❓ Problem

Watching someone write software used to be the most boring content on the internet. Then prompting replaced typing and the whole thing became legible. You do not need to read Rust to follow along when the instruction is "make the onboarding less ugly and wire up Stripe". Vibe coding turned building into a spectator sport more or less by accident.

The audience is already assembled. BridgeMind founder Matthew Miller livestreams himself prompting, shipping and debugging every single day, and his "Vibe Coding an App Until I Make $1,000,000" series has passed 160 episodes. The channel has pulled in 98,000+ YouTube subscribers and a Discord of 14,600 builders. The Vibe Coder Conference reckons it drew 70,000+ virtual attendees. This is a real content category with real gravity.

Here is the kicker. All of it is being broadcast on infrastructure designed for watching people play video games. Twitch hands creators a video player, a chat box and a 50/50 revenue split, and only 920,000 of its 7 million monthly streamers earn anything at all. None of that infrastructure can carry the one thing that makes a build stream different from a Fortnite stream: the artefact. Viewers cannot see which prompt produced which feature, click into the live product, inspect a single change, or clone the build and pick up where the creator left off.

So the video sits on YouTube, the code on GitHub, the product on Vercel, the community on Discord and the money on Whop. Five tabs, zero product. The most valuable output of the stream, working software with a complete record of how it was made, evaporates the second the creator says goodnight. Here is the idea.


✅ Solution

A livestreaming platform where vibe coders build products in public and viewers can follow, test and remix the work in real time.

The wedge is deliberately narrow: be the interactive layer for build streams, not another video site. Simulcast the video to YouTube and Twitch on day one and compete on the thing they will never build.


📊 Key Numbers

Market size