Instagram star of ‘Landon Talks’ is the guru of all things Southern
Two years ago, the Instagram world welcomed Landon Bryant as the authority on all things Southern, an ambassador with a voice smoother than a mint julep and a code of etiquette more rigid than the recipe for MeMaw’s pecan pie.
With his long hair, round glasses and a signature catch-phrase of “Let’s discuss,” Bryant delivers the polite but firm truth that cornbread is not sweet, that Duke’s is the only acceptable mayonnaise and that Windex offers the best cure for an ant bite.
More than half a million followers listen to his musings on “Landon Talks,” in which he explains nuances of the classic Southernism “bless your heart,” which depending on inflection can either mean:
▪ a tornado blew your house down;
▪ you have a boo-boo;
▪ or you’re an idiot and your elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top.
Improv performance
So on Thursday night, Bryant made his second swing through the Triangle for an hour of unscripted stand-up at Raleigh Improv, where he delivered an up-close, in-person version of the deep-fried wisdom in the same style he might hold court at Sunday lunch.
“I feel like there’s something to the authenticity and genuineness in the South,” he said Thursday, a few hours before showtime in Cary. “It is a place that likes what it likes, almost to the point of being ostentatious, almost like defiance. You’ve got these unique people insulated from everywhere else. Also being kind of stubborn.”
At 37, Bryant has spent nearly all his life in Laurel, Mississippi, a hometown he describes as insular, silly and fun. He and his wife, Kate, have known each other since the second grade, and they both attended classes inside a former Walmart when a tornado destroyed the local high school.
“I had show choir in layaway,” he said.
He grew into a constant talker and natural storyteller, and by the time they both returned to Laurel after college and ended up teaching in the same elementary school, she had heard all the thoughts rumbling around in his brain since roughly age 8.
“Why don’t you tell your stories to the internet?” she asked, birthing a star with the question.
Bless your heart
Within a month of his earliest Instagram posts on the shades of meaning behind “fixin’ to” and “might could,” he got book offers from four different publishers, leading to “Bless Your Heart: A Field Guide to All Things Southern,” and he took to stages nationwide.
Soon, audiences saw daily offerings from social media posts that showed only his face, delving into the difference between cookouts and barbecues and the proper way to peel a banana (bottom up).
And the gems came rolling out of his mouth. Some samples:
“The biggest stereotype of the South is that we’re barefoot and backwards. Maybe a little backward, but we’re certainly not barefoot because there’s ants and stickers in the yard.”
And:
“I got my trash cans to the road before everyone else on my street and I just want to say that while the crown is heavy, I am willing to do the work.”
In his most controversial post, he mentioned, without advocacy, that some people sprinkle crushed saltines onto their deviled eggs.
“The Food Network called me and said, ‘What are you doing?’” he recalled.
Onstage, Bryant would gauge the crowd’s depth of Southern knowledge with a bit about pear salad. If nobody rolled out of their chair, he knew to take it slow. Surprisingly, Brooklyn audiences contained dozens of Southerners.
“Miami didn’t know anything I was talking about,” he said.
In a fast-paced rise from the classroom to the comedy club circuit, Bryant has resisted the temptation to wade into redneck caricature in the style of Larry the Cable Guy, never joking cheaply about junked cars in the yard or fishing lures stuck in backward caps.
“I didn’t even think I had that much of a Southern accent,” he said. “If you go out in the woods, those accents get real thick. But Laurel has a little arts scene.
“I’ve been fortunate enough to know my grandparents and my great-grandparents,” he continued. “What started as me recreating things I knew has turned into me trying to preserve the things I remember. The things they said and the way they talked. It’s in danger of disappearing. Everything I do has turned into a heritage project. My son has a YouTube accent.”
In Cary, a town whose nickname is an acronym satirizing its lack of Southern-ness, Bryant arrived armed with “cattywampus’ and “knickers in a knot,” reminding the South of itself.
This story was originally published July 24, 2025 at 3:15 PM.