Once, a battle for the future of the Labour party meant serious politicians debating ideological differences through lengthy speeches. In 2026, it means 60-second video clips shared on social media. This week, we’ve had a double delight. First up was Andy Burnham’s wistful walk through the Makerfield constituency he hopes to make his own. So far, so clichéd. More interesting – and more disturbing – was Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson’s foray into film.

For reasons unexplained, Phillipson has been filmed in the offices of the Department for Education

For reasons unexplained, Phillipson has been filmed in the offices of the Department for Education in conversation with ‘media personality’ Gemma Collins. For the uninitiated, Collins made her name in the reality television show The Only Way is Essex. Her larger-than-life personality ensured star status, which paved the way for appearances on I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!, Celebrity Big Brother, Celebs Go Dating and Dancing on Ice. Lovable and savvy though she undoubtedly is, Collins is famous for being famous.

Yet here she is, popping up on the Department for Education’s social media feed. ‘Gemma Collins is in the building and she’s got questions,’ we’re told, ahead of an 18-second clip of the Kween of Essex sashaying out of a lift, through an open-plan workspace and past busy members of staff. (Or are they actors? Who knows what’s real any more?).

The GC quizzes Education Secretary @bphillipsonMP on her GCSEs and much, much more ?

Find out more about how we’re transforming post-16 education so every young person can gain the knowledge and skills they need to get a good job, go on to university, or achieve other ambitions… pic.twitter.com/wd8z6Mrh3M

— Department for Education (@educationgovuk) May 20, 2026

‘Right,’ Collins demands to know, ‘What are we doing to help the children?’ Bang on cue, Phillipson opens her office door and purrs, ‘Come in, let’s have a chat.’

If Gemma Collins has questions, then so do I. Mainly: Why? For the love of God: Why? What is the point of this video? Who thought a guest appearance from a reality television star was the best way to promote the work of the Department for Education? Who is all this aimed at?

Subsequent clips of Collins and Phillipson chatting suggest one aim is to promote vocational education. There are ‘options as good on the technical and vocational side’ as on the academic, claims the Secretary of State for Education, at one point. And there is a vague nod to the idea that children might, in the future, ‘get into a trade’. Great. I’m all for that. But then, why not highlight someone who has done just that? What about video clips featuring successful electricians, plumbers, plasterers and chefs?

There is no shortage of kids who want to be social media influencers or celebrities. A recent poll suggests that half of young Brits want to be ‘content creators’. No offence to Collins, who I am sure is not only lovely but also successful and wealthy, but surely the role of the Department for Education is to promote something more than reality television stardom?

Collins, so Wikipedia tells me, is a ‘prominent figure within the British hun subculture’. Again for the uninitiated, this is an unapologetically over-the-top celebration of Prosecco-soaked female and LGBTQ friendship, gossip, trivia and all things camp. Collins embodies this approach in her comments on education. ‘You better make sure, hunnies, that whatever you’re gonna be learning, you concentrate because you’re gonna be taking it into your future career,’ she tells the watching children. (Because teenagers all follow the Department for Education’s social media accounts. Don’t they?)

Collins is warm and inclusive. Everyone can be a hun! As she says, ‘There’s always an opportunity out there for everyone.’ The problem is, this soon descends into a celebration of ignorance. ‘I didn’t even get a grade in maths,’ she declares. ‘And look at me now, sitting here with the Secretary of State,’ is the obvious subtext. There’s the pop-psychology, ‘part of that was not believing in myself,’ she says. But there’s also the British disease of revelling in innumeracy. ‘All that Pi over Sky or whatever it is,’ Collins moans, before turning to Phillipson: ‘I bet you know.’ Does she, though? The Education Secretary attempts to nod and shake her head at the same time.

All of this brings us to what seems to be the real reason why this film was made. It’s an opportunity to promote neither education nor the work of government, but Bridget Phillipson. There she is with her shiny hair in her shiny office. But she came from a tough background, she reminds viewers. Of course she did. Just like Andy Burnham, she’s from The North. (I have more questions. When did The North become this monolithic entity? And when did being from The North become a person’s entire identity? I’m from Middlesbrough, but I’ve never seen this as a substitute for having a personality.)

Collins seems to be there to give Phillipson a boost. ‘You’ve done alright for yourself, haven’t you, hun?’ is the film’s overarching message. ‘You’ve got an office overlooking Parliament’, Collins points out. Work hard at school, ‘and one day kids this could be you,’ she beams. Or, alternatively, don’t work hard at school, and you, too, could get invited to have a cosy chat with a government minister. I have read enough to know that hun culture is supposed to be fun. But these videos make me despair for politics, education and Britain.