Blog/In print

Sir Keir Starmer has had the worst start of any elected British prime minister in recent memory. Fewer than one in five adults approve of his government. Labour has slipped in the polls behind the Conservatives, and in some instances behind Reform too. Starmer’s sandcastle coalition, which won him July’s election, is being washed away, collapsing from a commanding 45 per cent vote share over the summer to 25 per cent today. In short it could not be going worse, but is it all his fault?

Restless democracies and bumpy poll ratings are creating transitory leadership and blurred political memories. That’s what a YouGov poll found in December, with one third of the public unable to list the most recent Conservative prime ministers in the correct order, even when prompted with the first and last in the sequence. It seems the speed of our political cycle is robbing politicians of the opportunity to make long-term connections with the public.

Celebrities are increasingly stepping into the vacuum left by failing professional politicians, with growing frequency and impact. From Esther Rantzen on assisted dying and Jeremy Clarkson at the farmers’ protests to Carol Vorderman on tactical voting and Marcus Rashford on free school meals, successful political campaigns are increasingly accompanied by celebrities. And not just as adjunct figures but as the driving force behind change, shaping public opinion and communication. It used to be the other way round. Back in the 1980s Margaret Thatcher dominated the national scene, not just as a political figure but as a person whose permanence and personal atmospherics defined the decade. The idea of a celebrity going up against her would have seemed nonsensical.

The same goes for New Labour and the Noughties: Tony Blair and Cool Britannia were the zeitgeist, but we knew who the pop stars were and who the political leaders were. British society feels different now, with authority flowing from the once seemingly permanent class of public figures.

If politicians are becoming more ephemeral, long-surviving celebrities are increasingly part of our mental furniture. In 2024 you could have watched Jimmy Anderson bowling for the England cricket team, Kelsey Grammer joke on Frasier or Bruce Springsteen sing live. A diary from 2004 would say the same. Our celebrities have a deeper relationship with the public than do our political leaders.

Pollster YouGov holds a database on the popularity and fame levels of Britain’s television celebrities and politicians. This resource highlights the level of disparity between the two classes of public figures. It reports 150 or so TV personalities in Britain who are more popular than any of its 290 political figures. The broadcaster David Attenborough, money-saving expert Martin Lewis and actor David Tennant are twice as popular as the most popular politicians in the country — still Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson, who classify as crossover celebrities.

If you thought approval doesn’t necessarily translate into leadership capability, a recent survey carried out by More in Common found that, by a three to one margin, the public thought Martin Lewis would make a better leader than Starmer or Kemi Badenoch, and by 55 to 45 they thought the same of Jeremy Clarkson. These figures would be less hypothetical if we had to hear what cuts Lewis would enact in the civil service or what Clarkson’s exact immigration policy would be.

Unlike the United States, Britain doesn’t have a directly elected executive or open primaries where individuals can hack the party system, but there are other celebrity tailwinds in UK politics. Our political “grid” of news is no longer controlled by government but by events and well-resourced campaigns on social and political issues. Take the recent “crush crime” campaign by the academic Lawrence Newport to tackle the super­criminals who commit 90 per cent of crime. Discrete single-issue campaigns like Newport’s provide an almost risk-free way of celebrity intervention.

Second, the number of executive positions at the devolved level offers entry points for celebrities who wish to govern. We are only a few years away from a celebrity mayor — most likely in London. Social media has by­passed many traditional publications, allowing individuals to have a personal, and perhaps political, relationship with millions.

Nothing is new in politics; the sociologist Max Weber gave a blueprint more than a century ago for how celebrity politicians might govern. Weber argued that there were three sources of authority. The first, “traditional”, referred to the authority flowing from the monarch or established church. That’s now severely curtailed by constitutional change, liberalism and secularism. The second he called “legal-rational” authority, referring to a country’s political and economic bureaucracies underpinned by law. Those haven’t had the best time of it recently, either. Just ask the civil servant who signed off a £100 million bat tunnel for HS2, or the people unable to build houses due to our “vetocracy”. Pessimism that our laws and institutions can deliver is widespread.

This puts Weber’s third source of authority, “charisma”, into focus. Weber’s idea of charismatic authority was that the public could be moved by force of personality and the vision of a charismatic leader. In many ways the discussion about increased involvement of celebrities in our political life is a symptom of the deep failure of our traditions and political structures. But it is also perhaps a recognition that many modern British politicians have failed to connect and explain why they believe what they believe.

Celebrities can evoke a sense of Britain that is more resonant than that delivered by our politicians. Take Clarkson again. He spans different vectors of Britishness that most politicians would struggle to embrace. The avid Remainer whose vibes are Mr Brexit; the man who loves his gas-guzzling cars but has switched careers to nurture Britain’s green and pleasant land. A middle-aged Englishman who is more popular with millennials than with boomers; a once-metropolitan Notting Hill resident who found his people among the “Barbour army” of farmers.

Clarkson’s conception of Britishness isn’t the quango-approved Danny Boyle version we saw at the 2012 Olympics or the darker nostalgic version that creeps into far-right politics. He personifies British irony, and you’re usually left smiling. The nation’s favourite farmer has said he doesn’t want to stand for office but it’s obvious why some are urging him on. With Farage’s charisma dominating, a counterbalance is needed. The celebrities might just be coming in 2025.