If you need any more proof that the huns are having a moment, look no further than the underground at King’s Cross station in London. Or, should I say, the “Hunderground”. ITV has done a full takeover in celebration of its long association with hun culture, featuring a “Hall of Huns” – “Long before the internet named it, ITV was serving it” – alongside blown-up pictures on billboards of everyone from Cilla Black to Gemma Collins.
For the uninitiated, British hun culture first properly originated in the 2010s, springing out of the expression, “u ok, hun?” and fuelled by a slew of trashy reality TV shows that spawned a thousand memes thanks to the new social media craze. Accounts like “Love of huns” sprang up to pay homage and gained hundreds of thousands of followers; Hunsnet, which started life as a humble meme page on Instagram, has evolved into a podcast, website, merch shop and even inspired a book by its founder, entitled The Hundamental Guide to Life.
Like the best things in life, it’s difficult to define – but if you conjure up images of The Only Way is Essex (TOWIE), fake tan, leopard print, Denise Welch, rosé, Love Island, bleached hair extensions, Katie Price, pink gin, Big Brother, prosecco, WAGs, Alan Carr, pornstar martinis, soap stars, Girls Aloud, Loose Women and bottomless brunch with the girlies, you’ll be on the right track.
For a long time, this campy, quintessentially British subculture and the people involved were something of a national joke. The stans (almost exclusively women and gay men) were affectionate, never sneering – and yet the whole vibe of “hundom” was, by its very nature, somewhat naff and tacky. Those outside the hun-osphere also had a tendency to be judgemental and condescending about it. “I think people make assumptions based on an accent, an outfit or where someone started their career,” says Gareth Howells, founder of Hunsnet. “There’s sexism and class snobbery in that, and it extends to the people who enjoy watching them too.
“I’ve never really understood the idea of a guilty pleasure. What am I supposed to feel guilty about? I’ve put a song on, not committed fraud.”
But more than a decade on, something has fundamentally shifted in the national mood: the huns are unironically on top, having quietly swapped memeification for taking centre stage.
There have long been stirrings of this new cultural supremacy. Alan Carr, the campest man in television, has diligently clawed his way up from innuendo-laden “chatty man” to national treasure – or “natty t”, in hun parlance – status, shored up by his scene-stealing performance in last year’s Celebrity Traitors. Then there’s Alison Hammond, the mother of all huns. She cannily navigated her way from Big Brother winner to some-time This Morning reporter – mainly acting as comic light relief (remember the time she accidentally pushed a man dressed as a sailor off a floating map into Liverpool’s docks as part of a weather segment?) – to powerhouse prime-time presenter, landing the undisputed best gig in telly, The Great British Bake Off, back in 2023.
It’s more like the mainstream has finally caught up with them – hun culture has been celebrating them all along
Love of Huns creator
This trend has gained real traction again recently, with huns across the spectrum gaining mainstream dominance. The latest to break free from her hun chrysalis and step into the role of power-player is Coleen Rooney, former WAG (a term she “hates”, apparently) turned sleuth – “Wagatha Christie” being one of the only good things to come out of social media in the past few years – turned runner-up Queen of the jungle after coming second in the 2024 series of I’m a Celebrity… Now, she’s ready to leverage that cultural capital and popularity even further, with a new clothing line at Primark and a 10-part Disney+ “at home with” series, The Real Rooneys, which drops on 24 September and documents the family’s life as they embark upon a year of change.
Coleen’s husband, ex-premier league footballer Wayne, was always the star, while she was cast in the role of perma-tanned, unworldly childhood sweetheart – but there’s a palpable sense that the tide is turning. “It’s my series, are you glad I’ve let you come on?!” she jokes to her husband at one point. But it does feel like Coleen’s series; as if, off the pitch, she is very much the entrepreneurial driving force that keeps the show on the road. When the Rooneys’ eldest son, Kai, is asked whether his mum or dad is more famous, he thinks for a moment before responding: “Dad – but mum’s getting there.”
As Primark’s Chief Product Officer, Steve Lawton, puts it: “Coleen’s stock is rising almost by the day.”
And she’s not the only hun to have achieved enough cultural clout to secure a multi-part series. Perhaps epitomising the very concept of hundom, Gemma Collins of former TOWIE fame – aka The GC – was once upon a time famous for her no-holds-barred diva behaviour, and infamous for the time she appeared not to have read her own autobiography. Now, she’s been deemed worthy of a much more grown-up eight-part Sky documentary, Everything. All At Once, which follows a year in her life as she undergoes fertility treatment and struggles with the loss of her mum.
Then there’s Olivia Attwood, a stellar hun success story, with a stratospheric trajectory from spray-tanned Love Island contestant to TOWIE cast member to documentary presenter to award-nominated podcast host. Olivia’s House, which launched last year, has attracted a tranche of big-name guests, positioning itself as the UK’s answer to the phenomenally successful Call Her Daddy with its intimate, informal stylings. Oh, and she’s just brought out her own line of premium, ready-to-drink cocktails in cans, branded Savano, stocked at Sainsbury’s nationwide.
The Love of Huns creator is delighted but not all that surprised to see these icons “getting their flowers, with that love reaching new audiences too”.
“Hun culture has always been about celebrating big personalities, humour and those moments that become part of pop culture, and I think that affection reflects the careers and audiences they’ve built over the years,” they said. “There’s a reason they have such lasting appeal: they’re funny, iconic, entertaining and have a genuine connection with their audiences. It’s amazing to see that being celebrated on such a big scale.”
To the Love of Huns, it feels less like their icons have suddenly become mainstream and “more like the mainstream has finally caught up with them – hun culture has been celebrating them all along!”
Howells agrees: “Making people laugh and building a connection with an audience that lasts for years is a talent. I love seeing that translate into bigger opportunities. The audience has understood the appeal for years and now the wider industry is catching up.
“Joy deserves a bit of respect; it’s doing a lot of heavy lifting at the moment.”
So let’s raise a glass of prosecco and cheers the hun-aissance. Huns might once have been a national joke – but they’re definitely having the last laugh now.
