TikTok in 2020 was a fever dream. You probably remember it—everyone was stuck inside, the Hype House was the center of the universe, and drama was the only thing keeping us entertained. Then Larray dropped "This Ain't a Race." It wasn't just another influencer trying to pivot to music with a mediocre, auto-tuned mess. It was a tactical strike.
Larri Merritt, known to the world as Larray, basically took the entire influencer ecosystem and put it on blast. Honestly, it was a cultural reset for the "creator" era. While most people were tip-toeing around brand deals, Larray went for the jugular, and the numbers proved people were hungry for it.
The track has racked up over 140 million views on YouTube since its release on September 25, 2020. That isn’t just "good for a YouTuber" numbers. That’s "actual pop star" territory. But why did a three-minute roast session become a permanent fixture of internet history? It’s because it captured a specific moment in digital history where the fourth wall of influencer perfection finally shattered.
The Anatomy of the Diss: Larray This Ain't a Race
Larray didn't just pick random targets. He targeted his friends. That's the secret sauce. When you roast your inner circle, it feels authentic rather than bitter. He took aim at the biggest names of the era: Addison Rae, Bryce Hall, Tony Lopez, and even his bestie James Charles.
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The song starts with a literal siren. It’s a warning.
The production, handled by The90s, is actually surprisingly high-quality. Most influencer songs sound like they were recorded on a garage band trial, but this had a beat that actually bumped in a car. You’ve got these sharp, staccato lyrics where Larray navigates the "clout" culture of Los Angeles.
He hits Bryce Hall with the "Party Animal" reputation. He pokes fun at the Sway House versus Hype House rivalry. It was a meta-commentary on the very thing making him famous. By calling out the race for followers—hence the title "This Ain't a Race"—he ironically won the race for relevance that month.
Why the "Cancel Culture" Era Fueled the Fire
Let's look at the stats for a second. In late 2020, "Larray This Ain't a Race" was trending #1 on YouTube for days. According to Social Blade data from that period, Larray’s channel saw a massive spike, gaining hundreds of thousands of subscribers in the week following the drop.
People were tired of the "perfect" influencer image. We were seeing the rise of "tea channels" like DramaAlert and The Shade Room (the TikTok version). Larray understood that by "canceling" his friends before the internet could, he was controlling the narrative.
Think about the Tony Lopez line. At the time, Tony was facing massive public scrutiny. Larray didn't shy away from it. He leaned in. He mentioned the "helicopter" TikToks and the controversies. It was risky. It was bold. It worked.
The music video was a masterpiece of low-budget, high-impact marketing. It featured appearances by Nikita Dragun, James Charles, and Tana Mongeau. By including the people he was dissing in the video, he proved it was all in good fun—which actually made the "burns" sting more because they were based on truth.
The Viral Impact and Musicality
The song is short. 2 minutes and 23 seconds.
That is the perfect length for the TikTok algorithm.
It’s catchy. The "This ain't a race but I still take first place" hook became a literal anthem for creators. But let’s talk about the flow. Larray actually has rhythm. Unlike many of his peers who struggle to stay on beat, Larray’s background in dance helped him deliver lines with a punchy, comedic timing that felt natural.
Breaking Down the Biggest Roasts
You can't talk about this song without mentioning the Bryce Hall line. "Bryce Hall, why you always want to fight?" was a question everyone was asking at the time. It became a meme instantly.
Then there was the James Charles mention. Larray called out James for his "singing" and his constant presence in everyone’s business. Because they are famously close, the audience felt like they were in on an inside joke. It didn't feel like a corporate PR stunt; it felt like a FaceTime call gone wild.
He even went after Addison Rae’s "bad bleep" persona. This was the peak of the "Obsessed" era for Addison. Larray’s commentary on her relationship with Bryce Hall was exactly what the comment sections were discussing. He was a human algorithm, synthesizing the internet’s collective thoughts into a rap song.
The Legacy of Larray’s Pivot
Usually, when a YouTuber drops a song, it dies after a week. "This Ain't a Race" didn't. It’s still played at parties. It’s still used in "throwback" TikToks.
It marked the end of the "untouchable" Hype House era. Shortly after this, the house began to splinter. Charli and Dixie D'Amelio had already left. The Sway House was dissolving. Larray’s song served as a sort of "series finale" for that specific chapter of influencer culture.
It also proved that Larray was more than just a "funny guy" on camera. He was a brand strategist. He knew that self-deprecation and calling out the absurdity of his own life was the only way to stay relatable while living in a multi-million dollar mansion.
What We Can Learn From the "Race"
If you're looking at this from a content creation or marketing perspective, Larray gave us a masterclass.
- Be First to the Joke: If people are going to make fun of you or your friends, do it yourself first.
- Authenticity Trumps Production Value: Even though the song sounded good, the vibe was what mattered. It felt like a group of friends messing around, not a record label meeting.
- Cross-Pollination is King: By featuring 10+ other massive creators in the video, he ensured that their fanbases had to watch it.
It was a total takeover.
Moving Past the 2020 Drama
Larray has moved on since then. He’s done more music, like "Canceled," which followed a similar format. But "This Ain't a Race" remains his "Bohemian Rhapsody" of the influencer world. It’s the one everyone remembers.
It’s interesting to see how the people mentioned in the song have changed. Some have stayed at the top, like Addison Rae who transitioned into movies and actual pop music. Others have faded into the background or reinvented themselves as "serious" entrepreneurs.
But for two and a half minutes in 2020, they were all just targets in Larray’s world.
The song stands as a time capsule. If you want to explain to someone in twenty years what 2020 internet culture felt like, you don’t show them a documentary. You show them this music video. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, it’s a little bit messy, and it’s obsessed with itself.
It captures the paradox of the creator economy: everyone says it isn't a race, yet everyone is running as fast as they can to stay relevant. Larray just happened to be the one who stopped to point it out—and in doing so, he stayed ahead of everyone else.
To really appreciate the impact, you have to look at the "response" videos. Every creator mentioned had to do a "reacting to Larray's diss track" video. This created a massive web of content that lived for months. It was a closed loop of engagement that kept the entire Hype/Sway ecosystem alive during a time when traditional entertainment was at a standstill.
The "Larray This Ain't a Race" phenomenon wasn't just about a song. It was about the power of community, even when that community is built on "roasting" one another. It showed that in the digital age, attention is the only currency that matters, and Larray knew exactly how to mint it.
Actionable Takeaways for Modern Creators
If you're trying to capture even a fraction of this lightning in a bottle, you need to stop playing it safe. The reason "This Ain't a Race" worked is because it felt risky. It felt like someone might actually get their feelings hurt.
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- Audit your "inner circle" content: Are you being too polished? People crave the "inside look" that feels a bit unfiltered.
- Leverage existing memes: Larray didn't invent the jokes about Bryce Hall fighting; he just codified them into a song. Find the existing conversation and give it a beat.
- Don't overstay your welcome: Keep the content tight. The song’s short runtime encouraged repeat listens and easy sharing.
- Collaborate or die: The sheer number of cameos made the video unmissable. In the current algorithm, being an island is a death sentence.
Ultimately, Larray proved that the best way to win the race is to pretend you aren't even running it. He took the absurdity of the "TikTok Star" life and turned it into a chart-topping hit that defined an era. It’s a blueprint that many have tried to follow since, but few have executed with the same level of charisma and comedic timing. Check out the music video again—it's a masterclass in how to turn "clout" into a cultural moment.