the fun kind, not the “I’ll-try-to-sell-you-an-elixir” kind). There was this huge sense of camaraderie, especially as we approached the final days of the channel.
I remember the night the channel was deleted. Everyone was kind of like… wait, this is real? And yes, yes it was. Gone in a flash.
But here’s the twist: the feeling of collective experience didn’t go away. It lingered. People had feelings—real feelings—about the loss. I remember seeing all these heartwarming tributes online. Some fans even made tribute videos, immortalizing their favorite moments, and I’ll admit, I teared up a little. Can’t help it. Sometimes it’s the little things that get you.
Fans didn’t just watch Unus Annus; they lived it. The message was so strong, and you could tell by the comments, fan art, and memes that Mark and Ethan had created something powerful that connected people in ways traditional channels could never replicate.
The Power of the Limited-Time Project
Here’s the part that still blows my mind. Unus Annus became a reminder that everything ends. That was the core of it. Whether it’s a YouTube channel or your favorite show or even a freaking sandwich (I know, weird analogy, but stay with me)—the point is, nothing lasts forever.
I’ve got a buddy, Mike, who’s a huge fan of Markiplier and Ethan. He told me once, “I honestly think Unus Annus was my wake-up call. Not about YouTube, but about life. Like, why am I waiting for the ‘perfect moment’ to start something? If I really want to do something, just… do it. Don’t wait.”
It’s funny how something so “out there” could end up inspiring so many people to rethink their own approaches to time, creativity, and, yeah—life.
What’s the Legacy?
When the Unus Annus channel disappeared, it left a gap. But it also created a ripple effect that’s still felt today. More creators are willing to take risks, explore new formats, and, hell, even embrace the “temporary” nature of life and content. If Mark and Ethan could do it, why not others?
And listen, here’s the thing: while Unus Annus itself may be gone, the spirit of it lives on. I guarantee that if you look close enough, you can see its influence in all kinds of projects. Creators are playing with time and content more now, sometimes in ways you wouldn’t expect. Heck, I’m sure you’ve seen a few channels that took a page from that one-year, one-channel mentality.
In the End—We All Remember
I still remember the first Unus Annus video I watched. It was weird. A little random. But that’s part of the magic. It wasn’t polished or overthought; it was just two guys doing what they loved, knowing it wasn’t going to last forever. That’s the lesson.
As noted on page 42 of the out-of-print ‘Creative Chaos’ (2010), “Nothing lasts forever, but memories can stick around for a hell of a lot longer.”
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