In an election of few surprises, a shocking development has been Nigel Farage’s sudden popularity among young people. Recent figures show the Reform leader – an antiquated figure who, with his pinstripes, tweeds and cigars, would be at home in a Thatcher cabinet – outperforms Labour on TikTok (in early June, Farage was beating Labour on a views-per-video basis by 30% – and the Tories by more than double). A YouGov survey on 18 June indicated that Farage’s popularity among 18- to 24-year-olds dwarfs that of the Conservatives; and Reform has scored its highest polling numbers since it originated as the Brexit party in 2018.
With young people often bashed for their “woke” politics (including by the Reform leader himself), it may surprise some that Farage – who has spouted rhetoric about Muslims not having British values, and suggesting diversity in hiring is “disastrous” – would resonate with this group. But his success relates to his courting of younger voters by aligning himself with misogynistic figures – most notably the influencer Andrew Tate – who have increasing cachet with young men in particular. In an appearance on the Strike It Big podcast (hosted by two 25-year-olds, who interviewed Tate as a guest last year), Farage described Tate as an “important voice” for the “emasculated”.
The nature of the content reaching Farage’s nearly 800,000 TikTok followers is noteworthy. Rather than traditional political content – excerpts from prime minister’s questions or campaign speeches – Farage’s clips include him rapping the lyrics of Eminem’s Without Me, and inspecting fruit at a campaign event and exclaiming, “Lovely melons!”
You might think a 60-year-old, clay pigeon-shooting, (former) Coutts account holder might sit more comfortably in the Garrick Club than on TikTok, but his embrace of Tate and pivot to video show his message – and means of communicating it – is thoroughly contemporary.
Having achieved Brexit and disrupted British politics on the back of his ability to draw older voters away from the major parties, Farage now needs a new audience, and he’s found that by appealing to a politics of resentment. This is attractive to younger voters, who are grappling with economic instability and societal shifts, notably the rise of feminism and increased advocacy for racial equality. In a recent poll, generation Z males were more likely than baby boomers to say they believed feminism had done more harm than good. One in five expressed a favourable view of Tate.
Farage has been shrewd to lean into the natural synergy between his populist politics and Tate’s critique of “woke culture”. The influencer advocates reclaiming male dominance through the single-minded pursuit of wealth and status, arguing that feminism undermines young men under attack.
Tate combines casual misogyny and obscene wealth – not atypical for social media – but his audience is atypically large: a 2022 analysis from the Center for Countering Digital Hate found his videos had been watched 11.6bn times. This mass appeal is especially grim considering he made his fortune by sexually exploiting women as part of a webcam pornography empire; he is now awaiting trial in Romania on charges of rape and human trafficking, which he denies.
Tate may well be a misogynist and a predator, but dismissing the messenger out of hand fails to reckon with why there is demand for the message. First, it’s important to acknowledge the context in which most young men encounter his content. In short videos, often clips from his many podcast appearances, Tate offers inane self-improvement tips: fitness and finance advice that bears no resemblance to the explicitly misogynistic language for which he has become famous in mainstream media.
When he does turn to gender, Tate is often talking about how men are downtrodden and disadvantaged; “weak” and being taught to be “emotional and lack stoicism”. He is talking to men about men, rather than explicitly asking them to turn their resentment towards women. Moreover, by couching his violent and derogatory language in a veneer of humour, Tate seeks to position himself and his audience as in on the joke, whereas his critics are humourless – opponents of free speech rather than concerned parents or teachers.
That message fits comfortably with Farage, a man whose career has rested on his ability to turn disaffected people into supporters of a rightwing politics that thrives on scapegoating and resentment. In many ways, it’s surprising Farage has taken so long to pivot to young men. Populist parties in Europe have always enjoyed a much younger audience than the coalitions typically associated with Brexit and Donald Trump, with youth support for France’s Front National (now rebranded as National Rally) growing in every election of the 21st century.
By aligning himself with online misogynists, Farage is further polarising the electorate along gender lines. Young men drawn to his endorsement of Tate are susceptible to the other strands of grievance politics espoused by populist figures. Just as online feminism has been a potent recruitment tool for the left over the past decade, online misogyny or “redpill” culture increasingly serves to draw men right. Simply telling them that their concerns are not legitimate or that they’re “part of the problem” only reinforces the idea that society does not care about them.
Sasha Mistlin is a commissioning editor on the Guardian’s Saturday magazine and a former recipient of the Scott Trust bursary
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