In July 2022, in my debut article for The Critic, “The End of the Party”, I predicted the Tory party’s inevitable collapse at the next general election. Nearly two and a half years later, I stand by almost every word. Moreover, the rot that plagued the Tories back then hasn’t gone away.

Still, there’s one part of the article that makes me wince. Unlike the other Tory leadership hopefuls, I reserved some rare praise for Kemi Badenoch, the current leader of what’s left of the Conservative party. I argued that, unlike her rivals, Badenoch didn’t self-censor or intellectually neuter herself. She struck me as someone willing to grapple with the party’s most existential problem: why can the Tories win elections but achieve so little in office that’s actually conservative?

Back then, my enthusiasm for Badenoch was rooted in a few things: her appreciation of economist and libertarian philosopher Thomas Sowell; and her apparent urgency about the need to rejuvenate her party. I also respected her gutsy stance against the grifters and grievance-mongers that now occupy our institutions. She seemed like a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stagnant political landscape.

Today, I’ve tempered that enthusiasm considerably — putting it mildly — and I’ve come to believe Badenoch isn’t as suited to the job as many of her supporters think. I say this as someone who has sympathy for Badenoch, not least because she feels oddly familiar. Kemi, much like myself, thrives on the cut and thrust of political debate and is unafraid to ruffle feathers when she believes she’s doing the right thing.

So, when I critique Badenoch, I do so not as a natural critic. Although we’ve never spoken in person — despite both working for the same policy unit back in 2006–07 — I feel I understand her, at least on some level. I admire her sharpness, her willingness to challenge orthodoxy, and her instinct for tackling cultural flashpoints head-on. But it’s precisely this kind of personality that can be both an asset and a curse, and in Kemi’s case, it’s veering dangerously toward the latter.

Delusions of grandeur

Kemi’s Achilles’ heel, the soft spot that could bring her undone, is her ego. Now, ego isn’t inherently a bad thing; we all carry one. For some, it is a quiet instrument of self-assurance, a compass that keeps them steady. For others, it’s a grand, gilded flourish of bravado. But when left unchecked, ego warps perception, clouds judgement, and can prove fatal in politics.

Her self-image far outstrips her actual abilities

Kemi, unfortunately, has bought into her own mythology. Her self-image far outstrips her actual abilities, a dangerous delusion that has led her to miscalculate time and again. This overinflated sense of self is perhaps best captured by her childhood friend Taiwo Togun, who said Kemi’s mindset is: “I’m probably the best thing in the room, you just don’t realise it, and you will realise it sooner or later.”

It is fair to say that Badenoch’s instincts on cultural matters align closely with the Tory grassroots. Compared to Boris Johnson, she is far less slippery. Yet, grandiose personalities often share a fatal flaw: they are big talkers, eager to claim credit for any success, whether deserved or not, and quick to weave themselves into narratives where they don’t belong. Consider Kemi’s recent speech at the International Democracy Union Forum in Washington. There, she made the audacious claim that her words may have inspired none other than Javier Milei, the Argentine president:

In January this year, Javier Milei gave a fantastic speech, in Davos of all places, and I must quote it. It had very similar themes to a speech I gave two years ago, which I’m hoping I actually inspired him!

Reflect on the audacity of this statement. Milei, a man who has been a senior economist at big multinationals like Corporación América and HSBC Argentina, and who has studied the works of Milton Friedman, Gary Becker, and Murray Rothbard, is supposedly influenced by Kemi’s speech? To suggest such a thing is laughable. To believe it is delusional. The self-inflation required to make that leap is, frankly, staggering.

And yet this isn’t the only example of Kemi selling herself as a political mastermind. In a recent interview with Christopher Hope of GB News, she painted herself as a communications savant — someone so precise in her language that she has never, not once, committed a gaffe or needed to clarify her statements. In her own words: “I never have to clarify because I think very carefully about what I say, make sure that we don’t sound shrill, that we don’t sound like a bad guy.”

Impressive, isn’t it? Except that, when the rubber hit the road, she demonstrated none of this so-called communicative mastery. In fact, she engaged in the most spectacular of political meltdowns when Reform UK, led by Nigel Farage, began outpacing the Tories in membership. Just to rub it in, Reform pulled off a cheeky publicity stunt: they flashed a smug graphic onto Conservative HQ and dropped a viral video that gleefully mocked their rivals.

Now, any astute politician would have recognised this for what it was — a harmless humorous publicity stunt. It was designed to troll, to ruffle feathers, and most importantly, to self-publicise. The wise course of action would have been to ignore it. But what did Kemi do instead? Well, she went full throttle into a paranoid, spite-fuelled tirade, accusing Reform UK of “manipulating” their membership numbers. She went so far as to claim: “This kind of fakery gets found out pretty quickly”.

It was a meltdown. She didn’t just fall into a trap; she ran headlong into it, kicking and screaming. Rather than acknowledging Reform UK’s milestone and using it as a spur for her own party to do better, she reacted with QAnon-style conspiracism and made a fool of herself and her party. Her response ensured that the story stayed in the media cycle, attracting more attention to Reform UK’s rising membership. 

Now, this may seem unduly harsh, and I do sympathise with those who might think so. I do believe Kemi Badenoch possesses some commendable traits, ones that ought to be acknowledged. I doubt very much that she has the same kind of skeletons lurking in her closet as some of her more flamboyant predecessors. Kemi strikes me as grounded, conservative in her lifestyle, and deeply family-oriented.

Moreover, as I’ve mentioned earlier, she has a rare gift for plain-speaking and shooting from the hip — a refreshing contrast to the evasion tactics of the likes of Rishi Sunak, who at one time couldn’t define a woman. I suspect this forthrightness stems from her father, Femi Adegoke, who also dabbled in political activism. Femi’s nickname in Yoruba, by the way, was “obstinacy”. 

But, alas, Kemi suffers from delusions of grandeur.. You can spot it a mile off. Watch her reactions to criticism: most people, when challenged, will put their hands up and accept it, or at least hold back a little. But Kemi? She reacts as though her entire world is under siege. 

Case in point: the little drama around Nigel Farage’s increasing prominence on GB News. It’s reported she raised the issue with the channel’s chief executive, Angelos Frangopoulos, warning against it becoming a safe haven for her critics. Her defenders, of course, have dismissed this as “nonsense,” claiming she never asked for any special favours. But, as the saying goes, there’s no smoke without fire. And honestly, I can easily picture that conversation taking place in full, glorious technicolour.

The grandiose victim

A variation on delusions of grandeur is the grandiose victim — the belief that one has been subjected to constant setbacks at the hands of a world conspiring against them. Such people create a narrative where they are the plucky David, perpetually fighting off the mighty Goliath, and on a mission to right the wrongs done to them, spreading justice to the masses. Their story is always framed as a heroic arc, as if they alone are on the moral high ground, fighting against overwhelming odds.

It’s a fitting narrative for Kemi Badenoch, who often speaks of the obstacles she’s faced in life. Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that Badenoch admires Daenerys Targaryen from A Game of Thrones, another figure who believes in her righteousness and sees herself as misunderstood. 

Badenoch’s story is one of success, yes, but also one deeply coloured by a sense of perceived injustice. She grew up attending Phoenix College in Morden, south-west London, while working part-time at McDonalds, eventually obtaining a degree in engineering from the University of Sussex. She later went on to become an associate director at the prestigious Coutts bank. This is no small feat, but there’s something telling about how Badenoch has repeatedly framed her journey: as if everything was a struggle against an uncaring world that consistently sought to hold her back.

One of the most common anecdotes she shares is how, during her time at Phoenix College, a teacher discouraged her from studying medicine. She wanted to follow in the footsteps of her parents, both doctors, but was advised that medicine was “really, really difficult” and asked if she’d considered nursing instead. She also remembers a staff member telling her not to apply to Oxford, saying it doesn’t take “people like you” and only serves its “posh friends”. Badenoch has long held onto this as an example of the “culture of low expectations” she believes is pervasive in the UK. It’s a story she’s told over and over, as though this moment of alleged discouragement encapsulates the systemic bias that has followed her throughout her life.

The fact of the matter is that Badenoch’s career has been buoyed by luck more than intellectual ability

Yet, let’s pause and consider this. Twenty-five years after the fact, it’s nearly impossible to verify the accuracy of this account. And, in fact, the former staff member who agreed to be interviewed by Lord Ashcroft was quietly sceptical of it, calling the anecdote “trite.” Perhaps this moment of discouragement, while undeniably painful, wasn’t the grand conspiracy Badenoch paints it to be. Perhaps it was just a teacher offering what they thought was sound advice to a student with modest academic ability. In fact, Kemi’s A-level results — two Bs and a D — were far from the kind of stellar qualifications you would expect for entry into a medical degree, let alone a coveted spot at the University of Oxford.

The fact of the matter is that Badenoch’s career has been buoyed by luck more than intellectual ability. She has confused sheer fortune with unrivalled talent, seeing every lucky break as clinching proof of her own genius. It’s not to dismiss her networking skills or her sharp tongue, but rather to highlight the role that serendipity has played in her rise to power. As Lord Ashcroft puts it in Blue Ambition, Badenoch’s success was a result of “impeccable” timing. Being a young, BAME Tory in London during the Cameron era was a perfect storm of opportunity that helped her climb the political ladder.

Consider the way she burst onto the political scene. Within months of joining the Conservative Party, she attended a Christmas party organised by Conservative Future (CF), where she had a conversation with future MP Conor Burns. So impressed was Burns that he emailed Francis Maude the very next day, recommending Badenoch for a spot on the candidates list. While Maude’s version of events differs slightly, it’s clear that Badenoch caught the eye of the right people at just the right time.

She was soon offered a role in the Globalisation and Global Poverty Policy Group, a group that gave her access to the Tory hierarchy. It placed her alongside rising stars like Alan Mak and Neil O’Brien. She also formed connections with influential figures like former Tory MP and arch-moderniser Ed Vaizey. 

During this period, Badenoch joined the Dulwich and West Norwood Conservative Association, where she impressed the then-chairman, Russell A’Court. She quickly became membership secretary — a position that put her on the radar of party power brokers. Around this time, the association faced intense pressure to diversify its candidate selection. Badenoch, still relatively unknown, was shortlisted and ultimately won the candidacy. As A’Court admitted, “She hadn’t been around for long,” “hadn’t tried for a parliamentary seat before,” and “wasn’t well known in the association at that time.” As Lord Ashcroft noted:

Some prospective parliamentary candidates have to devote years to finding a seat, but Badenoch had done so at the first time of asking. While her natural ability to think and communicate clearly had ensured she crossed the finish line before her rivals, she could count herself fortunate as well. She was only twenty-eight and she had no formal political experience to speak of, yet she had already earned the right to stand in a national election.

In a party desperate for diversity and fresh faces, Badenoch stood out, and by 2015, she was successfully elected to the London Assembly. Her swift rise didn’t come through years of tireless campaigning, which many of her peers had to endure. She was, as Ashcroft notes, a candidate who was in the right place, at the right time, with the right people paying attention.

But Badenoch has consistently misinterpreted this fortuitous timing as confirmation of her unparalleled brilliance. The truth is, she has ridden the wave of serendipity and confused it with genius. She may have talent, but luck played a far greater role in her success than she is willing to admit.

Kemi’s ego, unless it is ruthlessly kept in check, is bound to lead to more political missteps and blunders. And when that happens, it piles unnecessary pressure on her team and stirs up the sceptics within her own party.

But more than this, an inflated ego will stop Badenoch from acknowledging her own weaknesses, from addressing her blind spots, and from seeking advice from those who actually know what they’re talking about. Kemi is notoriously lazy when it comes to public policy. It’s no coincidence that she doesn’t have a firm stance on the European Court of Human Rights or on reversing Blairite legal reforms.

Often, Badenoch behaves more like a manager of warring factions in her party than an actual leader with a clear policy vision and roadmap. Like her heroine Daenerys Targaryen, Badenoch seems to believe she can rewrite history by sheer willpower or personality alone. News flash: that’s not going to cut it. Fudging key policy details will make you look rudderless, untrustworthy, or worse, intellectually shallow.

This is not to say she should spill all her cards at once or burn through her ammunition with a step-by-step guide of her agenda. She doesn’t need to be granular about everything. But she needs to establish firm positions on the foundational issues. There’s absolutely no reason she shouldn’t commit to abolishing the Human Rights Act, or for that matter, the Equality Act. Yet Badenoch seems to take a softer approach, thinking it just needs to be reinterpreted or tweaked here and there.

There’s still time. Badenoch is not doomed to fail. But here’s some free advice: know your weaknesses, stress-test your ideas, and start doing the hard work of actually rebooting the system — not just patching up the software. As someone with a background in software engineering, I hope Kemi gets the gist of the analogy.