When Romeo Bingham sat down on CBS Mornings, the moment that lingered wasn’t the viral numbers, the brand deal, or even the national commercial — it was her quiet admission of disbelief.
“When they reached out to me,” Bingham said, reflecting on Dr Pepper’s decision to turn her TikTok jingle into a nationally televised commercial, “I was over the moon. I was like, wow… I guess it really was good.”
For years, Bingham had been writing short jingles to herself — not for an audience, not for brands, but simply as a creative habit he never believed was worth sharing. The Dr Pepper jingle that would eventually rack up more than 126 million views and air during the College Football National Championship was, by her own account, something she almost kept private.
It took encouragement from her girlfriend to convince him to post it at all.
“I sang it for her,” Bingham told the CBS Mornings host, Gayle King. “She said it was really good. I was like, ‘Are you sure?’”
That moment of doubt — followed by a leap of faith — has resonated deeply with viewers, many of whom see their own unrealized creativity reflected in Bingham’s story.
Her rise reflects how easily talent can go unnoticed when self-belief lags behind ability.
Before the viral moment, Bingham worked as a caregiver, quietly nurturing creativity on the side without any clear pathway to turning it into a career. Sitting on national television, she acknowledged that the sudden recognition still feels unreal.
Seeing her jingle air on national TV, she said, was “awesome,” but also validating — proof that something she once dismissed as small or silly had real value.
Asked about the secret to a good jingle, Bingham offered advice that doubled as a metaphor for creative confidence: “Keep it short, snappy, and catchy — something people want to repeat.”
The statement landed less as an advertising tip and more as a reminder that impact doesn’t always come from grand gestures.
Bingham’s appearance also revealed a creator who remains grounded. When speculation circulated online about how much he was paid for the Dr Pepper collaboration, he gently pushed back, saying he wished people would stop trying to “count my pockets.”
More than money or metrics, the moment represented permission — permission to take himself seriously after years of doing the work quietly and alone.
“I guess it really was good,” she said again, smiling.
For many watching, that sentence captured the heart of the story: not just a viral jingle, but a creative finally allowing herself to believe what others had seen all along.
