Why Do We Hate Seeing Other People Enjoy Themselves?
The problem with the reaction to SNL UK was not that some people thought it was unfunny. Plenty of people did. But plenty of people also enjoyed it, or at least enjoyed enough of it to think it deserved a chance. None of us are the target audience for every cultural object that appears before us, which should not be a particularly complicated idea to accept. I do not always understand why younger people find certain things funny, just as my parents often looked at the things my generation liked as if we had all suffered a minor head injury. I literally had to drag my dad to Argos so I could buy a mini skateboard to play with on my desk, so I have no right to be confused about what another generation is into. Culture moves and taste shifts. Not everything is made with you in mind.
That is why the more interesting part of the SNL UK response was not the criticism itself, but the contempt wrapped around it. It was not just people saying the writing felt too safe or the sketches lacked spark. It was people acting as though the real humiliation lay in having enjoyed it at all. Not just “this didn’t work for me,” but “how embarrassing that it worked for you.” A lot of the reaction was not criticism, but sneering at people for having a good time in the wrong way. The target stopped being the show and became the people who dared to enjoy it.
There is nothing wrong with thinking the remake was unnecessary, or that British television should be commissioning new comedy rather than importing expired formats. Those are real criticisms. What bothered me was the way enjoyment itself became something to mock. It was not enough for some people to say the jokes were weak. They had to make it look embarrassing to have liked any of it at all.
What seemed to bother people was not just the show itself, but the sight of other people enjoying it without embarrassment. Britain’s allergy to human joy is not that we dislike things. Obviously we dislike things, that is one of our national hobbies. It is that we seem unable to watch other people enjoy the wrong thing without wanting to embarrass them for it.
And that, oddly enough, is what made me think of Gunna’s run club. If TikTok has not forced this on you already, Gunna is an American rapper, and part of his public image now includes a run club. This paid event recently made its way to London, where fans turned up, ran a 5K with him, filmed some content, with the money reportedly linked to a nonprofit in Gunna’s name. A very 2026 little package of celebrity access, fitness culture, fandom, parasocial intimacy, and good intentions. Slightly contrived, yes. Also probably quite harmless. Men jogging around London with a rapper they like. You could, if you were a stable person, look at this and think, not for me, then continue with your day.
You could also make a more serious criticism if you feel inclined to. Gunna is not just some random philanthropic fitness influencer. He is a rapper with actual controversy, and the usual cloud of questionable lyrics, image, and behaviour that comes with the world her operates in. So if someone wanted to ask whether it is odd to package a figure like that as a wholesome lifestyle accessory, that would at least be a conversation worth having. If someone wanted to say that celebrity culture now launders people through wellness and charity in a way that flattens moral complexity, that would also be fair. That is a real point of discussion, based on an actual thought process that somebody had.
But that is not what a lot of people did. Instead, the clips from the run did the rounds, and the reaction was instantly more childish than thoughtful. In one, a man runs alongside Gunna asking how many likes he would need to be in a music video. He and his friends are giggling, presumably because they are excited. They look like fans having a nice time. Then came the response. A woman made a video asking whether these men wanted to sleep with Gunna. A man made another saying, very plainly, that if you were there, you are gay.
It is homophobia. Cheap, obvious, school-corridor homophobia. Men being openly excited to be near another man are treated as sexually suspect. At that point, the problem is not really the run club. The problem is that male enthusiasm is still treated by a depressing number of people as shameful unless it is disguised properly. The jokes in those videos only work if you think men enjoying another man’s company too openly is embarrassing, suspicious, or sexually compromising. Which is not clever, and not banter either. It is just homophobia.
Ultimately I think the reactions to this event boils down to jealousy. Not necessarily the straightforward kind. I don’t think every person mocking the event secretly wishes they had paid to jog behind Gunna on a brisk March morning. It is more basic than that. Resentment at the sight of people being unembarrassed. Resentment at visible enjoyment. Resentment at men having a good time in public without first watering it down with enough irony to make everyone else comfortable.
That is what links the Gunna thing to SNL UK. Not that they belong to the same cultural universe. Obviously they do not. One is a British remake of a famous American sketch show. The other is a rapper’s charity run. But the response to both followed the same pattern. A thing appears. People decide it is not for them. Then, almost immediately, that perfectly ordinary judgment swells into something nastier. Not just dislike for the thing itself, but contempt for those who enjoy it. Not just “that didn’t work,” but “look at these idiots.” Not just “I don’t rate this,” but “how embarrassing that anyone does.”
You do not have to find SNL UK funny. You do not have to pay to run with Gunna. But if your response to other people enjoying themselves is to sneer, call it gay, or treat enthusiasm itself as humiliating, then the problem is not the sketch show or the run club. It is your inability to let joy pass by without trying to spoil it.