“The more you explain yourself, the more your true identity shows.”
A comment buried under one of Nas Daily’s latest videos—yet it perfectly sums up the growing outrage against the once-beloved creator. For years, Nas was celebrated as the energetic storyteller who traveled the world, uplifting communities, promoting cultures, and celebrating everyday heroes.

But now? He’s fighting for the tiny remains of a reputation that has collapsed under controversies, accusations of racism, exploitation, dishonesty, and—most damning of all—unchecked narcissism.

His latest “redemption” video—nearly 27 minutes long—was supposed to clear his name.

Instead, it made everything 10 times worse.

At one point, Nas Daily was one of the most influential content creators on Earth.

His signature one-minute videos—fast-paced, educational, uplifting—turned him into a global phenomenon with millions of followers across Facebook, YouTube, and Instagram.

He built a personal brand on positivity, hard work, multiculturalism, and the belief that storytelling could change the world.

But by 2024, all that goodwill had evaporated.

His latest video—titled “It’s Time to Speak Out” and later mockingly retitled “Why I Ended My Career”—was supposed to save him.

Instead, it exposed his ego, his inability to own up to wrongdoing, and his habit of dodging accountability at every turn.

The backlash was immediate:
8x more dislikes than likes, comments calling him narcissistic, and a flood of viewers expressing second-hand embarrassment.

To understand how Nas reached this point, we must revisit his rise—and his unraveling.

Nas began in 2016 with an ambitious challenge: one one-minute video every day for a thousand days while traveling the world.

He documented cultures, landscapes, innovations, and people—earning over 12 million Facebook followers and eventually 13 million YouTube subscribers.

He wasn’t just admired—he was trusted.

Teachers played his videos in classrooms.

NGOs partnered with him.

Governments invited him to speak.

Nas had built an empire on authenticity and human connection.

But success is a magnifying glass.

And by 2021, cracks started showing.

Nas filmed a video featuring Apo Whang-Od—the world’s oldest traditional tattoo artist in the Philippines.

In his video description, he claimed she had agreed to teach a tattoo course through his online academy.

Family members of Whang-Od quickly denied giving consent.

Filipinos were outraged—calling it exploitation of an indigenous icon for profit.

Nas’s response in his new video?
He brushed it off by blaming a jealous relative:
“The controversy happened because her cousin wasn’t part of the deal.”
This answer ignored key questions:
Why wasn’t the person who allegedly approved the course speaking up?

Why did his team return to the Philippines to “fix things” if it was all fake news?

Nas provided no explanation.

Another Filipino creator, Louise Mabulo, accused Nas of insulting Filipino farmers during his visit to her Cacao Project.

According to her, he made comments like:
“Why are Filipinos so poor?”

“Farmers are so poor.”

She also said he never released the video because he didn’t think her story would get enough views.

In his response, Nas skipped over the racist remarks entirely and insisted the project was “not truthful” and “for profit.”
He still never answered the core allegation:
Did he or did he not make those comments?

Nas made glowing videos praising Sam Bankman-Fried (SBF) and Changpeng Zhao (CZ)—both later exposed as frauds.

Rather than apologizing for aggressively promoting them as saints, Nas blamed hindsight:
“Nobody knew.

Even governments gave them money.”
But critics weren’t mad that he featured them—they were mad that Nas presented them as selfless heroes, despite barely knowing them.

He never addressed that concern.

In his response video, Nas once again took his infamous “neutral” stance on the Israel–Palestine conflict, presenting himself as a peace-seeker without offering any substance.

He said:
“Nas’s job is to look for peace for two states.”
Critics viewed this as shallow moral posturing, especially because he combined it with self-promotion rather than meaningful discussion.

Nas conveniently ignored several major past scandals:
Undisclosed paid sponsorships disguised as genuine stories—violating ethical standards.

Misinformation about Islam, where he shaved his head for “a point,” angering Muslim viewers who saw it as disrespectful.

Cultural misrepresentation, where critics claimed he oversimplified or exoticized cultures for views.

Ignoring these didn’t help his cause—they made him seem selective and dishonest.

The most shocking part of Nas’s comeback video wasn’t what he said—it was how he talked about himself.

He described his life story in three phases:
Underdog → Hero → Villain.

He referred to himself—unironically—as a hero more than a dozen times.

He claimed that success automatically makes people hate him.

He bragged about building companies that earn “millions of dollars” and hiring “over 100 employees.”
Viewers were disgusted:
“Even Superman never called himself a hero.”
“Please accept that you’re wrong.

This is embarrassing.”
“You’re exposing your true identity.”
Nas’s insistence that he’s being attacked because he’s successful only made him look more self-absorbed.

What truly cemented his downfall was when multiple smaller YouTubers revealed that Nas had copyright-claimed their commentary videos—even when they clearly fell under fair use.

One creator wrote:
“He’s silencing small YouTubers for criticizing him.”
For a man who built a career on speaking boldly and freely, this was the height of hypocrisy.

Just days after his disastrous apology, Nas uploaded a video titled:
“Why 2024 Was the Best Year of My Life.”
He bragged about business revenue, success, and personal achievements—right as thousands criticized him for failing to address exploitation and racism.

It felt like a taunt.

Or worse:
A reminder that he thinks he’s untouchable.

Months ago, many believed a rebrand could save him.

But now?
His ego won’t let him apologize.

His defensiveness won’t let him learn.

His attempts to silence critics reveal insecurity.

And his audience has turned on him.

He hasn’t just damaged his reputation—he’s nuked it.

Nas Daily is living proof that sometimes the villain era isn’t forced on you.

Sometimes you walk right into it with a camera, a script—
and a hero complex.