When did leaders become bigger than their parties

Political parties were once the gatekeepers of political power. They recruited members, selected candidates and controlled how politicians reached voters. Today, they increasingly resemble vehicles for individual personalities instead of institutions with identities of their own.

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The rise of social media has accelerated that change. Platforms reward authenticity, emotion and recognisable faces, not party logos or long manifestos. A politician with millions of followers can reach more people in an afternoon than local party activists could over weeks of campaigning. The party isn’t the only route to voters anymore. Nigel Farage is perhaps the clearest example. Across X, Facebook, Instagram, TikTok and YouTube, he has more than 7.4 million followers, comfortably more than any other major British politician. But Farage’s success online isn’t simply a question of numbers. His political brand has been built around personality rather than party. Whether it is standing in a pub, filming short reaction videos or repeating slogans such as “Take Back Control,” his social media presents him as ordinary man challenging the establishment. Reform undoubtedly benefits from that image, but it doesn’t own it. Farage does. In many ways, the party has become an extension of his personal brand. That also makes Reform vulnerable. Since the controversy surrounding the £5 million donation, the party has slipped in opinion polls. It is very possible that Farage’s carefully cultivated image as an ordinary, anti-establishment figure has begun to wear thin. If voters stop believing the persona, Reform risks discovering that a party built around one personality rises and falls with that personality.

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Additionally, political parties built around one dominant personality often struggle once that personality leaves. Research from LSE found that successors to particularly strong leaders typically have shorter political survival and suffer an average electoral loss of almost three and a half percentage points. Farage’s personality may be Reform’s greatest electoral asset today, but if the party becomes too closely identified with one individual, it could also prove a great long-term liability.

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Farage isn’t unique. Boris Johnson cultivated what was often described as his “bouffant buffoon” image. The untidy hair, self-deprecating humour and carefully performed awkwardness created the impression of a relatable figure. The persona often became more recognisable than Conservative policy itself. Criticism that might have damaged another politician was frequently dismissed as simply part of Boris being Boris.

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Jeremy Corbyn demonstrated a different version of the same phenomenon. His supporters identified with Corbyn himself. His attacks on inequality, billionaire wealth and cuts to public services helped create a viral movement known as “Corbynmania”. Supporters shared speeches and campaign clips across social media, turning Corbyn into a political brand that extended well beyond Westminster. Once again, it was the individual who generated enthusiasm, while the party provided the structure.

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These leaders represented very different ideologies, yet they all understood something modern politics increasingly rewards: people connect with people before they connect with institutions. A carefully produced party broadcast struggles to compete with a politician speaking directly into a phone camera. The result is that leaders are no longer simply representatives of their parties, they increasingly define them. Parties have adapted to that reality. Burnham’s government, for example, has signalled a more “social first” communications strategy built around authentic content and collaboration with online creators. The objective is obvious. Voters are more likely to engage with a politician who appears genuine than with a polished government press release. Social media has changed not only how politicians communicate but also what political communication is expected to look like.

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Yet greater visibility has not translated into greater trust. Reuters Institute research found that 73% of Britons distrust news on social media, while 77% are concerned about misinformation. Ofcom found that three-quarters of 16 to 24 year olds now use social media as a source of news, but fewer than a quarter of those who share content always check unfamiliar sources before doing so. Politicians have never found it easier to reach millions of people, but convincing those same people to believe them has become considerably harder. The Institute for Government argues that today’s media environment is shaped by three pressures: the attention economy, where politicians compete for clicks instead of understanding, algorithmic hostility, where platforms reward outrage and confrontation, and a credibility gap, with as little as 10% of the public trusting government ministers to tell the truth. In an environment like that, building a memorable personality often matters more than building a trusted institution.

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The parties themselves reflect that shift. Labour’s membership has fallen from more than 530,000 members in 2019 to around 250,000 now. Political parties still write manifestos and form governments, but they rely far less on large memberships than they once did. Where campaigns were once powered by activists knocking on doors, today’s political momentum can be generated by a leader, a phone and a viral clip.

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Social media hasn’t made political parties irrelevant. Elections are still contested between parties, governments are still formed by parties and Parliament still functions through parties. What has changed is where political influence comes from. Increasingly, parties provide the organisation while leaders provide the identity. That may be an effective way to win election in the short term, but it leaves every political party facing the same question: when the personality that defines it eventually disappears, what remains?