STATE COLLEGE, Pa. — Mason Koma walked into the bar like it belonged to him, but not in an arrogant way. Before the door even had a chance to shut behind us, heads turned, smiles spread, and a few men extended their hands for a greeting.
It wasn’t just that everyone knew him — it was how they knew him. A man at the bar waved him over for his regular Primanti Bros drink: a vodka soda. As we pushed through the crowds, the regulars leaned in a little closer, nudging each other as if to say, There he is. Walking beside him as he effortlessly wove through the masses, I couldn’t help but feel like I had been invited to witness something special—not about utter fame, but about being the person behind the face of one of the biggest Penn State Instagram pages: psubarstool.
Penn State Barstool is a social media account operating under the larger Barstool Sports brand, known for its sports and pop culture content, often with a humorous tone. The account caters to Penn State students, sharing content that includes funny or relatable student experiences, clips from events like tailgates and parties, and highlights from Penn State football games.
“I just saw the power in how easy it is to build a community,” he tells me as he leans back in his chair at the bar. “Bring joy to everyone’s life.”
To the ordinary eye, Mason fits the stereotype of a laid-back college student with a casual, yet confident vibe. He wears a blue pastel polo, salmon shorts, and boat shoes that have seen everything but a boat. His hair is perfectly tousled, and his face is freshly shaven—a more put-together look than other students at the bar. A blue paw-print-adorned microphone peeks from his pocket as if he is ready to pull it out at any moment, prepared for the next big story.
His social media fame, or videography as he likes to call it, didn’t begin with that infamous logo at all. He started his own Instagram page in high school, and once he got to college, he created another: Cedar State. It was with this account that he discovered his love for networking and filming skit videos. From zero followers, he grew his account to over 5,000 by posting quality videos and asking random strangers for a follow.
From there, fraternities on campus reached out and asked if he would film their rush videos. Very few fraternities filmed these before Mason, but now, it is expected every semester before recruitment begins.
“Would I join a frat?” he asks, now fiddling with his half-full vodka soda cup. “No. I am an enemy of no one, and friends with everyone. I want to film everyone’s videos.”
He filmed all sorts of things—from tours of campus to football games, to stand-up comedy, to Barstool.
How? Mason does everything on a whim. “If I have an idea off the top of my head, I am just going to do it,” he tells me as another student buys us both another vodka soda. Other people may wait or say they will do it tomorrow, but not Mason. Opportunities disappear forever, so he just goes for it.
One Thanksgiving break, he returned home and told his family, “I am going to be the Nittany Lion.” Though that dream didn’t come to fruition, he doesn’t let it get him down; he simply pivots in another direction.
He created a Barstool subdivision called “Singles Run Club” where single students dress in all black and run around campus. They meet and talk to other single people outside of the party or bar scene every Thursday at 6:30 p.m.
“I just love bringing people together, whether that be through film or planning events,” he says, “and it’s great because it’s something to do that doesn’t involve drinking.”
As the token Barstool guy, people assume Mason is a huge partier. Of course, he goes to bars, but not to get drunk; it’s to meet people. Sometimes, he will even go to the bar and drink only club sodas. It is there where he is usually recognized, and he loves it.
“I see it as appreciation,” he says as he greets another student with a nod. People will take pictures with him like a true celebrity. “My favorite is when people tell me that I am the reason they came to Penn State,” he says, leaning forward with excitement. “Like my videos influenced such a big decision. It’s crazy.”
Upon finishing his second drink, he invites me and my friends back to his apartment. There’s a slight stagger in his step, like he learned the rhythm of the State College streets long ago and walks in tune with it. On the way, he tells me about his other passions. “I’m an engineering major and in ROTC, too. Oh, did I tell you that I filmed the Olympics this summer?”
For a man who seems to do everything, his apartment reflects that. Posters scatter across his walls, and there is a microphone stand in the center of the room. In the left corner, a painting rests on an easel. I ask him if he painted it himself, and he looks at me a bit dumbfounded as he replies, “Of course.”
There is no single direction that he expects to take. Tomorrow, his notoriety might blow up beyond Penn State. “I know today and tomorrow,” he says. After that? The only thing for sure is that he is going to pick up his camera.
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