The Grinch is one of the holiday season’s most familiar icons. The grumpy, green, fur-covered misanthrope who plotted to sabotage Christmas in Dr Seuss’s classic 1957 work has now become a quintessential part of the yearly festive ritual he so despised.
But beneath that snarl and green fur, what kind of creature is he, really? Not even Dr Seuss really had an answer.
As an anatomist, I can’t help but wonder what the Grinch would look like on the dissection table – and what his skeleton, muscles and brain can tell us about his unique origins.
The skull
The Grinch’s most recognisable feature is, of course, his face. And underlying these characteristic features would be a unique skull – unlike anything you’d find in Whoville or on Earth.
Structurally, the Grinch’s facial skeleton would blend primate and canine traits: short, broad snout, high cranium and powerful jaws. It’s a face evolved for expression, adeptly capable of sneering, gloating and ultimately smiling with genuine warmth.
His zygomatic arches (cheekbones) are broad and flared to accommodate for the large zygomaticus major muscles needed to lift the corners of his mouth into his exaggerated, mischievous smirk.
Beneath his eyes would be a large bony canal, carrying nerves to his whisker-like facial hairs – granting exquisite tactile sensitivity to changes in air currents. Like a cat’s whiskers, they’d help him sense approaching Whos or dangling baubles – crucial for a creature who thrives on stealth.
His teeth would be similar to a chimp’s, with sharp canines for tearing through Who “roast beast,” sturdy molars for grinding tougher festive fare and incisors adapted for nibbling fruitcake or the occasional candy cane.
The upper jaw, or maxilla, would be robust and slightly vaulted, lending resonance to that infamous laugh echoing through Mount Crumpit.
The face
The Grinch’s yellow eyes, with large, forward-facing eye sockets, suggest a crepuscular lifestyle: most active at dawn and dusk.
Many animals with yellow eyes, such as owls and cats, are adapted to low light. The yellow pigment filters blue light and sharpens contrast, allowing movement to be detected in the half-light. Perfect for a nocturnal gift thief.
His nasal aperture would be tall and narrow, with a complex set of internal conchae (nasal bones) to warm the cold alpine air of Mount Crumpit. The constant twitching of his nose might indicate a highly attuned sense of smell to detect roast beast from a distance.
The Grinch’s expressiveness would involve a complex set of muscles – many of which would be unusually large so he can convey every scheme, doubt, pang of guilt and emotion he experiences. For example, he would probably have very distinct levator labii superioris alaeque nasi – “Elvis muscles” – so he can lift his upper lip sneeringly.
The spine
If you watch the Grinch walk, he’s upright but fluid, almost serpentine. His spine would probably resemble a cross between a gibbon and a cat – long, flexible and sinuous.
The lower back would be extended and highly mobile, allowing that characteristic slouch and coiled posture. The thoracic vertebrae (found in the middle and upper back) would produce a gentle outward curve – creating a hunched silhouette suited to skulking. His cervical vertebrae (neck bones) would be elongated, letting him tilt and crane his head with exaggerated expressiveness.
Like a cat, he’d be digitigrade – meaning he walks on the balls of his feet and toes rather than on the soles (as humans do). This stance softens each step – allowing for the quiet, agile motion needed to lurk through Whoville stealing presents on Christmas eve.
Though his pelvis supports an upright posture, his centre of gravity sits slightly forward and low — a design that sits somewhere between human and primate.
The brain
Anatomy often mirrors personality. Judging by behaviour, the Grinch’s frontal lobes, particularly his prefrontal cortex, would be on the small side – explaining his flat and small forehead.
Given this region governs planning, impulse control and moral reasoning, it would explain why he lacks these faculties at the story’s start. Having a smaller frontal lobe also explains his rash decisions and inability to foresee consequences beyond the next stolen bauble.
His temporal lobes, would be large and active. They process sound and memory – ideal for recognising (and despising) Whoville’s Christmas carols. They also house functional areas that process smells – important for sniffing out hidden cans of Who-Hash.
His occipital and parietal lobes would also be well developed, supporting the sharp vision, coordination and spatial awareness he needed to climb, leap and slide down chimneys.
The Grinch’s amygdala (also involved in experiencing emotions) would probably be hypertrophied – explaining his emotional volatility, paranoia and exaggerated reactions. Combined with his limbic system, part of the brain’s memory and emotion centre, creates a creature ruled by passion and reactivity.
The heart
No anatomical analysis of the Grinch is complete without addressing the moment when “his heart grew three sizes.”
Biologically, such a sudden expansion would be catastrophic. In humans and other mammals, cardiomegaly (an enlarged heart) is a dangerous condition linked to heart failure, arrhythmias and poor pumping efficiency.
A real heart simply cannot enlarge in an instant of emotional revelation. But the brain can change rapidly.
The Grinch’s transformation is probably better understood as a neurological shift – with increased activity and connectivity occurring between the prefrontal cortex (empathy and regulation) and the limbic system (emotion and reward). His “growing heart,” is probably not an anatomical miracle but a metaphor for his brain becoming more socially attuned.
Anatomy of a redemption arc
To anatomists, the Grinch is more than a Christmas curiosity. He’s a case study in form and function. And in his final form, anatomy and morality align.
The muscles that once powered a sneer now lift into a genuine smile. The hands that stole presents now carve roast beast. His limbic system now fires with satisfaction.
So perhaps the real message of the Grinch’s anatomy is this: change is always possible.
Lucy E. Hyde does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Ane Grum-Schwensen, Associate Professor at The Hans Christian Andersen Centre, Principal Investigator of "Fairy Tales and Stories – The Digital Manuscript Edition", University of Southern Denmark
Hans Christian Andersen is one of Denmark’s most cherished writers – a master of the literary fairy tale whose influence stretches far beyond The Little Mermaid, The Emperor’s New Clothes and the other classics many of us first encounter in childhood.
Born in 1805 in Odense, on the island of Funen, Andersen was the son of a shoemaker and an illiterate washerwoman who would grow into an author who wrote across genres – novels, travelogues, poems and plays. But in his short tales he created a form uniquely his own: emotionally daring, stylistically inventive and rich with both whimsy and existential bite.
His tales have been read aloud for generations, adapted into countless winter performances and films and returned to each year for their blend of wonder, melancholy and moral imagination. They remind us that the season is not only about sparkle and celebration, but also reflection, hope and the small fragile miracles of being human.
So, as the days grow shorter, we’ve asked four leading Andersen experts to choose one story they believe is perfect for reading – or rereading – this Christmas. Their selections may not be the Christmas tales you’ve come to associate with Andersen. But they showcase the author at his most profound and playful – and offer new ways into his writing.
The Story of a Mother
Ane Grum-Schwensen, associate professor in the Department of Cultural and Linguistic Studies at The Hans Christian Andersen Centre, University of Southern Denmark
Choosing a single Andersen story as a favourite feels almost impossible. There are so many remarkable ones and my favourite often ends up being the one I have most recently revisited. Yet some stories return to me repeatedly, both in thought and in research.
One of these is The Story of a Mother, first published in 1847. It is a fantastic tale in every sense of the word. It includes classic fairy-tale elements: a protagonist – the mother – leaving home and facing trials, helpers guiding her and an ultimate antagonist, Death. Yet Andersen challenges this structure: the helpers demand steep prices and the antagonist could even be seen as a kind of helper. The story also reflects the fantastic, as seen in modern fiction, through its dreamlike quality and its unsettling open ending, where the mother finally allows Death to carry her child into the unknown.
This story is profoundly moving. It portrays both the desperate lengths a parent will go to to protect a child and the crushing surrender when confronted with an irreversible fate. Andersen’s ability to capture this parental anguish so vividly, despite never having been a parent himself, is striking.
The theme of the dying child was common in 19th-century art and literature, partly because of the harsh reality of child mortality. In the early decades of the century, roughly one-third of all Danish children died before their tenth birthday. Andersen addressed this theme repeatedly. Indeed, his first known poem, at age 11 was written to comfort a grieving mother. Later, in 1827, another poem he wrote, The Dying Child was published anonymously and widely translated.
The language and narration in The Story of a Mother are quintessential Andersen. Within the first few paragraphs, the theme is clear and features his imagery-rich language:
The old clock whirred and whirred, the great lead clockweight slid straight down to the floor, boom! and the clock too stood silent.
Although Andersen had written about dying children before, he struggled with the ending of this story, even in the handwritten copy he delivered to the printer. His first version was what you might call a happy ending: the mother wakes to find it was all a dream. He immediately crossed this out and replaced it with: “And Death went with her child into the ever-flowering garden”.
Still unsatisfied, he changed “ever-flowering garden”, a synonym for paradise, to “the unknown land”. A Danish critic recently described this creative shift as “how to punk your sugar-coated sentiment into salty liquorice” – a fitting metaphor for Andersen’s refusal to settle for sentimentality.
Today, the story is not as well known as some of his other tales, yet its influence in its own time was undeniable. It was translated into Bengali as early as 1858 and became popular in India. When Andersen turned 70 in 1875, one of his gifts was a polyglot edition of the story translated into no less than 15 languages – a testament to its global reach.
You can read the full version of The Story of a Mother, here.
The Comet
Holger Berg, special consultant at The Hans Christian Andersen Centre, University of Southern Denmark
No spectacular comets appeared in the sky in 1869, but the year nevertheless stands out in literature thanks to The Comet. Andersen’s reflective tale of the cosmos and the soul begins simply. A boy blows bubbles while, by the light of a candle, his mother seeks signs about the child’s life expectancy. Childlike delight and superstition live side by side in their home.
The superstitious mother was an archetype, but Andersen’s depiction is shaped by memories of his own mother, Anne Marie Andersdatter. Illustration by Lorenz Frölich. The Hans Christian Andersen Centre. Public Domain.
More than 60 years pass. The boy has become an elderly village schoolmaster. He teaches history, geography and astronomy to a new generation, bringing each subject vividly to life. Science has not destroyed his wonder – it has deepened it. Then the very same periodic comet returns.
What allows The Comet to echo across the ages is, paradoxically, its quiet, unassuming form. In earlier works, Andersen confronted one of the great fears of his age: that a comet might strike the Earth and end human civilisation. He responded either with comedy or with factual precision, but neither approach proved moving.
In 1869, he shifted away from satire and intellectual argument and towards poetic prose. Meaning now emerged through suggestion rather than debate. He also abandoned the romantic mode of his youth, in which the moon, the morning star and other celestial bodies directly commented on earthly affairs.
Part of my fascination with this tale lies in the four surviving manuscripts. Andersen gradually developed his narrative from a quaint scene in a village classroom into a life story with genuine cosmological reach and this can be seen in each version of the story.
It’s often said that a human life is merely a glimpse when measured against astronomical time. In Andersen’s time, people quoted the Latin expression homo bulla: the human being is but a soap bubble. To this familiar poetic image, Andersen in his second manuscript added the comet. Against the brevity of the bubble, he set the vastness of the comet’s arc – and with it, the question of where the human soul travels once it leaves the body.
This print unites six of the largest comets known in 1860. Andersen had seen three of them. In late January 1869, he began the first full draft of The Comet. Engraving by James Reynolds in a copy at The Wellcome Collection. Public Domain.
Andersen achieved his narrative breakthrough in late January of 1869 through a shift in both theme and structure. In the third manuscript, he added a final paragraph nearly identical to the opening. This narrative circle matches the subject at hand: “Everything returns!” the schoolmaster teaches us, be it periodic comets or historical events. And yet the tale ends by imagining what does not return: the “soul was off on a far larger course, in a far vaster space than that through which the comet flies”.
Andersen invites us to gaze upward with the openness of a child. And raises profound questions about what it means to be human, both in this world and, for spiritually inclined readers, in whatever may lie beyond it.
You can read the full version of The Comet, here and listen to a podcast on the story here.
The Shadow
Jacob Bøggild, associate professor at The Hans Christian Andersen Centre, University of Southern Denmark
The Shadow by Hans Christian Andersen was first published in 1847. In some ways, it is Andersen’s darkest tale. The character the reader is led to believe is the protagonist is known only as “the learned man,” a figure never given a name, whereas his shadow – which breaks away from him – gives the tale its very title.
At the end of the story, the shadow has the learned man executed and marries the daughter of a king, implying that they will rule her country together. Thus, the shadow triumphs in the manner of a genuine fairy-tale protagonist, while his former master dies miserably.
But the tale is not solely dark and tragic. The scene in which the shadow separates from the learned man is perfectly choreographed in accordance with the way a shadow follows every movement of the body that casts it.
Afterwards, it irks the learned man that he has lost his shadow, but since he is visiting a country with a warm climate he soon grows a new one. And one reason the shadow can seduce the princess is that he is a wonderful dancer – he is, of course, ever so light on his feet. Throughout the tale, Andersen treats each impossible occurrence as though it were entirely natural, and the effect is extremely funny (as well as uncanny).
In traditional fairy tales, the protagonist often leaves home because some imbalance has occurred. Away from home, out in the wide world, the protagonist must accomplish a number of tasks. The happy ending usually means that the character finds a new home, often by marrying a princess and becoming ruler of half a kingdom.
In The Shadow, the learned man is already away from home at the beginning, visiting a country with a hot climate before returning to his own homeland with a cold one. It is here that his former shadow appears and manipulates him into exchanging roles, making the learned man literally the shadow of a shadow. The two then travel to a spa. The learned man is once again far from home, and it is there that he dies.
The shadow, on the other hand, begins its story “at home”, since its home is wherever the learned man is. It then separates itself, goes out into the world and becomes highly successful – albeit through mischief. Its ultimate triumph comes when it establishes a new home for itself by marrying the princess. The Shadow is a reversed fairy tale in every possible sense.
The way Andersen executes this reversal is a masterpiece and bears witness to his acute awareness of genre conventions and narrative structures – something that has, unfortunately, rarely been recognised as fully as it deserves.
You can read the full version of The Shadow, here.
The Princess on the Pea
Sarah Bienko Eriksen, postdoctoral researcher at The Hans Christian Andersen Centre, University of Southern Denmark
The Princess on the Pea has suffered the odd fate of being so popular that many people never bother to read it. This is an oversight. And given that it clocks in at about 350 words, or shorter than the article you’re reading right now, it’s also a problem that’s easily remedied.
The tale opens with a prince’s worldwide search for a “real” princess. He’s met plenty of hopefuls along the way, but they weren’t really “real”, and for him, only a “true” one will do. The words “real” and “true” (in Danish, rigtig/virkelig) appear in this tiny story a total of nine times — very much in defiance of certain truisms about good writing and the spice of life.
So when a prospective princess shows up to the castle one stormy night with rainwater gushing down her hair and out of her heels, she quite literally embodies the problem of how to tell whether something is real or not. Is it visible at a glance? Can it be observed through behaviour? Or must we simply feel it?
To see if their guest is the genuine artefact, the queen tests her with a bed fit for a princess: 20 duvets piled atop of 20 mattresses and at the very bottom, a single pea. Not a pearl or a diamond but the lowliest of domestic objects.
The guest, however, doesn’t miss a thing, awakening black and blue and worse off than when she arrived. The court is immediately satisfied – only a true princess could be so sensitive! – yet amusingly, the entire exercise brings them no closer to actually spotting one: it’s her powers of observation that pass the test, not theirs. The real, it seems, simply knows itself.
We can all guess what happens next, but what comes after the wedding? Here we find Hans Christian Andersen’s most innovative contribution to this traditional fairy tale: namely, that the pea gets its own ending, receiving a place of honour in the Royal Museum “where it can still be seen, providing no one has taken it”.
A Dane reading this story in 1835 couldn’t help but notice this nod to the 1802 theft of Denmark’s national treasure, the Golden Horns of Gallehus, from that same location. Less obvious is that with this reference, Andersen bursts the bubble containing all fairy tales and thrusts the pea into the real world.
Did we feel it? Perhaps not. But then again, it might have been stolen.
“Now, that was a real story!” the tale concludes, knowingly. Not a true story, mind you, but the impossible state of being “real fiction”. (And if we wish to test this for ourselves, it won’t be Andersen’s fault that the genuine artefact is missing from the Royal Museum.)
Unlike our princess, this tale offers no tidy resolution, which is precisely the richness of great art: it prompts reflection, hides wonder in the humble detail and is never truly finished, inviting us to play along in happily ever after.
You can read the full version of The Princess on the Pea, here.
This article was commissioned as part of a partnership collaboration between Videnskab.dk and The Conversation.
Ane Grum-Schwensen receives funding from Augustinus Fonden, Aage og Johanne Louis-Hansens Fond and The Danish Research Reserve.
Holger Berg receives funding from Augustinus Fonden, Aage og Johanne Louis-Hansens Fond and The Danish Research Reserve.
Sarah Bienko Eriksen receives funding from the Independent Research Fund Denmark.
Jacob Bøggild does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Labour won the election but its support fell a lot more than any other party’s during the campaign period. Labour started the campaign 25 percentage points ahead of the Conservatives and ended it just 15 points ahead.
That was partly because a fair few people who might have voted Labour either voted tactically for the Liberal Democrats in the end or didn’t bother to vote at all as it looked like Labour was heading for an easy win. But the loss was also down to some voters’ concerns about Labour’s lack of ambition and some concerns about its stance on Israel-Gaza. This helps to explain why the Greens enjoyed a late surge.
2. Fear of tax rises wasn’t really a factor
Since coming to office, the government has been plagued by indecision about what to do about taxes and fearful of angering voters.
But our analysis shows voters expected all along that a Starmer government would put taxes up – and they were apparently reconciled to it. Neither Rachel Reeves’s pledges not to increase the big three taxes, nor Tory attacks on Labour tax rises seem to have had any discernible impact on voters’ overall views about the parties’ intentions on tax and spend.
On balance, voters in 2024 felt that taxes in general (if not necessarily their own taxes) should go up to fund spending, meaning Tory promises of tax cuts fell on unusually stony ground.
3. Labour and the Conservatives lost support to more radical alternatives
In the course of the 2024 campaign, Labour lost support to the Greens, who for the first time (and at least where Gaza independents weren’t standing) picked up lots of Muslim voters.
The Tories (especially after Nigel Farage entered the fray) lost support to Reform UK, whose candidates tended to split the right-wing vote. This helped Labour win back many “red wall” seats in the north and the Midlands, as well as helping the Lib Dems take parts of the “blue wall” in the south. That split on the right also spared Labour’s blushes in Wales, where their vote actually declined.
4. Muslim voters turned away from Labour
Muslim voters swung away from Labour to an unprecedented degree in 2024. The loss of support from a community that had long backed the party cost Labour several seats, along with several near misses. Health secretary Wes Streeting’s Ilford North seat (which he won by just 528 votes, down from 5,198 in 2019) was just one example of a close contest.
Though the shift among Muslims was most dramatic, Labour also fell back among Hindu voters. The Conservatives’ sole gain came in Leicester East, the seat with the highest share of Hindu voters in Britain. Labour’s claim to be the natural choice for ethnic minority voters has never looked weaker.
5. The Conservatives ran out of cash
While in office, the Conservatives raised national campaigning limits to around £34 million. But, ironically, and unlike their Labour opponents, they ran out of money before the 2024 campaign was even over.
Party spending in 2024
How spending fluctuated in the campaign. T Bale, CC BY-ND
The lack of cash was especially evident in online campaigning, where Conservative party activity fell off a cliff towards the end, even as Labour efforts ramped sharply up.
6. This was an ‘all politics is local’ election
Local conditions, local campaigning and tactical voting mattered more than ever in the 2024 election. Voters’ behaviour varied more widely from one seat to the next than in any previous recent contest and people were more aware of and responsive to the local stakes in their seat than ever before, making the parties’ voter contact efforts even more important than usual.
7. Scotland is always different
The election campaign in Scotland once again ran along radically different lines to what was happening in England and Wales. There was a huge swing from the SNP to Scottish Labour, with the latter making dramatic gains, sometimes rising to first place from third. This was boosted by tactical voting among people opposed to Scottish independence.
The SNP, incidentally, was particularly active on social media, Labour posted more than Reform on TikTok and Nigel Farage has more page followers on Facebook than the Labour party. But, for all that, this was not the “TikTok election”. Social media matters, especially for younger people, but that’s not where most people go for election coverage.
8. Sadly, the sofa was the biggest winner
Voter turnout fell sharply to the second lowest level in postwar history (just ahead of 2001), and more people stayed home (41%) than voted for the winning Labour party (34%). These figures also don’t take account of the 8.2 million people who are entitled to vote but aren’t registered to do so. Shockingly, only one in five eligible voters voted for the party that was swept into government with a landslide majority.
9. Many party members sat it out too
Perhaps surprisingly, even members of the country’s political parties weren’t feeling excited by this election. Over half of Conservative party members and nearly half of Labour party members said they’d devoted no time at all to helping out their party during the campaign. Fewer than one in five of all party members knocked on doors or picked up the phone to canvass voters. Party members were a little more generous with their money than they were with their time, although Conservative members were notably reluctant this time to donate to the cause.
10. The election reshaped parliament
This is the most ethnically diverse, gender balanced House of Commons in history. But it is also the most inexperienced Commons in modern political history. More than half of MP are currently serving their first elected terms. This includes 56% of the MPs on the Labour government benches – also a record.
Talking of records, there are fewer privately educated MPs sitting in the House of Commons than ever before: just 23%. However, for the first time, the parliamentary Labour party elected in 2024 doesn’t contain a single MP who has arrived in the Commons direct from a job in a manual occupation.
Want more politics coverage from academic experts? Every week, we bring you informed analysis of developments in government and fact check the claims being made.
This article contains references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and this may include links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something from bookshop.org The Conversation UK may earn a commission.
Tim Bale received funding from Research England for surveys of party members.
We officially started watching Christmas films this weekend gone (alright, three weekends ago). One of them was the hilariously awful Jingle All the Way, starring Schwarzenegger, Sinbad (the comedian, not the sailor) and that kid who played Darth Vader.
Like many festive films, it has become a relatable cult classic. Two dads scrambling for a sold-out superhero toy on Christmas Eve, having failed to get their act together earlier.
It is an ordeal many parents know all too well, including my own. My mum still remembers being harangued to within an inch of her sanity while hunting for a Tamagotchi for me in the 90s. She succeeded where Arnie failed, because she’s brilliant.
All of which raises a valid question. Why do some toys create such desperate demand, especially when a few of them come with very real safety concerns?
Clackers
People born in the 1960s or 70s may remember the children’s toy clackers. They were two hard polymer spheres attached to either end of a cord. When swung in an up-and-down rhythm, they clacked together repeatedly and loudly. Often unnervingly. See for yourself.
The nervous sideways glances in the commercial make sense. Children had good reason to fear these things. Clackers were capable of causing as many injuries as the Argentinian bolas, the weapon they were based on.
Early versions were made of glass which could, and regularly did, shatter on impact. This sent sharp fragments flying everywhere and occasionally into eyes. Plastic versions replaced the glass but did not make them much safer. Children used them as makeshift flails which resulted in black eyes, nosebleeds and even fractures. Many schools banned them, alongside conkers and other “wizzo” games straight out of Just William.
Variants still exist, usually as cheap plastic versions with far less force behind them. They have even enjoyed a recent revival in Egypt (where they were briefly banned for being crude) and in Indonesia and the Philippines, where they are known as lato-lato and have sparked competitions. Injuries presumably continue.
Magnets
My daughter once had a set of magnetised building blocks shaped like triangles and squares. She adored them. Magnets are used in many other different toys, and it is easy to overlook how hazardous they can be.
The danger stems from magnetic attraction. If two or more magnets, or other metallic toy parts, are swallowed, they can attract each other through the walls of the intestines and effectively pin sections of the gut together. This can cause obstruction, perforations and internal bleeding, among other serious complications. Swallowed magnets or metallic objects of any number should never be left to pass naturally. It is always a medical emergency.
Water beads
Water beads are a more recent addition to the toy world. They are small polymer pellets that expand dramatically when placed in water. Originally marketed for floral displays, they have become popular in arts and crafts and as sensory toys.
The beads are made from super-absorbent polymers that can swell to a diameter of one or two centimetres within hours. Like magnets, they are a choking hazard. If swallowed, they can also swell inside the body and block the intestines. A recent study described two cases of intestinal obstruction caused by water beads. In one case, a bead had expanded to four centimetres in size, and required surgery.
Sadly, these are not isolated incidents, and some cases have involved other severe medical complications. Water beads have also been marketed for children with sensory processing disorders and autism. This is especially concerning, as these children may not be able to communicate early symptoms of discomfort should they happen to swallow any beads.
Won’t someone think of the parents?
Spare a thought for the adults who find themselves in the thick of these toy crazes. Not just my poor mum who endured something close to the seventh circle of hell in a packed John Lewis to locate the digital pet I wanted. Power Rangers, Teletubbies and Buzz Lightyears have caused similar panics over the years. There have even been cases of serious injuries and fatalities caused by stampedes during Black Friday toy rushes.
The message is simple. Choose toys that are safe and age appropriate, and supervise playtime where necessary. A seemingly harmless children’s toy can turn into something much more dangerous in seconds. At Christmas, when homes are busy and distractions are many, a little extra caution goes a long, long way.
Dan Baumgardt does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
In October 2025, singer-songwriter Lily Allen released her fifth studio album, West End Girl, to great critical acclaim and commercial success. When she announced an album tour, the first dates sold out in just 20 minutes.
Described by the Guardian as “a gobsmacking autopsy of marital betrayal”, West End Girl is a work of “autofiction”, inspired by Allen’s separation from Stranger Things actor David Harbour, his reported affair and the emotional aftermath.
The concept album documents a relationship and its breakdown from Allen’s perspective (or that of her creative “alter ego”). The singer told Vogue that West End Girl refers to things “I experienced within my marriage, but that’s not to say that it’s all gospel.” So far, Harbour has declined to comment or address the issue.
The title track takes us back to what appears to be the couple’s move to a New York brownstone, before the singer is offered the lead role in a London play (when, she reveals, her partner’s demeanour starts to change).
The reference to the brownstone recalls the couple’s 2023 Architectural Digest video (below) featuring their home. Listeners were quick to return to that video in the wake of the album’s release, retrospectively identifying red flags in the couple’s dynamic and what is said to be Harbour’s “toxic” banter. One commentator quipped: “Harbour really made a trailer for his own cheating scandal during the first 20 seconds.”
With Allen and Harbour both well-known figures, it is unsurprising that the revealing album has captured public attention. But this interest goes beyond celebrity gossip: the album has resonated with audiences for its raw contemplation of contemporary heterosexuality.
In track three, Sleepwalking, Allen asks: “Who said romance isn’t dead?” The album’s evocative storytelling skewers the distinctly unromantic experience of a “modern wife”, navigating the conventional dichotomy of women as madonna or whore while reluctantly attempting an open marriage.
While ethical non-monogamy emphasises consent and boundaries, the reported terms of the couple’s arrangement – to be discreet, only with strangers and involving payment – are broken with the now-infamous “Madeline”, a woman referred to in a song of the same name, who is not a stranger. Though the real identity of Madeline was later revealed in the media, Allen had said she was a fictional character.
Meanwhile, the track Dallas Major documents the singer’s re-entry into the world of online dating as a 40-year-old mum to teenage children. “I hate it here,” she states unequivocally.
Over it
Just five days after the release of West End Girl, social commentator Chanté Joseph published a piece in Vogue asking: “Is having a boyfriend embarrassing now?”. The article, which quickly went viral, describes a distancing from public declarations of coupledom in what Joseph calls an era of widespread heterofatalism. Just a few months earlier, an article in The New York Times Magazine used the same concept to bemoan “the trouble with wanting men”.
The term heterofatalism was coined by writer Asa Seresin (initially as heteropessimism) in 2019 to refer to “performative disaffiliations with heterosexuality, usually expressed in the form of regret, embarrassment or hopelessness about straight experience”.
In other words, heterosexual women are expressing dissatisfaction with the ways in which, despite longstanding feminist critiques, gender inequalities persist in romantic relationships. Such expressions might be performative, Seresin suggests, in that they do not lead to change but rather to resignation.
Reasons for disappointment are backed up by data. Research shows, for example, that women do more unpaid care work than men, resulting in time poverty. In the UK, the Office for National Statistics’ analysis of time use data shows that women do more than double the amount of cooking, childcare and housework than men. The COVID pandemic only deepened these existing inequalities.
Domestic abuse remains shockingly common, and disproportionately affects women. According to Refuge, one in four women in England and Wales will experience domestic abuse in their lifetime.
Meanwhile, the rise of the manosphere has seen a proliferation of online misogyny, with concerning implications for romantic relationships. Such platforms are directly referenced in the song 4chan Stan, where Allen invokes the anonymous online forum associated with a troubling incidence of hate speech.
Into this context, social media movements like #boysober have emerged, where women pledge themselves to “no dating apps, no dates, no exes, no hookups”. In South Korea, the 4b movement sees young women similarly rejecting marriage, childbirth, dating and sex – a sentiment taken up by some US women following the re-election of Donald Trump as president in 2024.
While distinctly contemporary in their communication, these sentiments also evoke older ideas – such as the political lesbianism once proposed by second-wave radical feminists. Like political lesbianism, the 4b movement has been critiqued for trans-exclusionary ideas.
Back in 2013, Allen released the single Hard Out Here. The song critiqued the objectification of women within modern pop culture, but the music video objectified women of colour women and was described by cultural critic Cate Young as “a brilliant example of everything wrong with the current climate of white feminism”. Allen apologised for the video in 2016.
Heterofatalism can be similarly limited in its response to gender inequality, failing to recognise intersectionality – the way that different aspects of someone’s experience and identity can overlap to exacerbate inequalities and discrimination.
Nonetheless, these expressions of dissatisfaction might challenge the assumed inevitability of heterosexuality and the gender inequality it all too often reproduces. West End Girl ends on a defiant note, refusing “shame” and recognising “it’s not me, it’s you”.
While the cheating husband might remain “stuck” in his “fruityloop” of heteronormativity and toxic masculinity, for the singer – and those with whom her story resonates – there may be other possibilities.
Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.
Kate McNicholas Smith does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
The NHS is facing severe pressure this winter as flu cases surge earlier than usual, with some calling it “super flu”. Here’s what you need to know about this year’s flu season and how to protect yourself.
What is ‘super flu’?
Professor Meghana Pandit, NHS national medical director, said: “With record demand for A&E and ambulances and an impending resident doctors strike, this unprecedented wave of super flu is leaving the NHS facing a worst-case scenario for this time of year.”
Although this term has now been repeated frequently in the media, it was not intended as a new scientific designation. Although the flu season began early, both the spread of the virus and the severity of illness remain within what experts consider normal for a flu season.
Influenza viruses are constantly evolving to evade our immune system, which is why the flu vaccine must be updated regularly. Some years the virus mutates more than others, and it typically undergoes a major change every four to five years.
The “subtype” of flu that is dominant this year, called influenza A/H3N2, has been around since 1968 and there have been over a dozen such changes in that time. By this definition, we see “super flu” every few years.
Is the situation in the UK really as bad as some headlines suggest?
The situation isn’t unprecedented – it falls within the range of what scientists would expect in a bad flu season.
Because the season started early, it is misleading to directly compare the number of cases and hospitalisations to the same week in previous years. In fact, the situation is comparable to previous years after taking the early season start into account, as a recent analysis my colleagues and I conducted shows.
Which areas of the UK are worst affected?
The most important consideration from a public health perspective is the burden on healthcare systems in different regions, which is determined by what the virus is doing and what resources are available in those regions.
The available data only provides general infection trends at regional levels. England’s influenza season started earlier than in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, so we might expect the situation to turn earlier in England than elsewhere.
Based on the data for England from the UK Health Security Agency, the north and the Midlands are possibly experiencing higher flu rates – but not significantly so.
Why are we seeing more flu cases in younger people?
Children and teens are more likely to get infected due to their high contact rates in schools, where a lot of spread happens, and also because their immune systems are less experienced at dealing with flu viruses.
Adults are less likely to become infected overall, as they typically have lower contact rates and their immune systems have more experience with influenza. However, people over 64 are more likely to have existing health conditions that put them at higher risk of severe illness if they do become infected, and their immune systems have started to weaken in a process called immunosenescence.
People of a similar age tend to have been infected with similar flu viruses, which might explain why certain age groups are more affected by flu than others in some seasons. It might be that the virus this year happens to have found an immunity gap in children that isn’t present in other age groups.
Vaccine effectiveness is lower for older people, so should they still get the jab?
The latest data shows that the flu vaccine reduces the risk of being hospitalised with flu by about 30 to 40% in older people. That’s lower than vaccines against some other viruses, but similar to previous years for flu.
The recommendations this year are therefore unchanged: vaccination is still the best thing you can do to protect yourself and help reduce the burden on the NHS.
Why does the vaccine have different effectiveness in different age groups?
This season’s vaccines are offering effective protection against severe flu. Children are around 70 to 75% less likely to attend or be admitted to hospital with flu if vaccinated, and, as mentioned above, adults are around 30 to 40% less likely to attend or be admitted.
Children are offered a nasal spray, whereas adults are given an injection. Studies have shown that the nasal spray vaccine works better in children and less well in adults, which is why the recommendations are different. So one reason for the difference is that we are comparing estimates from different vaccines as well as different age groups.
Another reason is differences in existing immunity. Adults have already been exposed to many flu viruses over their lives, so the incremental gain of one extra vaccine is probably smaller – but still beneficial – than for a child.
What should I do if I think I’ve caught it: call 111, stay home, or go to A&E?
Stay home if you are sick, rest, and take sensible precautions to avoid spreading the virus to others. Getting influenza is very unpleasant, but everyone will get it roughly once every five years. In the vast majority of cases, people get better on their own, without any medical treatment.
Are there test kits (lateral flow) I can buy at the pharmacy, as there were for COVID?
Yes, very similar tests exist for the flu and you can buy these at pharmacies and online. Although it’s interesting to know if it’s influenza or some other virus that is making you sick, if you have flu symptoms the advice is the same regardless of which virus caused it.
Is it too late to get the vaccine – given that it takes two weeks for the vaccine to properly kick in?
No, it’s not too late, and the sooner the better! Even after the epidemic has peaked, it will take a few months before cases reach low levels again. There is still a risk of infection in that time, so any extra protection from the vaccine is still helpful.
James Hay receives funding from the Wellcome Trust (grant 225001/Z/22/Z).
In October 2025, singer-songwriter Lily Allen released her fifth studio album, West End Girl, to great critical acclaim and commercial success. When she announced an album tour, the first dates sold out in just 20 minutes.
Described by the Guardian as “a gobsmacking autopsy of marital betrayal”, West End Girl is a work of “autofiction”, inspired by Allen’s separation from Stranger Things actor David Harbour, his reported affair and the emotional aftermath.
The concept album documents a relationship and its breakdown from Allen’s perspective (or that of her creative “alter ego”). The singer told Vogue that West End Girl refers to things “I experienced within my marriage, but that’s not to say that it’s all gospel.” So far, Harbour has declined to comment or address the issue.
The title track takes us back to what appears to be the couple’s move to a New York brownstone, before the singer is offered the lead role in a London play (when, she reveals, her partner’s demeanour starts to change).
The reference to the brownstone recalls the couple’s 2023 Architectural Digest video (below) featuring their home. Listeners were quick to return to that video in the wake of the album’s release, retrospectively identifying red flags in the couple’s dynamic and what is said to be Harbour’s “toxic” banter. One commentator quipped: “Harbour really made a trailer for his own cheating scandal during the first 20 seconds.”
With Allen and Harbour both well-known figures, it is unsurprising that the revealing album has captured public attention. But this interest goes beyond celebrity gossip: the album has resonated with audiences for its raw contemplation of contemporary heterosexuality.
In track three, Sleepwalking, Allen asks: “Who said romance isn’t dead?” The album’s evocative storytelling skewers the distinctly unromantic experience of a “modern wife”, navigating the conventional dichotomy of women as madonna or whore while reluctantly attempting an open marriage.
While ethical non-monogamy emphasises consent and boundaries, the reported terms of the couple’s arrangement – to be discreet, only with strangers and involving payment – are broken with the now-infamous “Madeline”, a woman referred to in a song of the same name, who is not a stranger. Though the real identity of Madeline was later revealed in the media, Allen had said she was a fictional character.
Meanwhile, the track Dallas Major documents the singer’s re-entry into the world of online dating as a 40-year-old mum to teenage children. “I hate it here,” she states unequivocally.
Over it
Just five days after the release of West End Girl, social commentator Chanté Joseph published a piece in Vogue asking: “Is having a boyfriend embarrassing now?”. The article, which quickly went viral, describes a distancing from public declarations of coupledom in what Joseph calls an era of widespread heterofatalism. Just a few months earlier, an article in The New York Times Magazine used the same concept to bemoan “the trouble with wanting men”.
The term heterofatalism was coined by writer Asa Seresin (initially as heteropessimism) in 2019 to refer to “performative disaffiliations with heterosexuality, usually expressed in the form of regret, embarrassment or hopelessness about straight experience”.
In other words, heterosexual women are expressing dissatisfaction with the ways in which, despite longstanding feminist critiques, gender inequalities persist in romantic relationships. Such expressions might be performative, Seresin suggests, in that they do not lead to change but rather to resignation.
Reasons for disappointment are backed up by data. Research shows, for example, that women do more unpaid care work than men, resulting in time poverty. In the UK, the Office for National Statistics’ analysis of time use data shows that women do more than double the amount of cooking, childcare and housework than men. The COVID pandemic only deepened these existing inequalities.
Domestic abuse remains shockingly common, and disproportionately affects women. According to Refuge, one in four women in England and Wales will experience domestic abuse in their lifetime.
Meanwhile, the rise of the manosphere has seen a proliferation of online misogyny, with concerning implications for romantic relationships. Such platforms are directly referenced in the song 4chan Stan, where Allen invokes the anonymous online forum associated with a troubling incidence of hate speech.
Into this context, social media movements like #boysober have emerged, where women pledge themselves to “no dating apps, no dates, no exes, no hookups”. In South Korea, the 4b movement sees young women similarly rejecting marriage, childbirth, dating and sex – a sentiment taken up by some US women following the re-election of Donald Trump as president in 2024.
While distinctly contemporary in their communication, these sentiments also evoke older ideas – such as the political lesbianism once proposed by second-wave radical feminists. Like political lesbianism, the 4b movement has been critiqued for trans-exclusionary ideas.
Back in 2013, Allen released the single Hard Out Here. The song critiqued the objectification of women within modern pop culture, but the music video objectified women of colour women and was described by cultural critic Cate Young as “a brilliant example of everything wrong with the current climate of white feminism”. Allen apologised for the video in 2016.
Heterofatalism can be similarly limited in its response to gender inequality, failing to recognise intersectionality – the way that different aspects of someone’s experience and identity can overlap to exacerbate inequalities and discrimination.
Nonetheless, these expressions of dissatisfaction might challenge the assumed inevitability of heterosexuality and the gender inequality it all too often reproduces. West End Girl ends on a defiant note, refusing “shame” and recognising “it’s not me, it’s you”.
While the cheating husband might remain “stuck” in his “fruityloop” of heteronormativity and toxic masculinity, for the singer – and those with whom her story resonates – there may be other possibilities.
Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.
Kate McNicholas Smith does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Many businesses in the UK saw the 2025 budget as a tightening of the screw in a period of already difficult conditions. While the government insists it is not raising taxes on companies overall, disquiet among businesses could have an impact on jobs, wages and the wider economy.
It’s true that corporation tax (paid by businesses on their profits) will stay at 25%. But other moves are coming. From April 2026, changes to tax allowances that companies can claim on plant and machinery are expected to increase the tax take by more than £1 billion in the first year.
Things such as equipment, vehicles and office fixtures qualify for this allowance, and it means businesses can reduce their tax bill as the value of their assets depreciates. This allowance will fall from 18% to 14% in 2026.
And hospitality and retail firms have complained that changes to business rates (levied on commercial premises) could raise their annual costs by tens of thousands of pounds.
The reduction of income-tax relief for venture capital trusts (VCTs) risks making it costlier for young ambitious businesses to secure money from venture capitalists to help them grow. Tax relief for VCTs will now fall from 30% to 20%, meaning some may choose to back less risky ventures.
And from 2029, national insurance exemptions on salary-sacrificed pension contributions will be capped. This will affect nearly 290,000 employers and act as an ongoing cost increase for firms that use these schemes.
The problem for a government that wants to encourage growth but also needs to raise revenues is that increased taxes on businesses can dampen future investment.
Even if headline corporation tax is unchanged, the mix of allowance cuts, higher employment taxes and sector-specific hits (on pubs, for example) is likely to feed a “tax-raising, not pro-growth” narrative in the business community. And evidence suggests that higher effective corporate tax rates are associated with lower business investment.
For example, dropping the main rate of capital allowance on plant and machinery from 18% to 14% means these investments take longer to pay for themselves. While this is a net revenue-raising move for government, business can perceive this as policy that is tough on productive investment.
The autumn budget relied heavily on fiscal drag (frozen income-tax and national insurance contribution thresholds) and a series of smaller revenue-raisers like the pension salary-sacrifice cap. For the government, there is the risk that this creates a fear that it will keep coming back to “small print” tax measures.
And of course not all businesses will be able to absorb extra costs – many will look to pass these on to their customers. Sectors with thin profit margins (such as pubs, hospitality and small retailers) are warning that business-rate hikes plus higher wage bills force them either to push up prices or cut service and headcount.
While firms with more power will try to raise prices, more squeezed firms may hold prices but trim pay growth or hiring. This aligns with evidence that suggests consumers and workers are most affected by increases in business taxes.
Substituting workers with AI
Other evidence suggests that firms in high-wage sectors and countries adopt more AI, both to replace tasks and to make workers more productive. As the cost of labour rises, businesses are likely to have a stronger incentive to automate. This has already been a trend during periods of cost pressure or downturn – explicitly as a substitute for expensive labour.
As such, it makes financial sense for firms, especially large, capital-rich ones, to respond by increasing spend on AI tools that automate white-collar tasks such as accounting, human resources, marketing and customer support. And they may also choose to offshore or digitise back-office functions where UK labour is now relatively costly.
Without parallel policies to enhance AI skills, retraining and investment allowances for tech that complements labour, the government may be nudging firms towards automation and offshoring. This, of course, can reduce the domestic tax base over time.
Higher wage bills could leave businesses trying to get by with fewer workers. ilovephoto_KA/Shutterstock
When it comes to the super-rich, reports of an exodus from Britain may be exaggerated. But billionaire steel magnate Lakshmi Mittal did leave the UK just before the budget was announced, reportedly for tax purposes. And the founders of tech firm Improbable and fintech giant Revolut announced plans to do the same thing earlier in the year.
A small number of very wealthy individuals leaving won’t collapse the economy, but a policy mix seen as hostile to entrepreneurship can, at the margins, reduce the UK’s attractiveness as a base for high-growth founders and investors.
Think tanks, including the Adam Smith Institute, highlight that the people who leave tend to be “liquid millionaires” – founders who have sold businesses and are mobile. If too many of that very specific group leave the country, the UK could lose the mentoring networks, angel capital and soft power shoring up its “entrepreneurial ecosystem”.
This could lead to a slow erosion of the UK’s reputation as a place where ambitious and entrepreneurial people want to build things.
To restore trust that the government is not just pro-welfare but also pro-business, it should publish a multi-year tax roadmap for businesses, limiting surprise “salami-slice” changes. It could also offer incentives for firms using AI that complements workers – for example, through tax relief for AI systems that augment workers and job quality.
And to have a broad-based approach to wealth creation, it should support youth and student entrepreneurship and innovation. This could shift the narrative back to business creation, growth and prosperity.
Jagannadha Pawan Tamvada does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Subject line: A second chance for Austen’s most melancholy heroine
This week saw the launch of the final episode of our hit podcast Jane Austen’s Paper Trail (although a bonus Q&A episode is coming in January for any Austen fans experiencing withdrawal).
Episode six is devoted to Austen’s last novel – and my favourite – Persuasion, which tells the story of lovelorn Anne Elliot who has missed her chance of happiness after being persuaded to give up the man she loves for lack of wealth and prospects. Seven years later, Anne is still pining and aching with regret, when Frederick Wentworth re-enters her life as a rich and successful naval captain.
Considered Austen’s most melancholy novel, it is little wonder one of our academic experts, John Mullan, states in the podcast: “If you’re under 40 your favourite Austen novel is Pride & Prejudice, after 40, it’s Persuasion.” It is a novel that resonates with those who have experienced the pain of loss and heartbreak.
More widely, the episode asks the question: was Jane Austen happy? As she remained a lifelong spinster, many might assume not. But this groundbreaking writer was a woman of substance, someone who filled her life with meaning through interests, friendships, socialising, travel, and most of all, a purpose.
I travelled to Lyme Regis with Nada Sadaaoui of Northumbria University to ponder this question on the very spot where the pivotal scene of Persuasion takes place: on the Cobb, a wide limestone breakwater that snakes out into the English Channel.
It is here in the novel that Anne and her captain reignite the spark of their love. And it was here we sat buffeted by the wind, listening to the waves and the cries of the gulls, imagining Austen herself walking here, exhilarated by the sense of freedom bestowed by the elements.
As Nada explains, walking alone for women in the early 19th century was a simple but radical act, a rare chance to be unshackled from men, chaperones and expectations. To feel invigorated, alive and most of all, free. It was a wonderful day spent by the seaside with this enthusiastic young academic thrilled to be walking in the footsteps of Jane Austen.
Question
As we come to our final podcast episode, having explored themes of love, romance, friendship, politics, and happiness in the life and work of Jane Austen, we’re curious to know: which is your favourite Austen novel?
a) Sense and Sensibility
b) Pride and Prejudice
c) Mansfield Park
d) Emma
e) Northanger Abbey
f) Persuasion
Eternal love and bear necessities
Who would you choose to spend the afterlife with? This is a question explored in the new romcom Eternity in which Joan (Elizabeth Olsen) has to choose between two husbands, the grumpy old one, Larry (Miles Teller) with whom she spent most of her life, and the handsome chiselled one, Luke (Callum Turner), who died young a war hero. (Luckily, in eternity your looks are restored to the period when you were happiest.) Who should Joan pick and why? We invited philosophy academic Tony Milligan to give his take exploring what really matters when it comes to love.
Twenty-nine children’s books and three movies later, our favourite little Peruvian finally becomes an all-singing, all-dancing bear in Paddington the Musical, currently delighting audiences in London’s West End. Fortuitously, we sent professor of Greek Culture Emma Stafford to review it and, by Zeus, she has decreed that Paddington is actually a hero in the classical mould, bearing comparison with the likes of Aeneas and Odysseus. Armed with his bear necessities – a trusty marmalade sarnie and a truly terrifying stare – our plucky little hero completes his journey with a real family, spreading his message of love and tolerance this Christmas.
Beauty and sorrow
Patti Smith has just published her latest memoir Bread of Angels at the age of 78, which took her a decade to write, “grappling with the beauty and sorrow of a lifetime”. This eloquently told story charts a life filled with adversity, creativity, tragedy and loss, but, says our reviewer Julia Toppin, “to read how Patti Smith has endured while staying true to herself is an uplifting experience”.
Now streaming on Netflix, Train Dreams is a new film adapted from the unsettling novella of the same name by Dennis Johnson, charting the frontier days and settler colonialism that shaped the building of America as it emerged as a superpower. Clint Bentley’s film revolves around a man haunted by regret, and is a stunning meditation on grief and loss – and an important account of the early days of environmental crisis, when huge swaths of forest were decimated to build America’s railroads.
Something good to read
Who doesn’t love a nice glass of mulled wine this time of year? This deeply warming tipple spiced with cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves has become synonymous with the Christmas period, but did you know it was brought to our shores by the Romans? Or that it is mentioned in the biblical poem, the Song of Solomon, and in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales? Discover more fascinating facts about mulled wine as we take you through the history of this fine festive drink which is now firmly associated with yuletide thanks to Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.
Source: The Conversation – UK – By Ambarish Karamchedu, Lecturer in International Development, King’s College London
When you next bite into a chicken sandwich, consider this: 2,400 of these birds are being slaughtered somewhere in the world every second. From street stalls in Mumbai to supermarkets in Beijing, chicken has become the world’s most consumed meat. In 2023 alone, humans slaughtered an astonishing 76 billion chickens.
This didn’t arise naturally. It is the result of a system of industrial efficiency, designed by corporations to maximise profits from the birds.
The industry’s complexity often obscures who actually pulls the strings. But our new research maps, for the first time, the previously unpublicised architecture of chicken production, revealing an industry dominated by a handful of firms and their financial backers.
Feed represents up to 70% of meat production costs. That’s why firms have transformed chickens into living machines for converting feed into meat, faster than any other land animal.
The average broiler chicken is five times heavier than in the 1950s, while the time it takes to reach slaughter weight has been slashed by two-thirds. These birds grow so fast their skeletons and organs cannot keep pace, leaving them in chronic pain until their premature death.
Industrial chicken farming also devours resources. It consumes 27% of global soybean production and nearly 20% of the world’s corn – driving deforestation, pesticide use, and biodiversity loss in some of the planet’s most fragile ecosystems.
Who controls the chicken?
Our research found that 376 companies produced 75% of the world’s chicken in 2023. The top ten companies made up 28% of production, dominated by firms from Brazil, China and the US.
Our work focused in particular on four emerging countries – Brazil, Mexico, India and China.
In Brazil, JBS reigns supreme. As the world’s largest meat producer, it slaughtered 4.1 billion chickens in 2024 – about 9% of global production. Its dominance is underwritten by US asset managers, alongside pension funds and international investors. Its main rival, BRF, is also supported by Wall Street players.
Mexico tells a similar tale. Industrias Bachoco, still largely family-owned, competes with Pilgrim’s de Mexico, a subsidiary of JBS.
In India, production is dominated by private firms such as Suguna, which owes much of its growth to the International Finance Corporation (IFC), the World Bank’s investment arm. Between 2006 and 2020, the IFC invested US$96 million (£71 million) to help Suguna expand across South Asia and Africa.
(Cargill is currently fighting a legal action in the UK over claims its chicken farms polluted the River Wye. The company denies the allegations).
Industrial chicken has fed millions of people globally at “cheap” prices. It has made chicken the most common meat on earth. Yet the system is not controlled by farmers or countries. It is controlled by a small group of corporations, and the financial institutions that bankroll them.
This concentration of power tends to undermine food sovereignty, leaving countries dependent on foreign corporations for staple protein. It risks perpetuating animal suffering by prioritising speed and profit over welfare. And it fuels ecological destruction, as vast amounts of crops, land and water are diverted to meat production.
Taking back control
Industrial chicken production is a clear example of how global finance and corporate power can reshape something as basic as food into a vehicle for profit, despite the cost to animals, people, or the planet. Yet the same concentration that makes the system so destructive also makes it vulnerable. A small number of firms and investors hold the keys.
If people want a food system that values justice, sustainability and compassion, they’ll need to wrest control back from the corporations that currently dictate its terms. Pressure can come from shareholders demanding better welfare and environmental standards; from investigative journalists and lawyers exposing allegations of corporate wrongdoing; from lawmakers better regulating the food industry; and from changes in our own consumption.
Ultimately, the best way to end the suffering of broiler chickens is to eliminate industrial farming altogether. This is won’t happen overnight, but – much like the transition from fossil fuels to renewables – can be achieved through a managed, gradual shift that keeps all the moving parts working together.
The most realistic path forward would be to reduce both the production and consumption of chicken meat, while accelerating the development of lab-grown alternatives. This transition would be supported by reducing subsidies for the industrial chicken sector while investing in new industries and in retraining farmers and other meat industry workers.
This would be good news for chicken, but would mean humans radically confronting our own consumption – and accepting that, ultimately, there will be less chicken available for us to eat.
All this is complicated by the fact that chicken on your plate is the endpoint of a global chain of decisions that shows who really holds power in our world. The question is: who do we want making these decisions – big corporations, or all of us?
Ambarish Karamchedu received funding from the Tiny Beam Fund Burning Questions Fellowship from the Tiny Beam Fund, a US non-profit, to conduct this research.
Benjamin Coles received funding from the Tiny Beam Fund Burning Questions Fellowship from the Tiny Beam Fund, a US non-profit, to conduct this research.
