It is a challenging time for Andy Burnham. One moment he is the Mayor of Manchester, overseeing bus services; the next, he is leading a coup against the prime minister, standing in a by-election, and facing the ultimate humiliation: being photographed while running. In very short shorts, no less. Duty calls, but for Burnham, his style has taken a startling turn. He has transformed from the mild-mannered, doe-eyed dreamer who once told GQ he wears Armani and Jaeger suits (though he was quick to note he only buys them in the sales) to the King of the North in a pair of Daisy Dukes. In short, and in shorts, he is flashing a lot of leg.
Unlike Boris Johnson, who famously ran the last ten metres to his car, Burnham is a serious runner. He has been completing marathons for over a decade, including London in 2014 and Boston in 2019. After extensive research, an old photo from 2014 reveals Burnham wearing long, baggy shorts. Unthinkable now, but true. It was Sadiq Khan who broke the decency barrier back then, sporting tiny hip-huggers, while then-shadow chancellor Ed Balls confusingly wore shiny leggings. However, there comes a point in every person's life, runner or not, when one must retire the shortest shorts and admit defeat. Burnham is a father of three. No one wants to see their dad, or a potential future prime minister, in cutoffs.
The Shrinking Shorts Phenomenon
One need not delve into the rabbit hole of middle-aged men in Lycra, let alone politicians in spandex. But something has changed over the past decade: everything has gotten smaller. Burnham's shorts have shrunk. We all know what happened to the size of a Mars Bar, and just look at the average time UK prime ministers spend in office. Politicians often cosplay as ordinary people, drinking pints performatively (William Hague once claimed he regularly drank 14), chatting with construction workers like real blokes despite attending posh schools (Nigel Farage), or eating ice cream at the seaside with studied nonchalance (also Farage). It is a slippery slope: first running, then kissing babies in front of paparazzi, and eventually leaving the EU. Acting like a chump might get attention, but to remain prime minister, one must be taken seriously.
That did not stop Boris Johnson, that shining Olympian of fitness, from continuing the charade. The former prime minister was no stranger to performing exercise, looking like Worzel Gummidge in trainers. Suits, swim shorts, skull-and-crossbones bandanas—watching Johnson pretend to be committed to fitness or dressing himself reminds one of a scene from the latest series of Amandaland, where Amanda (Lucy Punch) spritzes her face with water, does heavy breathing to sound worn out, and then jogs about three metres while filming herself with a selfie stick to make it look like she ran 10k.
The Authenticity Dilemma
This is what happens when people get close to power. Politicians must decide how to represent themselves and whether to risk bringing their authentic selves to the workplace, because every day is a work day. And every day is also leg day, as any middle-aged man will tell you—once they stop panting and remove their moisture-wicking jerseys and padded Lycra shorts. It pays to be aerodynamic, ladies. They invest in premium road bikes, shave their legs, and make spandex sexy (apparently). Andy Burnham is not Paul Mescal, but he might be our next leader, meaning we are likely to see even more snaps of his thigh gap and midlife leg problem in the weeks ahead.
As the leadership battle for the country reaches dizzying speeds, and both Reform UK and Labour set the Makerfield by-election as their goal on Strava, only one prediction for this race seems certain: there will be blood. And chafing gel. Who wins remains to be seen. It is a marathon, not a sprint—at least that is something Andy Burnham understands.
