Beyond Nepo Babies: The Quiet Inheritance of British Power

As Lila Moss struts down the Victoria’s Secret runway with Kate's supermodel genetics in tow, the “nepo baby” debate has us watching dynasties defend their success with the self-awareness of a character from Succession in a merit-based hiring workshop. For every 'Eve Jobs' landing a modelling gig, there’s a political scion landing a parliamentary seat or a CEO’s son stepping into an executive role fresh out of uni. The difference? In entertainment, at least we get to comment on it.

While we're busy moaning about trust-fund TikTokers stealing the spotlight, the real aspirants are still waiting in line – not for coffee, but for real opportunities. As Lila swanned down the Victoria Secret runway in wings, countless fashion grads were serving actual wings at Nando’s, with diplomas gathering dust alongside student loan bills. Watching someone use a fast pass at Alton Towers is one thing; watching them skip years of career-building is another. And before anyone argues that they “work twice as hard to prove themselves” – do they, though? From where we’re standing, it seems the only heavy lifting they’re doing is with their surname.

What’s particularly rich – beyond their trust funds – is that while we fixate on Hollywood nepotism, we barely blink at how Parliament has become a highbrow family affair. Peeking at the Commons benches reveals more legacy admissions than an Eton house photo. While we scroll through Instagram watching another Beckham "find their passion" for photography, policy is being shaped by those whose main qualification is sharing a last name with a former minister. When a celebrity offspring lands a Burberry campaign, the worst result is a mediocre billboard. When it happens in Westminster, we get leaders who think the Northern Powerhouse is a nightclub in Manchester.

Just look at how this hereditary system operates in politics. While former Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, Nadine Dorries’ daughter pocketed £30,000 for a parliamentary "staff" role that involved perfecting her out-of-office reply, dozens of MPs were turning Westminster into a family business. When Labour MP Virginia Crosbie hired both her children as staff, no one raised an eyebrow. The cost isn’t just taxpayer money funding family reunions disguised as political posts – it’s the erosion of any pretence of meritocracy. When Euan Blair’s startup skyrockets to a £147 million valuation, we’re told it’s coincidence that investors flock to fund the former PM’s son.

The real kicker is how this dynasty-building cloaks itself in “family values” and “public service tradition” – as if representation were a family heirloom, not a civic duty. Sunak, straight out of Winchester and Oxford, talks about hard work while his father-in-law’s Infosys fortune could buy a football team. Those who promote “broadening access” and “levelling up” also ensure their kids intern at Goldman Sachs while the CVs of others gather dust. It’s like they’re playing Monopoly with a “Get Out of Real Life Free” card while the rest of us are struggling to pay rent for real.

Adding insult to injury, it’s the everyday taxpayer who funds this ecosystem of inherited privilege, from publicly subsidised parliamentary staff salaries for MPs' relatives to generous tax breaks that disproportionately benefit family wealth. While ordinary people pay their fair share—and often more—those at the top leverage every loophole, offshore trust, and inheritance tax dodge available, ensuring their wealth stays within the family. And while they promote austerity or tax hikes for the public good, these same beneficiaries of privilege enjoy financial advantages that not only preserve their fortunes but actively widen the gap between them and everyone else.

Perhaps the most frustrating part isn’t just the nepotism, but the carefully crafted myths around their “journeys.” Listen to a Cabinet minister who attended Eton, and you’d think they fought tooth and nail rather than simply enjoyed a life of advantage. They’re “self-made” in the same way Prince William is “self-made” – that is, not at all. At least Hollywood’s nepo babies sometimes admit they had help, wrapped in phrases like “I’m grateful for my opportunities.” But our political class? They still push the idea of a perfect meritocracy while pulling up the ladder behind them. Both industries have diversity stats that resemble a telephone pole – long, white, and utterly inflexible. In 2019, 59% of serving permanent secretaries, the most senior role in each government department, had attended an independent school despite only 6% of the population attending private schools, it’s not an anomaly; it’s business as usual.

This is why the “nepo baby” debate has gained traction: it’s not just about Brooklyn Beckham’s photography or Euan Blair’s business ventures. It’s about a generation watching social mobility freeze while being told to “work hard” by people who treat entire industries like family property.

So where does that leave us, in a supposedly meritocratic society dominated by inherited privilege? While we’re busy debating whether a celebrity child deserved their Vogue cover, the real scandal is in boardrooms, newsrooms, and committee rooms across the country. Britain’s obsession with nepotism in entertainment is like worrying about a leaky tap when the whole house is underwater. Yes, it’s annoying that someone’s surname fast-tracks them to a role, but it’s catastrophic when that same principle decides who makes our laws, shapes our media, and influences economic policy. The “nepo baby” debate isn’t just about famous families – it’s the canary in the coal mine for a society in denial. And until we confront the systemic privilege that turns our institutions into family heirlooms, we’ll keep pretending Britain is a meritocracy, while watching the same few families play musical chairs with power. At least in Hollywood, the credits eventually roll. In British public life, it’s just the same story on repeat – and we’re all paying for a ticket we never wanted to buy.

For the majority, “pulling yourself up by the bootstraps” isn’t just a mantra; it’s a necessity. They navigate rising rents, unstable jobs, and a labyrinth of blocked pathways to success – obstacles so foreign to the privileged that they may as well be invisible. Meanwhile, those who control these pathways — in government, media, finance, and beyond — maintain that they’ve “earned” their place, often unaware or dismissive of the very real barriers that separate their lives from those of the people they supposedly represent. And in a Britain that’s becoming less upwardly mobile with every passing year, the myth of the meritocracy serves only to deepen this divide, leaving the rest of us to wonder: if hard work and determination does not open doors, what chance do most of us really have?