Some parents are literally grieving children lost after years of unmet need
In an effort to reach young people indifferent to institutional voices, the UK Department for Education partnered with reality television star Gemma Collins to promote post-16 education — only to find that the timing of the campaign, landing the day after a SEND consultation closed, transformed a straightforward outreach effort into a symbol of governmental disconnection. For families already carrying the weight of unmet needs, school trauma, and systemic failure, cheerful celebrity content felt less like a message of opportunity and more like an absence of witness. The episode raises an enduring question about who governments choose to speak through, and what that choice quietly communicates to those left outside the frame.
- The DfE launched a Gemma Collins influencer campaign to bypass young people's indifference to political messaging — but the day it went live, SEND families were still absorbing the close of a consultation they had poured their grief into.
- Parent advocates described the videos as 'insulting' and 'frightening,' with one campaigner saying families are 'literally grieving children lost after years of unmet need, school trauma, and mental health collapse.'
- Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson defended the collaboration on national radio, arguing Collins reaches audiences that politicians cannot, and dismissed some criticism as 'outright snobbery.'
- Marketing experts warned that Collins' entertainment identity overwhelmed the policy message — audiences saw a celebrity being herself, not a credible voice for vocational education.
- The DfE stood by the campaign, the videos remained online, and the SEND consultation remained closed — leaving both the outreach effort and the underlying grievances unresolved.
The Department for Education wanted to speak to young people who don't listen to politicians, so it turned to Gemma Collins — reality television star, 2.3 million Instagram followers — to make videos about post-16 education. In one, she arrives at the DfE to a Devil Wears Prada soundtrack. In another, she sits with Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson to discuss vocational courses. The department did not pay her. It was a straightforward influencer collaboration, designed to carry a message about alternatives to university into spaces where government voices go unheard.
What the DfE did not anticipate was the timing. The videos went live the day after a government consultation on special educational needs and disabilities closed. For parents and advocates who had spent months documenting school trauma, mental health collapse, and systemic failure, the cheerful celebrity content landed as something close to mockery.
Aimee Bradley, who runs SEND Sanctuary UK and has three autistic children, asked publicly for an apology. Amy White, another parent advocate, said the campaign showed the department was not 'reading the room' — that using a celebrity with no lived experience of SEND felt 'completely disconnected from the reality families face every single day.'
Phillipson defended the decision, arguing Collins reaches people that politicians simply cannot, and that some criticism amounted to snobbery. A teacher, Russell Clarke, acknowledged the logic but noted the risk: Collins became famous without traditional qualifications, and some young people might absorb that as the actual lesson.
Dr. Gillian Brooks of King's College London identified the deeper problem — not Collins herself, but the mismatch between her public identity and the institutional message. The DfE wanted to talk about education. What audiences saw was Gemma Collins being Gemma Collins. The department stood by the campaign. The videos stayed up. The consultation remained closed.
The Department for Education wanted to reach young people who don't listen to politicians. So it hired Gemma Collins, the reality television star with 2.3 million Instagram followers, to make videos about post-16 education. In one, she walks into the DfE offices to the soundtrack of The Devil Wears Prada. In another, she sits down with Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson to discuss vocational courses and Richard III. The department did not pay her. It was, by all accounts, a straightforward influencer collaboration designed to amplify a message about alternatives to university.
What the DfE did not anticipate was the timing, or the audience it would anger. The videos went live the day after a government consultation on special educational needs and disabilities closed. Parents and advocates for children with SEND—special educational needs and disabilities—saw the cheerful celebrity content and felt something closer to mockery.
Aimee Bradley runs SEND Sanctuary UK, a parent campaign group. She has three autistic children. When she saw the videos, she asked for an apology. "Some parents are literally grieving children lost after years of unmet need, school trauma, mental health collapse, and systemic failure," she told the BBC. The timing felt deliberate to her, a kind of insult delivered just as families were processing the government's response to their pleas for help. "It felt like a joke on us parents," she said. "There needs to be an apology for us parents, who are literally just fighting for our lives."
Amy White, a parent advocate, was blunter. She said the campaign showed the Department for Education was not "reading the room." Using a reality television star with no experience supporting children with SEND, no lived knowledge of what families actually endure, felt "completely disconnected from the reality families face every single day." She called it "frightening" and "insensitive." For many families, she said, it felt "downright insulting."
Phillipson defended the choice on BBC Radio 5 Live. Collins has reach that "politicians can't reach," she said. Some of the criticism amounted to "outright snobbery and just downright unpleasant" commentary. The education secretary argued that Collins was genuinely keen to stress the importance of hard work in school, especially in parts of the country where young people don't see education as a path to a good life. "If she can get that message across to some of the young people that frankly don't really care what the secretary of state of our education's got to say about the topic, then I think that's good for all of us," Phillipson said.
Russell Clarke, a teacher, acknowledged the reasoning. If the goal is to engage young people, they are unlikely to follow the DfE's own social media accounts unless the message comes from someone they already watch. But he saw a risk. When Gemma Collins—someone who did not pursue traditional qualifications and became successful anyway—delivers a message about education, some young people might draw the wrong conclusion. "I would probably favour a broader range of contributors having these conversations," he said.
Dr. Gillian Brooks, a senior lecturer in strategic marketing at King's College London, identified the core problem differently. The issue was not Collins herself, but the mismatch between her public identity and the message. Collins is rooted in entertainment culture, not education or vocational training. When an organization collaborates with an influencer, the goal should be to amplify the institutional message. Instead, "the influencer's personal brand has overshadowed the policy message the department was attempting to promote," Brooks said. The DfE wanted to talk about post-16 education. What people saw was Gemma Collins being Gemma Collins.
The department stood by the collaboration. A spokesperson said the videos were part of a broader effort to meet people where they are, whether at face-to-face events or on social media. The campaign had reached a wider audience and made them aware of opportunities available to them. Collins declined to comment. The consultation on SEND remained closed. The videos remained online.
Notable Quotes
Some parents are literally grieving children lost after years of unmet need, school trauma, mental health collapse, and systemic failure.— Aimee Bradley, SEND Sanctuary UK
The influencer's personal brand has overshadowed the policy message the department was attempting to promote.— Dr. Gillian Brooks, King's College London
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did the Department for Education think Gemma Collins was the right person for this?
Because she reaches people the government can't. She has 2.3 million Instagram followers. The DfE has 85,000. Young people who ignore official channels might actually watch her content.
But she's not an educator. She's not a parent. She's not someone with expertise in this area.
That's exactly what the critics said. And they're right. But the department wasn't trying to hire an expert. They were trying to hire a megaphone.
The timing seems almost cruel—launching this the day after a consultation on SEND closed.
It felt that way to parents who have been fighting for years to get their children's needs met. Some saw it as the government celebrating itself while families were still grieving.
Did the department understand how it would land?
There's no evidence they did. The education secretary defended it as reaching people who need to hear the message. But she may have missed that the people most hurt by education policy failures were watching too.
What's the actual risk here, beyond hurt feelings?
If young people see Gemma Collins say "I didn't get qualifications and I'm fine," they might think qualifications don't matter. The message gets muddled. The brand overshadows the policy.
Could they have done this differently?
Probably. A broader range of voices—parents, teachers, young people who actually benefited from vocational training—might have sent a clearer signal about what the government was actually trying to do.