Joe Wicks doesn’t look much like a politician. Balancing on a climbing frame in the playground of a London primary school, in a purple gym vest and cycling shorts, sporting that trademark tousled head of curls, he’s more Poldark than prime minister material — but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t considered giving politics a try.
A few years ago, the fitness guru and lockdown PE hero, 38, turned down an offer from then-PM Boris Johnson to front an NHS public health campaign because it “felt like a PR thing”.
With a new Labour government in No 10, however, Joe admits he’s a little more tempted — should an offer come his way.
“It’s a tricky one,” he says. “I’m all about impact, and I feel like going down that route [into politics], it’s a lot of ‘Yeses’ and ‘Nos’ and then someone else will come into power, so you’re back to square one.
“I’ve seen it with so many people I admire, and I admire their energy for it, but I don’t know. If I thought a person was truly trying to change things, and really believed in what they were saying, I’m not saying I wouldn’t.
“All I want to see is action. I want them to back what they say, and that would give me the confidence to say, ‘Oh yeah, I’ll work with you.’”
Keir Starmer hasn’t called (yet), but Joe — with his 4.7 million Instagram followers, 2.9 million YouTube subscribers and 11 bestselling books — would certainly be a boon for any political party.
It’s been 12 years since he launched The Body Coach, his hugely-successful fitness brand, and four since he won the nation’s hearts with his lockdown workout videos, which garnered over 100 million views globally, raised £500,000 for the NHS and earned Joe an MBE.
His passion for getting kids into sport has seen him dubbed the “Jamie Oliver of PE” (incidentally, the Olivers recently had the Wicks family round for lunch — a hint, perhaps, at a collaboration).
This week he launched a new campaign with budget supermarket Asda, called Cashpot for Schools, which pledges to raise up to £7.5 million for struggling primary schools nationwide, by donating a portion of shoppers’ spending on its rewards app.
The funding is much-needed: having endured 14 years of cuts under the Conservatives, tightened budgets have left schools with crumbling buildings, staff shortages and outdated facilities. In London alone, 94 per cent of teachers say this has impacted children’s learning.
“It feels as if it comes down to the government not giving enough, to budgets being cut here and there, and it’s sad that it does,” says Joe. “We should be able to give each school equal opportunity.
“If we can get one school at a time to adopt the mile-a-day challenge, or launch an after-school sports club, or get their kids doing one of my videos in their lunch break, then that’s positive.
“Movement is so important for Britain's kids. And I believe that it can be done with very little space and no equipment.”
As a case in point, Joe’s visiting St Mary’s Catholic Primary in Chingford, near Epping Forest; a school, he says, with "not a single blade of grass”, but a thriving sports scene, thanks to the ingenuity of its head teacher and other dedicated staff.
The onus is on parents, not just teachers, to “champion” their children to exercise. Having grown up on benefits on a council estate in Epsom, where his dad, Paul, was a drug addict and his mum, Raquela, suffered with her mental health, he’s all too aware of the impact a “chaotic” home life can have.
“You have to be their cheerleaders,” says Joe. “My kids do not get up and say, ‘I want to do Parkrun’ or ‘Can we go out on our bikes in the rain?’. I’m the one who says, ‘Come on, let’s go round the block and when we get back we’ll watch a bit of Disney+.’”
His energy levels are impressive: Joe’s model wife Rosie, 34, recently gave birth to the couple’s fourth child, Dusty, a brother to Indi, six, Marley, four, and Leni, 23 months, at the couple’s £4.4 million mansion in Surrey. Sleep, he admits, is elusive, and he relies on daily workouts, ice baths and home-cooked meals to keep him sane.
That said, he and Rosie aren’t done with babies yet. “Is it weird that I’m already thinking about another?” he asks. “We love having a big family.”
Ironically, for a man so passionate about primary education, he homeschools his children — but insists this isn’t because he’s “anti-schools”.
“I love schools. Indi did go to primary school for a year. But we had this vision of being together more and being able to travel more, and I love teaching them things: languages, instruments, and reading and sports.
“I put in so much time with my kids that they’re chatty and confident, and they read so well because we put hours and hours into reading. And I think that what you put into your kids, you get out.”
Joe blames smartphones and social media for creating an “anxious” generation of teenagers — the paradox of which, for a man who’s built his lucrative career online, is not lost on him. He admits he once spent 10 hours a day on Instagram; a worrying habit he has now cut to five or six.
“I just think we’re giving kids phones too young,” he says. “I don’t know what the right age is — but if you’re given one at 10, verses 12 or 13, that’s a huge difference in their mental development.
“Don’t get me wrong, when my kids are older and getting on buses or trains and going away, I’m going to want to be able to call them, but I’m not giving them a smartphone. I’ll go old-school, mate: I’ll give them a 5110, or a Nokia with snake — that’s all they need.”
Joe is, as the millions of fans who stop him for selfies in the street will attest, as lovely in person as he seems on screen: I lose count of the number of times he calls me “mate”, asks after my children or makes a self-deprecating comment.
But even Mr Nice Guy isn’t above controversy: he’s alienated some in the past for making “patronising” workout videos for menopausal women, complimenting his wife’s post-partum body and, most recently, suggesting ADHD was linked to diet (comments he later said were taken out of context). He also raised a few eyebrows — and drew criticism from scientists — when he posted a video of himself glugging Rosie’s breast milk last month.
Unlike some in the public eye, he admits, fame doesn’t come naturally — and he hates reading upsetting headlines or derogatory comments.
“You’ll never see me on a red carpet; I hate that,” he says. “I want to go home to Rosie; I don’t want to go to these events. I know it's ironic, because I basically live on social media, but we’re actually quite private, we don’t do magazines or reality shows. My social media is my reality show.”
For now, as well as raising money for schools, Joe is focusing on building his company, which moved to a four-day working week last year — another approach he shares with Labour, who have proposed the same as part of their flexible working plan. “It’s been really successful,” he says. “Everyone should try it. There’s this old Victorian thing about working 9 to 5, but why? Everyone is so much happier.”
Conscious that he is nearing 40, and will, one day, lose some of his pep, he recently launched an online search for others to follow in his footsteps — a sort of ‘Wicks Factor’ audition.
“I want to keep the mission going, and I hope that when I’m exhausted and running out of steam, the brand will live on and still exist with other coaches and trainers,” he says. “There’s got to be someone out there like me; there’s got to be!”
Another Joe Wicks? Now that’s impossible to imagine.
