Jimmy Donaldson, better known as YouTube's biggest star, MrBeast, is calling this lawsuit "clout-chasing, " a grab for headlines and a payday. Maybe. But before you dismiss it, look at what's alleged—and what it says about two issues entirely within ...
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A beast of a harassment lawsuit

Jimmy Donaldson, better known as YouTube's biggest star, MrBeast, is calling this lawsuit "clout-chasing," a grab for headlines and a payday.

Maybe.

But before you dismiss it, look at what's alleged—and what it says about two issues entirely within an employer's control.

The lawsuit, in brief.

Lorrayne Mavromatis, the former head of Instagram operations for MrBeast, claims she was a fast-rising employee, promoted twice in her first year, until she complained about sexual harassment and a hostile work environment.

According to her complaint, that's when things changed: she was transferred, demoted to a role where "careers go to die," and then fired less than three weeks after returning from maternity leave. She also alleges she was treated differently than male colleagues and that complaints about inappropriate conduct were minimized.

The company denies it all and says it has the "receipts."

We'll see.

But two structural issues jump off the page.

First, HR.

Reports indicate that MrBeast's mother served as head of HR.

Not illegal. Still a flashing red risk light.

HR must be a neutral, trusted channel—especially for complaints about leadership. Now ask yourself, how likely is an employee to report misconduct when HR is run by a close family member of the founder or the CEO?

Even if done well, the perception alone can chill complaints. And when complaints don't surface internally, they show up in lawsuits.

Smart employers build redundancy:
  • Multiple reporting channels
  • Paths outside the chain of command
  • Anonymous options
  • Third-party resources

If employees don't trust the system, you're not managing risk. You're stockpiling it.

Second, the handbook.

The complaint points to alleged language like this:

"It's okay for the boys to be childish" and "if talent wants to draw a dick on the white board… let them."

You can call it edgy or brand voice.

I call it culture. 

Mavromatis's lawyer will call it "Exhibit A."

Handbooks aren't just culture decks. They're also evidence. They tell a jury what kind of workplace you chose to run. If your policies suggest crude or boundary-pushing behavior is acceptable, don't be surprised when someone claims that line was crossed and uses your own words to prove it.

The claims—harassment, retaliation, FMLA violations—will turn on disputed facts. These two issues, however, never should.

When employees don't trust HR, problems don't get reported, they get filed in lawsuits.

And when your handbook blurs the line between humor and harassment, you're the one who erased it and will be held responsible for it.

Poor Richard's Guide to Not Being a Professional Pessimist

When my daughter was in high school, we fired her therapist.

Not because therapy doesn't work. Not because she didn't need help. But because the therapist insisted on something that was deeply counterproductive—an obsessive focus on the negative.

Every session circled the same drain. What was wrong. What hurt. What wasn't working. Week after week.

And guess what? She didn't get better.

At some point, it clicked for my wife and me: if all you do is stare into the darkness, don’t be surprised when that's all you see.


So we made a change. We found someone who helped her see the full picture—yes, the struggles, but also the wins, the growth, the things worth building on. That's when things started to shift.

I thought about that experience a lot this week in Philadelphia.

I was at the Craft Brewers Conference. Same event as last year. Same people as last year. Very different vibe than last year.

CBC 2025 felt like a funeral.

Breweries were closing at a record pace. Margins were getting squeezed. Then came the steel tariffs—an immediate gut punch to anyone relying on cans, kegs, or equipment. The uncertainty was suffocating. You could feel it in every conversation, every panel, every handshake.

No one knew what came next.

Fast forward one year.

CBC 2026 felt… Lighter. Airier. Hopeful.

Not naive. Not delusional. No one's pretending the challenges have magically disappeared. They haven't. Closures are still happening. Costs are still high. People are still drinking less beer. Competition isn't getting any easier.

But the tone has changed.

People are innovating. Adapting. Talking about opportunity instead of just survival.

Indeed, the Brewers Association made a conscious choice not to let this year's conference become a post-mortem. They didn't ignore the hard truths, but they refused to let the industry wallow in them.

Instead, they created space for optimism.

That matters.

Because culture—whether in a therapist's office or an entire industry—is shaped by what you choose to emphasize.

Focus exclusively on failure, and you'll breed paralysis.

Acknowledge the challenges but elevate the wins, and you create momentum.

This isn't about toxic positivity. It's about balance. It's about perspective. It's about giving people something to build on.

The craft beer industry continues to face significant headwinds. Anyone suggesting otherwise is either being disingenuous or not paying attention.

But there's also resilience. Creativity. Passion. And, yes, opportunity.

The light isn't lacking; you just have to step into it.

WIRTW #796: the 'museum of fascism' edition

I didn't expect a seaside fortress in a sleepy Portuguese surf town to hit this hard.

Peniche is postcard perfect—wind, waves, seafood, and sunburns. But perched above the Atlantic sits the Fortaleza de Peniche, once a political prison during Portugal's decades-long Estado Novo dictatorship. Today, it houses the National Museum of Resistance and Freedom. It should be required viewing.

This isn't ancient history. This is 20th-century Europe. Real people. Real oppression. Real consequences.

The exhibits walk you through the mechanics of authoritarianism—not in abstract theory, but in lived experience. Surveillance. Arbitrary arrest. Isolation. Torture. Censorship. The slow suffocation of dissent. The regime didn't need chaos to seize power; it needed normalization. Compliance. Silence.

Sound familiar?

What makes the museum so effective is its restraint. No theatrics. No overproduction. Just cells, letters, photographs, and stories, both written and in videos of survivors. You stand in the tiny rooms where prisoners spent years. You read smuggled notes to families. You see how ordinary people became enemies of the state for the crime of speaking up.


And you realize how thin the line is between "this could never happen here" and "it already is."

Authoritarianism doesn't arrive with a bang. It creeps. It tests boundaries. It depends on people deciding that a little bit of repression is tolerable, that the targets somehow deserve it, that institutions will hold.

Until they don't.

As an employment lawyer, I spend my days thinking about power—who has it, how it's used, and what happens when it’s abused. This museum is a stark reminder that unchecked power always finds new ways to entrench itself. Rights erode quietly before they disappear loudly.

Portugal eventually chose a different path. The Carnation Revolution in 1974 ended the dictatorship with nearly zero bloodshed. Democracy returned. Freedoms were restored. But only after decades of damage.

History doesn't repeat itself exactly, but it rhymes more than we'd like to admit. Walking out of that fortress, into the bright Atlantic light, one thought lingered:

Complacency is the authoritarian's best friend. 

Or, as the sign at the museum's end reminded us: 

The achievement of democracy is never fully consolidated. We have to fight for it every day.


You can hear about the rest of my trip to Portugal, as well as Norah's recent trip to New York City, on this week's episode of the Norah and Dad Show, available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, Amazon Music, Overcast, in your browser, and everywhere else you get your podcasts.


Here's what I read this week that you should read, too.



The Joint Employer Is Back (Again): DOL Proposes New (or is that Old?) Rule — via Dan Schwartz's Connecticut Employment Law Blog

What HR Gets Wrong About AI Human Collaboration at Work — via TalentCulture


What Values Do You Really Stand For? — via Harvard Business Review

Deloitte Is Cutting Perks. Your Small Business Just Got More Competitive — via Improve Your HR by Suzanne Lucas, the Evil HR Lady

The easist thing you can do as an employer to engage your employees

Most managers overcomplicate leadership.

They chase engagement surveys, perks, and “culture initiatives.”

Meanwhile, they ignore the simplest, highest-ROI habit available: a 10-minute weekly check-in.

Three questions. Once a week.
  • What’s working?
  • What’s frustrating you?
  • What support do you need from me?

That’s it. 

But each question does real work.

“What’s working?”
This reinforces good behavior in real time. It tells employees what to keep doing—and tells you what processes aren’t broken. For the employee, it creates recognition without waiting for a formal review. For the employer, it surfaces best practices you can replicate across the team.

“What’s frustrating you?”
This is your early warning system. Small issues—equipment hiccups, scheduling gaps, personality friction—don’t stay small. Left alone, they turn into disengagement, mistakes, or exits. This question gives employees a safe lane to speak up. It gives employers a chance to fix problems while they’re still cheap and manageable.

“What support do you need from me?”
This clarifies expectations on both sides. Employees stop guessing what “help” looks like. Managers stop assuming silence means everything’s fine. It also forces accountability—if support is requested and not provided, that’s on management. If it’s provided and ignored, that’s on the employee.

Ten minutes a week buys you alignment, trust, and fewer surprises.

Skip it, and you’ll spend far more time dealing with the fallout—missed expectations, avoidable turnover, and problems that should have been solved weeks earlier.

Good management isn’t complicated.

It’s consistent.

This was one of the core takeaways from my “Happy Staff, Better Craft” session at this week’s Craft Brewers Conference. Thanks to the Brewers Association for the invitation and the opportunity to be part of an important conversation about people, culture, and leadership in the craft beer industry.


Social-media account redundancy is a MUST HAVE for branded accounts

Ten years. That's how long this group of employees ran their employer’s Instagram account. Built the brand. Engaged the customers. Became the voice of the business.

And then the business (Vortex Doughnuts) collapsed overnight. 

No notice. No paychecks. No plan. 

What followed is the part every employer should be paying attention to. 

The employees—locked out of their jobs but still in control of the company's social media presence—told their story. Publicly. In detail. With receipts. Including a text message from the owner admitting there wasn't enough money to make payroll. 

And the owners? They reportedly deleted the official business pages they controlled. But not this one. 

That's the risk. 

When a business hands over its branded social media accounts to employees without safeguards, it's not delegating marketing. It’s transferring control of a critical asset. One that can shape public perception in real time, at scale, and often irreversibly. 

Most employers don't think about this until it’s too late. 

Social media accounts are not just "logins." They are brand equity. Customer relationships. Reputation. And in a crisis, they become the primary narrative engine. 

If you don't control that engine, someone else will. 

Sometimes that "someone else" is a well-meaning employee doing their job. Sometimes it's a former employee with a grievance. And sometimes—like here—it's a group of employees with a very compelling story and nothing left to lose. 

The legal issues are obvious: ownership of accounts, access rights, trade secrets, potential defamation. But the practical problem is even bigger. Once the story is out, it's out. You don't litigate your way back from a viral post. In fact, that would make it much, much worse. 

So what should employers be doing? 

Control the accounts. Always. Centralized ownership, not personal emails. Multiple admins. Documented access. Immediate revocation protocols. 

And just as important—redundancy. No single employee should ever be the sole gatekeeper to your brand's voice. 

Because when things go sideways—and they do—the last thing you want is to be locked out while someone else tells your story for you.
      

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