It’s about as far from ground-breaking as a statement can be to say that social media is one of the most powerful tools in public figures’ arsenals right now. What’s less settled is the formula for success. Get the mix of ingredients right and it’s a potent weapon; get it wrong and it’s one of the most cringe-inducing spectacles known to man.
Andy Burnham took over the role of Prime Minister from Keir Starmer only a short few weeks ago, but he’s been busy ever since. And when he’s not been cutting electricity bills or capping bus fares, he’s been… making TikTok videos.
One of Burnham’s greatest strengths has always been his man-of-the-people image, and since taking on the role of PM he’s taken to social media to show the public just how very normal he is. So far, he’s shown off his DJ skills, ranked pub snacks, and put an end once and for all to the debate over what the proper name for a bread roll is (it is, he says, a ‘barm’).
On the surface, yes, Burnham is poking fun at the north-south divide in a silly video about bread; but he eventually pivots to make a broader point that every part of the UK has their own way of doing things, and power should be devolved to each of them.
The public received Keir Starmer’s content differently. He tried to do exactly what Burnham is largely managing to pull off – being relatable – but it fell flat. The dots weren’t joined up: Starmer showed sporadic bursts of attempted meme-literacy, throwing out a 6-7 hand gesture here and there, and then would switch back to straight-laced, direct-to-camera addresses when talking about his policies.
The form wasn’t the function. Starmer’s approach felt unnatural and forced because he didn’t commit – too many posts landed with an almost desperate feeling; an air of approval-seeking “am I right, guys?”. Even a cursory glance at both their TikTok feeds shows the stark difference: Burnham shows no sign of slowing down with the vlogs and the pints and the music rankings. It’s who he is – it’s authentic. For Starmer, his online presence simply didn’t feel like ‘him’.
Though Burnham is gift-wrapping his messages with a bigger bow than Starmer did, it’s not that he’s being indirect or roundabout. Burnham still speaks directly to the general public. In fact, he often is far more direct than Starmer. See the side-by-side comparisons below: where Starmer shares a full-body photo of him shaking hands with Zelenskyy on a red carpet, Burnham takes a selfie. Where Starmer talks about the plight of energy bills from a wood panelled room within No. 10, Burnham, unbothered by sticky carpets, eats pork scratchings whilst casually conversing about the importance of slashing business rates for our greatest British institution: the pub.
Even when they both don hi-vis jackets, there’s always a middle-man between Starmer and the public. A photographer, or the sense that his Head of Comms is lurking just out-of-shot. Burnham bulldozes through the fourth wall. It doesn’t mean he’s running his whole social media operation as a one-man-band – we know better than most that he isn’t – but he gives that impression.
It’s interesting; Andy Burnham is a career politician. Starmer was a relative political newcomer with a legal background. Yet these two men’s online presences would give you the opposite impression. Burnham conducts himself online with a sense that disregarding the long-held political etiquette of lecterns and collared shirts is his choice. Starmer, on the other hand, always felt like he was being pushed, dipping his toe in whilst looking around for confirmation it was okay to break from convention.
The key lesson from Starmer and Burnham’s social media exploits? Do it, or don’t (and if it simply doesn’t feel authentic – definitely don’t).
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