What politicians can learn from Beckham family drama

The public rupture in the Beckham family is largely dismissed as celebrity gossip. But strip away the fame and the eyebrow-raising Instagram stories, and what remains is a familiar risk: a powerful brand appearing to prioritise image over authenticity.

That risk should resonate uncomfortably with Scottish politicians as they look toward the 2026 Holyrood elections.

I am no entertainment reporter, although some might argue covering Scottish politics increasingly overlaps, but for decades “Brand Beckham” has been a masterclass in disciplined public presentation.

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Whether through tabloid scandals or carefully curated Netflix documentaries, controversy has been effectively used or minimised and messaging has been tightly controlled with access carefully managed.

It is, objectively, impressive. The fact that senior television producers recently commissioned a three-part series that functioned, in effect, as a glossy advert for Victoria Beckham’s fashion brand underlines the reach and power of the Beckham operation.

That brand power has also enabled Beckham’s transformation from footballer into something approaching a global statesman. His appearances at events such as the World Economic Forum in Davos, where he recently spoke about the risks of social media (cue an awkward glance at his son), were not built on policy expertise or democratic mandate. They were built on visibility and, crucially, trust in the brand he and Victoria Beckham constructed.

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The problem, as the recent family drama illustrates, is that brands are only stable when their messaging is credible and those inside them consent to the story being told.

Enter Brooklyn Beckham. His decision to air grievances with his mum and dad publicly was damaging not simply because of the personal accusations involved, but because it punctured the core claim that the Beckham image reflected something authentic.

This sentence from Beckham Junior's Instagram story caught my attention: "The performative social media posts, family events and inauthentic relationships have been a fixture of the life I was born into."

Whether true or not, the damage lies in the framing. When an insider declares the brand to be a performance, credibility quickly erodes.

Scottish politics is not celebrity culture (or at the very least, it shouldn't be), but the parallels are increasingly clear.

Over the past decade, and particularly with the rise of social media, political communication has become more personality- and brand-driven. Stylised TikTok videos showcase personal backstories. Carefully shot reels present “the human behind the politics”. We see Anas Sarwar retracing family history in Lossiemouth, or John Swinney reflecting on moments of personal clarity on the banks of Loch Ossian. Relatability and a focus on image has become a competitive sport.

But the Beckham saga shows that brand discipline can lead to chaos. When legitimacy inside an institution weakens, whether that institution is a family or a political party, dissenters appear.

Recent examples in Scottish politics illustrate the point. Revelations that a maternity campaigner did not say the words attributed to her in a Labour campaign leaflet cut through precisely because they clashed with the brand being projected. Likewise, when patients enduring appalling NHS waits speak publicly, it directly undermines the image of competence and delivery the Scottish Government is keen to promote.

The risk ahead of 2026 is not simply electoral fatigue, but cynicism. Once politicians are perceived as performative, political messaging can be discounted. The Beckham brand is instructive here: years of playing happy family did not protect it once claims of inauthenticity emerged. If anything, the strength of the brand intensified the backlash.

Despite the temptations, politicians should prioritise substance over style to win over voters. Effective branding can amplify credibility but such a marketing tool cannot replace it. When delivery falters, when internal trust erodes, brand management becomes a liability.

The lesson from the Beckham family drama is simple and uncomfortable. Image can grant access and attention, but it cannot sustain legitimacy on its own.

As Holyrood 2026 approaches, Scottish politicians would do well to remember that trust is built internally before it is projected externally. Once that trust breaks, no amount of polish can contain the fallout. And the public rarely stops at policy questions. As the Beckhams have discovered, they start searching for the awkward footage.