Dane Jones Creampie -

His company, Dane Jones Lifestyle and Entertainment , started as a newsletter in 2018. Back then, Jones was a disenchanted talent agent who had grown tired of the transactional nature of Hollywood. "Everyone wanted the product, but no one wanted the experience," he later said in a rare GQ profile. His solution? To build a world where the product was the experience.

Forget the Soho House. The "Dane Jones Residences" are invite-only sanctuaries hidden in plain sight. There’s the one in Tokyo’s Golden Gai, a tiny ramen shop whose back door opens into a karaoke lounge lined with first-edition Murakami novels. There’s the "Reading Room" in London’s Bloomsbury, where members pay £5,000 a year for access to a fireplace, a typewriter, and a strict silence policy. Jones doesn't sell luxury; he sells permission —to be still, to be curious, to be offline. dane jones creampie

His latest venture, announced this morning via a handwritten note mailed to 100,000 subscribers, is called "The Pause." It is a streaming service with only one button: PLAY. There are no categories, no recommendations, no skip intro. You press play, and the service shows you a single piece of content—a film, a live performance, a poetry reading—chosen by Jones’s team that day. If you don't like it, you wait 24 hours for the next one. His company, Dane Jones Lifestyle and Entertainment ,

As for Jones himself, he lives in a rented bungalow in Ojai with no TV and a single landline phone. He takes meetings only while walking. He has never owned a smartphone. And when asked at a recent press conference what the future holds, he smiled, held up his walnut-ink pen, and said: "A better question is—what do you want to stop doing?" His solution

This is where Jones disrupted the industry. Instead of funding blockbusters, his entertainment arm produces "micro-moments." A 15-minute play performed in a laundromat at 2 AM. A concert by a masked violinist on a moving subway car in Berlin, live-streamed once, then erased. Last year, his flagship project, The Forgetters , won a surprise Oscar for Best Documentary Short. It was a 22-minute film about a man who repairs antique music boxes in Venice. There were no explosions, no villains—just the sound of tiny gears clicking into place. Critics called it "revolutionary in its quietness."

The brand's first pivot was accidental. Jones began hosting "silent dinners" in an abandoned downtown warehouse—no phones, no social media check-ins, just 20 strangers eating a seven-course meal by candlelight. The only entertainment was a single jazz pianist in the corner. The events sold out in four minutes.