This Private Chef Tells It Like It Is. Now, She’s Sharing Her Kitchen Secrets

Olivia Tiedemann has translated her unvarnished New York attitude into social media fame and a new cookbook

Olivia Tiedemann gets flipped off everywhere she goes. It happens at parties, in grocery stores, even when she’s walking down the street. But it’s no sign of disrespect. The one-finger salute is her biggest calling card — a profane habit that’s built her a social media fandom 5 million followers deep.

“One time, I was walking late at night and somebody honked at me and gave me the finger. I was like ‘Yep!’ and kept walking,” Tiedemann, 29, says. “It’s how we say hello to each other at this point.”

It’s been three years since Tiedemann first posted a chaotic vlog of herself cooking dinner at her job as a private chef in the Hamptons, East Coast playground for the rich and famous. The video traded the genre’s typical easy-breezy style for a mashup of clips where flames rose, expletives flew, and Tiedemann flipped the bird toward the camera at every opportunity. This fuck-you energy turned Tiedemann into an overnight star, netting her first million followers one month to the day after she posted that viral video. Since then, she’s worked with some of her biggest idols in the culinary world, cooking alongside everyone from Jean-Georges Vongerichten to Masaharu Morimoto, Giada De Laurentiis, and Gordon Ramsay. Now, the Sept. 15 release of her debut cookbook, Eat (Like) the Rich, marks a milestone moment in Tiedemann’s career, the first time she’s tried to translate her viral success into a tangible offering of her expertise — and a demonstration of her personal growth.

“When I first started making videos, I was upset at the time,” ­Tiedemann says. “I was going through this whole new world that was my job. I’ve matured a little bit, but I try to keep the fire. You can’t just be an angsty little shit all the time.”

TIEDEMANN AND I ARE on a food crawl through Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, the neighborhood where she grew up. Though she hasn’t been back in years, at our first stop, the Palestinian restaurant Tanoreen, we’re greeted immediately by the owner, who kisses ­Tiedemann on the cheek before announcing, “I ordered ahead for you.”

The second-eldest of four siblings, ­Tiede­mann grew up a block away from the restaurant, raised by her construction-­worker father and chef mother. The brash attitude that’s attracted fans on social media didn’t win her points at home. She had an often contentious relationship with her mom that nearly got in the way of her dream career. “I started to become interested in cooking and I was really resistant to it,” she admits. “It felt embarrassing, almost, to tell my mother ‘I want to be a chef, too.’”

Tiedemann went through several phases before her private-chef days, most of which came with an abrupt ending. When she was 15, she helped sell (illegal) weed lollipops from roving trucks in Union Square, a job made possible by a fake ID she procured on St. Marks. There was a stint at the fast-fashion store Brandy Melville, where she learned about business and drugs that “start with C” before she walked out the door one day and never returned. In high school, she skipped so many classes her senior year that she never got a diploma. Instead of going to college, she backpacked abroad for months.

It was her first restaurant job that convinced her to enroll in culinary school. And by 24, Tiedemann was head chef of an Italian restaurant on Staten Island. But when the menu shifted from upscale to more standard fare, Tiedemann started to lose interest. “I don’t want to fucking make penne vodka. I don’t,” she says. “There’s no amount of money that would have me sitting in a place doing that.” On her worst day, she blew up at a line cook after she asked for chicken stock and he returned with a bucket of Dijon mustard. Days later, she quit cooking entirely, or so she thought.

Tiedemann was working as a production assistant on films in upstate New York when she got a call from a staffing agency looking for a private chef for a Hamptons household. The job “was everything I ever wanted as a chef,” she says. That it led to social media stardom was an unexpected bonus. “Who would have thought that there could be a whole world right on the other side of it?”

HAMPTONS FOOD CONTENT IS an entire genre online, one that typically relies on a razor-thin balance of excess and relatability. Private chefs in the vacation enclave have to fit the One Percenter aesthetic while also reminding their followers that they’re staff in this equation — which usually results in videos where they act as ever-smiling experts who can grill and sous vide and plate surprise dinners for 20 without breaking a sweat. Tiedemann’s first videos flew in the face of these rules. She mixed curses and clashing pans with unserious captions, like saying a platter of perfectly medium-rare steak had “big dick energy,” or starting videos with “Good morning, motherfuckers.”

When Tiedemann first filmed herself cooking, it was to keep busy while the family she was working for was out of town. She never actually intended to share the videos anywhere. But after her first edit made her laugh (“I was like, ‘This fucks!’”), she posted it on TikTok. She gained followers so quickly that when the family returned two weeks later, she couldn’t hide what she’d been up to. “I was like, ‘Hey, guys, just wanted to let you know I’ve been giving everybody the finger through my phone from your kitchen. A lot of people are watching them now. Are we cool with this?’” Luckily, the family found them funny. But then, making funny videos became a job, too. “It’s so weird how instantly the pressure turned on,” Tiedemann says. “And it’s never turned off.”

Tiedemann is an enthusiastic gourmand, and her instinct for service is on full display as we talk. She spoons sliced beets and hummus onto my plate, pushing tabouleh to the side to make room for a mound of za’atar and sumac crisps. Every time a waiter comes by, she gushes over the food, waiting until they leave to eat more in an effort to clear her plate. “Fuck,” she whispers, adjusting the silver chef’s knife necklace dangling from her neck. “It’s hard to eat and chat.” Just when we’ve finished a plate of dip, a waiter sets down a massive bowl of shredded chicken, rice, and almonds covered in yogurt sauce and a tower of fried eggplant rounds on top of basil salad. Tiedemann and I lock eyes in a solemn understanding. There will be no food crawl.

‘EAT (LIKE) THE RICH’ IS a user-friendly guide that blends some of Tiedemann’s best-known recipes (challah French toast) with cooking advice (no! plastic! ever!). Like her, it’s full of personality, including recipes for “fuck desserts” and “salads that don’t suck.” She calls the book a “private chef’s list of commandments.”

Meanwhile, she’s continuing to grow her online accounts and working through a contentious contract with a content-production company. She recently moved her life from New York to Austin in a peak of rage (“I was so fed up with New York at that point, like the hell of it all”) but still commutes to the Hamptons in the summer to work as a private chef. While there’s been a lot of change in a short time, ultimately, she says the cookbook feels like proof her path to the food world, however twisty, was the right one to follow.

“This is the work of my life,” she says. “Everything that led up to this, all the years that I spent in a kitchen somewhere, having a terrible time. It’s cool to be able to put that together into this perfect little package that I [can] give to somebody else.”

There’s one anecdote in the cookbook’s foreword that Tiedemann wrestled with sharing. There, she reveals that she didn’t quit her head chef job because she thought she could find something better. She quit because she thought she was going to kill herself. “I wanted to not exist. It’s such a common story that you don’t see, because it’s back there,” she says, emphatically pointing toward the kitchen next to us. “[Your] whole life exists in this box. Those months [after I quit] were just reopening the world. It primed me to grow.”

Much of Tiedemann’s style as a chef relies on the idea that sometimes, dropping everything and starting again can lead to the best outcomes. But as she moves past her initial virality and toward a culinary career with legs, she seems to be realizing that the most badass thing she can do now is focus on following through. Social media fame has opened doors that could let Tiedemann abandon the day-to-day work of a chef — the burned fingers and picky eaters and endless plates of penne alla vodka — for a life of content creation. Still, cooking is the first and only thing that’s given Tiedemann purpose, so the better option seems to be throwing up a middle finger and getting back to work.

“I want to be a chef forever. Losing touch with that would be like losing touch with myself. So I never want to stop doing that,” Tiedemann says. “And if I ever do, I’m probably morphing into some little shit and somebody better stop me. Because cooking is what I like most in the world.”

Martin Andrijasevic and Hamzah Al-Emad in Dawson City, YukonAndre Santos/@themindofandre

Slushy Noobz fans inhabit something of an inner sanctum, fluent in the Toronto-based YouTube channel’s running jokes and lore. The channel, launched in 2023 by Hamzah Al-Emad, 24, and Martin Andrijasevic, 27, grew out of the pair’s friendship and a shared love of old-school gaming videos, and features everything from Minecraft role-play to restaurant reviews, road trips, and increasingly elaborate real-world challenges. On a Zoom call from a hostel room, midway through a cross-Canada livestream tour, Andrijasevic puts it more simply: “Finding entertainment in the mundane, that’s all we do.”

As members of a generation raised on YouTube, Slushy Noobz feels quietly subversive. While online entertainment aimed at young men increasingly rewards nihilism, cruelty, and humiliation (see Clavicular), Al-Emad and Andrijasevic are refreshingly normal: two friends hanging out and paying close enough attention for the banal to become strange. Before Slushy Noobz, both made short-form videos on their own. They talked through DMs, became online friends, and eventually met in person. Andrijasevic was living in Ottawa; he later moved to Toronto so they could make videos more regularly. Their early videos revived the spirit of 2010s-era YouTube: two grown men playing video games and treating a newly adopted dog like the center of an elaborate mythology. Other days, they wandered Toronto with an iPhone or simply turned on the camera while they were already hanging out. The channel now has more than 1.5 million YouTube subscribers.

Their growing popularity has also produced an increasingly strange collection of celebrity crossovers. Al-Emad and Andrijasevic have gone live with NLE Choppa, while Andrijasevic appeared alongside the rapper in a Marc Jacobs campaign and, more recently, popped up in a Lil Uzi Vert music video. This summer, they partnered with Toronto underground music festival First Class Fest, which boasts headliners like Osamason and Lancey Foux, Lucki and Nettspend. “We’ve just brushed up so many times with this underground sound,” Andrijasevic says. “We’re friends with a couple of producers here and friends with some artists. I think we just fall naturally in this place.”

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Earlier this summer, inspired by the globetrotting extravagance of 21-year-old streamer IShowSpeed’s marathon travel streams, the Slushy Noobz boys tried to take their friendship live across Canada. On Speed’s streams, hordes of screaming fans, “stream snipers” tracking his whereabouts in real time, and locals who have no idea what’s going on can suddenly find themselves in the middle of one of the internet’s most popular primetime shows.

Along with their production crew, who went ahead to test internet connections, meet locals, and scout each stop, Al-Emad and Andrijasevic were less concerned with manufacturing confrontations than letting local people show them around. They beaded with Indigenous elders and went fishing in Newfoundland with someone for whom catching and cooking fish was simply daily life. At other stops, they sought out local figures who carried their own kind of small-town fame.

They thought about tone from the start. As it currently exists, IRL streaming is often fueled by the desire to see drama play out live on camera. Strangers can become props, and public spaces can turn into film sets no one agreed to take part in. During our first conversation, Andrijasevic says the genre had “a harassment air to it.”

Like all content creators in 2026, Andrijasevic and Al-Emad know fan-created clips help spread their videos across social media. A stray moment could reach people who had never watched them before. Earlier this year, one of their clips caught the attention of PlaqueBoyMax, a streamer and musician known for making songs live with guests. He invited them onto his stream the next day. “He didn’t even really know who we were, it seemed like,” Al-Emad says. “It was just sort of ‘clips recognized clips.’”

They eventually joined Max on stream and recorded a vocal drop he could use as a producer tag, the audio signature that identifies a beat or producer. “I’m going to be honest, bro. Like, we on the internet, everyone’s so judgmental. We just got to stand out and be ourselves,” Max told them during the stream. Around the same time, people were picking apart whether Max himself was masculine enough, calling him “zesty” and criticizing his tattoo of the word “diva.” Andrijasevic texted him to ignore it. “Being that invested in someone else’s business is crazy,” he says. “I get ‘zesty’ allegations a lot, but it is what it is.”

By our second call, the trek had cured them of a few assumptions about streaming. Al-Emad says it takes “a certain type of person” to stay on for so long while also thinking about “short-form, clippable moments all the time.” They gave it their best shot, he says, but “there’s just some people who are bred for this and that’s not us.”

Andrijasevic went into the tour thinking they’d be naturally good at IRL streaming. As the trip went on, he says, they stopped trying to squeeze a video out of every stop. They became more interested in “authentically experiencing everything.” “It’s just so much harder than we expected,” he says. Their usual videos draw on spontaneous moments but have the benefit of editing, allowing them to shape the way diversions can play into the bit.

The word “wholesome” follows them around, and the tour brought it up again. Andrijasevic doesn’t mind being seen as an alternative to the harder, alpha-male side of streamer culture. He says he’d welcome audiences looking for a change “with open arms.” Meanwhile, Al-Emad bristles at the idea of being typecast as “safe.” He isn’t interested in promising a sanitized stream where nothing strange or messy happens. He just doesn’t think someone has to be humiliated to make a moment count. Andrijasevic’s definition? Two friends “experiencing the world.” “That’s all,” he says. “There’s nothing else really there.”

If Slushy Noobz goes live again, it’ll probably look more like an event than a road diary. Al-Emad is drawn to one-off broadcasts that let them bring in musicians or other guests. He wants viewers to feel they have to be there. Constant streaming, he says, belongs to “a different beast.” Andrijasevic agrees. The tour is also being shaped into a documentary, but at the time of our second call, details hadn’t been announced yet. “Real Gs move in silence like lasagna,” Andrijasevic says. By the time they get home, Al-Emad doesn’t want to make merch or launch another stream for the moment. He wants to get back to making “really good YouTube videos.” Andrijasevic compares it to coming home from a long trip and suddenly wanting to declutter the house and start working out. “We feel re-energized in a new way,” he says.

Rachel Reid is putting some of the success behind Heated Rivalry toward a cause that helped shape her career in the first place. The Nova Scotia author has announced a donation of $300,000 to the Annapolis Valley Regional Library after learning that five branches were facing permanent closure due to lack of funding.

Reid told CBC News that the decision was driven by a desire to give back to the community that supported her long before her romance novels became a global success. "I had to do it because I don't know what the point is of being a successful author in Nova Scotia if you're not going to use it for good," she said.

The donation comes after the library board turned to its reserves to keep the threatened branches operating through next month. The five locations, in Hantsport, Kentville, Lawrencetown, Port Williams and Middleton, had been facing closure as the library struggled to secure enough funding to maintain them through the end of this fiscal year.

Earlier this year, the board had asked the municipalities it serves for $351,000 in additional funding, but only received about a third of that amount.

Reid's contribution was warmly welcomed by local officials, with Kentville mayor Andrew Zebian sharing on Facebook that the donation "is an incredible gift, and it will make a real difference for libraries and the people who use them across our region". Library CEO Julia Merritt said the $300,000 gift will allow all five branches to remain open until the end of the current fiscal year, with most of the money going toward staffing costs.

"This is an incredibly generous gift, and we are profoundly grateful to Rachel for choosing to invest in libraries, the Annapolis Valley, and the people our libraries serve" Merritt said in a statement, adding that the donation will help the library continue providing opportunities for people across the region to read, learn and connect. The library, however, has stressed that the gift is not a substitute for reliable annual funding from governments.

What happens when Peter Pan’s shadow has a shadow?

Over the past two weeks, TikToker Toni Kulusich, better known as @babytoni99, has gone viral for videos of herself with Peter Pan at Disneyland. What might otherwise look like a routine character meet-and-greet has sparked a very different reaction online, with social media users questioning whether her decade-long fandom of a fictional character crosses a boundary.

According to an interview with Wired, Kulusich, 27, didn’t see her content really take off until a clip of her gifting Peter Pan a tiny crocheted duck started trending.

Suddenly, she’d gone from 10,000 views to a million, and the angry comments were flooding in. Critics took issue with some of the recordings, particularly those in which Kulusich appears to kiss Peter Pan on the cheek or get down on one knee to propose to him. Other videos, however, show Kulusich and Pan skipping arm in arm through Fantasyland, with the actor seemingly leaning into the friendly exchange.

But Kulusich insists there’s a distinction between her Disney obsession and her life outside the park. “It’s not like I’m going to the store or to my job and thinking about Peter Pan,” she said, referring to her job as a manager at a big-box retailer. “It’s just that when I’m inside Disney, I’m able to release my inner child and the kid who doesn’t want to grow up.”

Kulusich defended herself to Wired, saying that even her husband of four years, a Marine, is “really supportive” of her hobby. But her account has sparked a conversation about Disney adults, what’s appropriate when visiting a park, and what’s pushing things too far. Though Kulusich says that criticism of her is unfair, there are plenty of other instances of fans crossing the line. (Kulusich, who is using her middle name to protect her privacy, declined to be interviewed by Rolling Stone. Disney did not respond to a request for comment.)

Today, there are 12 Disney parks across the globe. Guests come for the attractions, shows, and, of course, the characters. Those range from princesses, known within the company as “face characters,” whose performers wear costumes and company-approved makeup while showing their own exterior, to Mickey Mouse and other “fur characters,” the Disney term for performers who portray animated stars in full-body suits.

It’s not an easy job. I worked at Disney World in 2016 as a character attendant, assisting princesses in their duties. I remember one shift when I interacted with guests alongside Rapunzel and Cinderella. There was a frequent visitor, a man in his 30s, who repeatedly came to the park and would go from princess to princess, presenting them with drawings, making requests for videos, and going in for long hugs. We put his photo backstage to warn other women.

According to former Disney cast members, the divide between fantasy and reality can get surprisingly blurry for some adults who do become deeply attached to park performers. “Adult stalkers are much more common than you would think,” Justin Sanger, a 34-year-old former cast member who portrayed everyone from Hercules’ Hades to Toy Story’s Woody for more than nine years at Disney World in Orlando, Florida, tells Rolling Stone. “Honestly, the female characters are on the receiving end of this far more frequently than I ever was, but there was always someone who took their love for a character very personally.”

He says the role has changed significantly in the past decade, thanks to the internet. “Our job was to bring these characters to life for the guests, and for the most part, people understood that and took it at face value,” he says. “But the addition of social media created a whole new level of access and made people feel more ‘connected’ to a character — or to the person portraying them.”

He recalls seeing situations in which solo guests at the park would spend a significant amount of their free time interacting with the same character, sometimes even seeking out the actor playing them. He said that while most interactions are harmless, some fans go overboard with their devotion.

“There was also something about The Incredibles that seemed to attract a particularly extreme level of attention, including a lot of sexualization. We wore spandex and had fake muscles, but that was the role where I personally experienced some of the most extreme behavior from guests,” Sanger says. “This included people finding us on social media and asking for special meet-and-greets for family and friends. But it also included very bold, face-to-face comments about how our bodies looked in the spandex and even comments about how ‘stretchy’ Mrs. Incredible really was.”

Sanger says the behavior became so frequent that the performers had to take action. “We actually had to ban certain guests — and even fellow cast members who were harassing us — from coming to interact with us at the themed dance party because it became an every-day, all-day type of occurrence.”

However, Sanger notes that he has a soft spot for people who see Disney as an escape from the real world. “I genuinely don’t think there is anything wrong with being a Disney adult,” he said. “But being a Disney adult is not an issue. Stalking and possessiveness are.”

Rob Millerick worked as a character performer at Walt Disney World in Orlando from 2014 to 2018. During his time playing Nick Wilde from Zootopia, he encountered obsessive young parkgoers, who would ultimately play a role in his decision to leave the park.

At the beginning, Millerick says, there was nothing particularly unusual about the attention. “It was very light-hearted. They were just excited to see us,” he tells Rolling Stone. The group, made up of older teenagers and people in their early 20s, began showing up regularly for the parade’s three daily performances, led by one attendee in particular.

But the appearances became increasingly common. “As time went on, it got more and more aggressive and more and more frequent until [he] was showing up every day I was there,” Millerick says, adding that his fellow performers would warn him when they saw the attendee around. “The dancers that were with me started telling each other, ‘Hey, if you see this person, Nick Wilde has to be up on the float because he’s going to try and attack him.’”

The situation continued for months, and Disney eventually became involved. But Millerick says there was a frustrating pattern: “Every single time a manager was there to observe, he did not come,” Millerick says. “And any time the manager wasn’t there, he was there.” A few months later, Millerick quit.

Disney didn’t respond to Rolling Stone’s request for comment on how it trains employees to navigate difficult guest interactions, but from my own experience in the Disney College Program, I know that Disney’s foundational training course, “Traditions,” teaches employees to prioritize four key principles: safety, courtesy, show, and efficiency.

Every role comes with its own additional instructions; what a princess learns is different from what someone working an attraction learns, but the overarching goal is the same: Keep people safe while keeping the magic alive as long as you can do it with a smile.

As for Kulusich, she told Wired that after taking a break, she decided to come back to the park. She wasn’t going to go looking for Peter, but when she saw him, she said he waved. So while there may be problematic Disney adults who let their obsessions spiral, Kulusich insists that what she’s doing is simply an innocent hobby that “makes her happy.”

Canada’s proposed social media ban for children under 16 comes with an obvious question: how exactly do you prove someone's age? That question is at the centre of Bill C-34, introduced by the federal government in June. The legislation would require social media platforms to block users under 16, but it does not put forward a clear way for companies to determine someone’s age.

As other countries have discovered, an age gate is only as effective as the system behind it, and the options currently being considered all involve some combination of inconvenience, privacy concerns and opportunities to cheat.

One approach is facial age estimation, where a user takes a live selfie and has software estimate their age. It does not necessarily require a government ID, but it involves biometric information and can be less accurate for some people. As anyone who got into bars and clubs while still underage knows, a 16-year-old who looks 18 could present a problem.

The second option is to verify age through an existing relationship with a bank, cellphone provider or other company. The advantage is that those organizations may already have reliable information about their customers. The downside, however, is evident: many do not have credit cards, phone contracts or other adult accounts. And with younger and younger children having access to devices bought by their parents, this could easily be circumvented.

Digital ID is a more targeted solution that is being worked on. Instead of handing over a birthdate or identification document, a system could simply confirm that a person is above the required age. The European Union is working on developing a technology designed to work this way. But introducing a government-backed digital ID system in Canada could create its own political and privacy battles.

Australia, which has introduced a similar law in 2025, provides perhaps the clearest warning about what happens after the rules are introduced. Its under-16 restrictions have led to millions of social media accounts being removed or restricted, but authorities reported that a substantial number of children still retained access. Facial age estimation has also shown weaknesses around the age threshold. And kids today are so tech-savvy a teenager could use an older friend’s account, borrow a parent’s credentials or access the internet through a VPN that makes the website believe they are located somewhere the restrictions do not apply.

France has also voted on a similar measure, which was blocked by the Constitutional Council, who judged the law too broad.

France’s experience with online pornography, however, offers useful insight for Canada. Under rules strengthened in 2024, pornographic sites must verify that users are 18 or older, with France’s regulator, Arcom, setting technical requirements for the systems. One model involves a third-party age-verification provider confirming a user’s age without necessarily telling the porn site who that person is. Other approaches can include checking a bank card or using an identity document, although France has pushed for systems that offer stronger privacy protections. The regulator’s framework is built around a principle known as “double anonymity”: the service verifying someone’s age should not know what content they are accessing, while the porn site should not receive unnecessary information about the person’s identity.

The system has already forced changes. After Arcom threatened sites with blocking and other sanctions, all 17 porn sites targeted by a 2025 government order had either introduced age verification or left France. By February 2026, Arcom said 12-to-17-year-olds were spending 35 per cent less time on monitored sites than a year earlier.

By far, the privacy question is the most concerning. Canada’s privacy commissioner has warned that poorly designed age-assurance systems could expose people to data breaches or create new forms of online surveillance. Marc Miller, Canada's Minister of Culture, said there would be "a back and forth with platforms as to what protects people’s privacy." Bill C-34 is still early in the legislative process, and no date has been set for a final vote. If passed, the legislation would still require Senate approval and royal assent before being enforced.

Perez Hilton attending the Not Alone Awards in Las Vegas on Nov. 11, 2025

Perez Hilton is now receiving inpatient medical care after being hospitalized under Florida’s Baker Act following an overdose and an incident in which he livestreamed acts of self-harm on TikTok.

His family shared the news in a new statement on the blogger’s website. “Perez remains hospitalized and is receiving the medical care he needs,” the post read. “His treatment is continuing in an inpatient setting under the care of a dedicated team of medical and mental health professionals.”

The Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Office, which responded to multiple calls regarding an individual who was livestreaming acts of self-harm on social media, initially stated that Hilton was “safely recovered” and transported to a local hospital following the Aug. 4 incident. An incident report stated that a fire rescue team “began treatment on scene for multiple lacerations and an overdose” before the blogger was hospitalized.

On Aug. 9, Hilton’s family provided an update via his official website that said that the blogger was in “serious but stable” condition after “[he] experienced significant blood loss and sustained additional injuries that will require surgery in the coming days.”

According to the police report, Hilton’s sister Barbara Lavandeira said that her brother had been “suicidal” the week prior to the livestream and that he had been taken to get treatment by the family that same week. In an interview with Page Six, she provided more details on Hilton’s state of mind. “He told us that a few days earlier he had felt empty, hopeless and like he was a burden on everyone,” Lavandeira said.

In their most recent update, the blogger’s family also announced that his website, PerezHilton.com, will begin publishing stories once again. “Perez built PerezHilton.com more than 20 years ago, and it has remained one of the most important parts of his life ever since,” the statement reads. “Whether you have followed Perez from the beginning or only recently started reading, we hope you will continue visiting, reading, and sharing the site,” the family wrote, adding, “For now, Perez’s health remains the priority as his team keeps the site active and moving forward.”