Henry Rowley might be the most recognisable British content creator online today – if you don’t know who he is, we guarantee your child or grandchild does.
With over a million followers on TikTok and half a million on Instagram, his comedy sketch videos and impressions have been shared far and wide.
Now, he’s turning that success into a stand-up run at Edinburgh Fringe from July 31 to August 26 followed by a UK tour in October and November.
His material speaks most directly to a certain kind of Brit: 20-something young professionals who are trudging through dating apps, spending a lot of time standing outside pubs holding warm pints, and generally coming to terms with having to grow up.
And in a global media climate where less and less content feels aimed at British audiences, Henry’s material is undeniably specific to the English experience.
Henry, 26, explains that it all started with one character, who he created to entertain his friends at University: ‘a husky-voiced posh girl.’
‘My friends just found it really funny and they kept asking me questions to answer in character. And a person emerged, with a name and a backstory and stuff. And then one of my mates was like, just, you should put it on Tiktok, just as a joke,’ he shares.
‘And like, none of us had Tiktok. We thought it was just sort of kids dancing. I posted that video and it got like 30,000 views and I just kind of carried on from there.’
This isn’t the last time in our interview that he makes it clear that while TikTok may have given him his career, he’s keen to separate himself from the stereotypes surrounding content creators.
He’s torn between the shameless self-promotion his job necessitates and the sustenance of his specific brand of charm, which depends on never seeming too bothered about anything – especially not a social media app populated by tween girls dancing and doing their makeup.
Henry later names this friction himself, agreeing that ‘Britishness’ and social media fame are somewhat paradoxical – ironic given that both are essential to his career: ‘There’s this constant need to self deprecate, and constant need to push it down be like, “It’s so embarrassing. Like, I’m not like other TikTok boys.” So my friends will take the piss and I’m like “Yeah! 100%!” Because for me, I just cringe if, as a TikToker, I were to get really proud about it and really defensive.
‘My mates are like: “Oh, you just wake up and, like, make a few TikToks and that’s your day.” If I’m there, like, “It’s actually a lot of work. You don’t know what I go through!” There’s just something like UGH about that.
‘I think as a social media person, you’re so easy to hate anyway, so you don’t need to then really stand by it and choose that hill to die on.’
While many content creators cloyingly proclaim that their followers are like family and that they want to reach as many people as possible to ‘spread messages of positivity’ to the world, Henry calls the excitement of online success shameful.
‘It’s a shamefully nice feeling. It’s -’ he stops himself and grins. ‘Oh no I’m not going to use that analogy because Marta [his PR rep] will tell me off. It’s quite a rude, explicit analogy.’
After some urging, he explains, cheekily: ‘It’s sort of like that feeling of…and I actually think social media in itself is an onanistic kind of world, right?
‘Okay? And it’s sort of like post-masturbation, the feeling of shame mingled with gratification. You’re kind of sat there, like “I’ve just been sat hunched over disgustingly pleasuring myself for gratification. It’s sort of like that you’re like, “Oh, this is horrible, but like it was quite nice in its own way.”’
He has a certain Hugh Grant-esque charm that makes his refusal to adhere to any media training endearing. While many celebrities recite earnest, canned answers with glazed eyes, you can almost see Henry’s gears spinning as he searches for the cleverest turns of phrase and the punchiest comebacks – regardless of how crass they might be.
One can easily conjure a long line of teachers from his past who found themselves fighting a smile while trying to be stern with a young Henry for cracking jokes in class.
But he’s also cuttingly insightful. He catches himself every time he gives what he considers a ‘cop-out’ answer, responding to a line of questioning about the social media age with: ‘I think it has the power to do a lot of good and a lot of harm, you know, in so many areas…and that’s such a cop out answer.’
He reconsiders, and tries again: ‘But I think what’s great is it has this accessibility. It’s a platform for people who can showcase talent of all sorts in a way that they never could before. And I think that’s wonderful.
‘I think it’s incredibly dangerous, though, because it’s not reality. And because we’re so on it, this generation, people mix reality with social media, and you see this general feeling of ennui and dissatisfaction because it’s impossible to not form comparisons.
‘But you’re forming comparisons with false reality, like what you’re seeing isn’t the actuality of what’s happening, but that’s all you get. All you get is highlights of people’s lives, and I think it can create toxic behaviours as well, in terms of moral leapfrogging and finger-pointing and sharing opinions that aren’t based in reality. I think it’s a very mixed bag.’
It’s this kind of genuinely clever observation that sets him apart from the millions of other creators mocking British stereotypes online: His comedy manages to comment thoughtfully on modern English life in a way that illuminates something truthful.
But that doesn’t mean he considers himself an artist. He visibly cringes when asked and says sarcastically, in one of the many, many voices he pulls throughout the interview: ‘Yeah I’m an artist. And TikTok is my canvas.’
It’s clear Henry is attempting to become less dependent on the ‘mixed bag’ of social media, both through his stand-up and his latent passion for acting.
He waits out the laugh and explains: ‘I think I would say at the moment I’m a comedian slash performer. I think it’s a bit of a stretch to go and call myself an artist. I’m going into acting at the moment as well. And depending on how that goes, maybe, one day I’ll call myself an artist.’
Growing serious – a rarity – he says that acting has always been his true dream: ‘I’m keeping my options open, but that’s probably my passion and has been since I was a kid, what I’ve always wanted to do.’
To recover from this moment of earnestness, when asked what kind of parts he would find most fulfilling, he says without missing a beat: ‘Male solo porn.’
As for what fans can expect from his upcoming live performances, he says: ‘I don’t think I’m that stupid, but I must be, because it took me so long to realize that actually there needs to be some sort of similarity [between his online presence and his stand up].
‘So I’ve merged more into doing sketch-based stand-up now. So the show is a series of sketches and characters and stuff like that…There’s also a lot of brand new sketches and characters that are just for the show.’
His followers on TikTok are 80% women, a distribution he says is evident in his audiences.
When asked about this, and being something of an ‘online heartthrob,’ he mishears the question multiple times before finally joking, ‘Just wanted to hear you say that a few times.’
He then immediately compares himself to Rumpelstiltskin from the Shrek movies, earning a big laugh and riffing on that for a bit with obvious pleasure, even pulling up a comparison photo.
If Henry’s live shows are even half as entertaining as it is to just have a conversation with him, Fringe audiences will someday be able to brag that they saw Henry Rowley before he was selling out stadiums globally.