Jungkook Is Not Your Boyfriend and Farage Is Not Your Mate

Parasociality is beginning to redefine what it means to be a politician.

It is 2021, and tennis player Naomi Osaka has won her first round at the French Open. Due to her mental health, she declares that she will not be attending the mandatory press conference. Osaka is fined and faces criticisms of entitled behaviour from fans and news outlets. Entering 2023, Taylor Swift announces her breakup with Joe Alwyn. Hate floods Alwyn’s comments as fan theories antagonise the actor. A year later, K-Pop idol Karina confirms her relationship with actor Lee Jae-wook. Fans immediately react with feelings of betrayal, disappointment and outrage. “Is the love given to you by your fans not enough?” one writes. The female star responds with a handwritten apology, and the pair separates after five weeks.

Parasocial relationships with celebrities and athletes have long been around, from The Beatles and One Direction to British football fans. Yet, in the digital age, these one-sided connections have only surged in intensity. With paparazzi and sensationalist media, it has only become more accessible to glimpse into the lives of our idols and easier to promote common opinions. Subreddits fill with speculations of celebrity sexualities, X floods with rants of lifestyle choices, and lengthy TikToks of relationship theories burgeon into a ten-part series. It’s safe to say that we can’t help but obsess over our internet superstars. 

However, with celebrities, every so often, it slips through the cracks. A tiny glimpse of trouble arises, and the media, doing its job, rips this crevice of a peephole open to expose the ‘real’ identity of celebrities. We have seen this with Kim Soo-hyun’s allegations of dating a teenage girl, Kanye West’s antisemitic remarks, and Ellen DeGeneres’ controversy of workplace bullying. The avid K-drama fan is as disgusted as stunned, the rap enthusiast shakes his head, and the devotee of American sitcoms scoffs in shame. The three are pulled back to reality, and parasociality crumbles. We know it is unhealthy. It isn’t right to blindly put so much faith and loyalty into a person who is but a concept, but we can’t stop.

Yet, in Britain, a man with a knack for storytelling and British banter swiftly gains political prominence. In 2016, he pushed for Brexit. “Easy,” he called it, the man of the people (and with £3m in properties). He claims it’s only mass immigration that’s the problem because that causes people to speak foreign languages on public transport. This tends to be the case when chatting with the local defender of traditional English values. How could anyone possibly feel comfortable without English? A language that you could claim has never changed in its entire history, if you don’t study history.

In 2024, Nigel Farage moved his political marketing strategy to social media. Pro-Reform accounts on X and Tiktok spam the comments, advocating for Farage’s campaign. His TikTok account garners more engagement than any other British politician as he speaks of “Big Chungus” and calls for more serious matters, like “proper bloody milk, not left-wing options”. To hell with oat milk! As of September 2025, he has accumulated over 1.3M followers on the app. From the Conservative party to UKIP to Reform UK, he makes the lads crack up, he’s down with the kids, his witty insults give the people a finger to point towards for the root of Britain’s problems. His narratives are as iron-strong as his promises: of no NHS waiting lists, stable bills, and better wages — done by stopping boats and cutting Net Zero, obviously. 

Farage has perfected a portrait of organic humour and British charisma that some are entirely gullible to. He scorns Glasgow as “the asylum capital of the United Kingdom”, and the viewers agree, unquestioningly and in totality. The logic then goes: He’s not wrong about the milk, so he must be right about immigration. He’s quite funny, so I think I’d get on well with Nigel Farage, the multi-millionaire. He’s got my vote. It’s the same way we nag on and on about the parasocial relationships that fans have with their celebrities, which can be troubling or even concerning (think Charles Leclerc fans). But the digital persona treads into a territory that places our idols on pedestals, elevating them to a status that transcends the standards of the average individual. When we throw politicians into the mix, we become idiots of our own making, wagging our tails. Our own minds excuse them of any wrong because we think we understand them. Viewers think they understand a persona that is, in reality, carefully constructed by a media and marketing team. Parasociality is beginning to redefine what it means to be a politician.

To the west of the United Kingdom, another global political presence cultivates a group of followers who seem to know and understand their leader with unyielding fealty. Donald Trump, whose political identity has drastically transformed the relationship between voter and party, is no stranger to parasociality in the current political climate. Red MAGA caps rep the face of Trumpain merch as American flags flutter from the windows. More than the uniformity of headwear, however, we also see the transience of moral boundaries. For instance, politicians can now joke that bleach can be injected into the body to kill a virus. Ultraviolet light, too. They can refer to their supposed-ally as a “dictator” when they don’t agree with external governance, in a show of ultimate power. They can even lighten the mood, say, after a hurricane, by throwing paper towels at the victims. The response of the voter is the same as a highschool friend who refuses to pick sides during petty drama: “but they haven’t affected me“. 

Formality no longer constitutes a strict criterion for the political leader. Farage flourishes in the blame game. Trump flaunts unprofessional immaturity. Political hyperbole is unchecked, whilst unrelenting confidence serves to replace moral integrity. When criticised by one voice, another shouts “woke!”. The justifications of politicians and the dismissal of their criticisms have become a product of individual pride within a collective, like the loyal tribalism to a pack. Even you are not immune to the charm of a well-spoken MP or a funny senator. I remind you that you do not know your celebrities, and certainly not your politicians.