Tom Daley is a figure synonymous with discipline, Olympic triumph, and the highest echelon of athletic achievement. His career, marked by spectacular dives, gold medals, and a powerful personal journey, has earned him the rare status of a national hero. Yet, his latest television appearance, a segment on The One Show to promote his new Channel 4 series, The Game of Wool, revealed that even a beloved Olympic champion is not immune to harsh public scrutiny—especially when he dares to trade the diving board for the knitting needle.
The response to Daley’s promotion of his knitting show was sharply and sensationally divided. While legions of loyal fans celebrated his enthusiasm and defended his passion for the craft, a vocal, critical contingent unleashed a wave of unexpected hostility. The criticism was two-fold: a dismissal of the show’s concept as indicative of television’s vapid programming, and a bizarre, personal attack on Daley’s knitting skills themselves, with one viewer condescendingly remarking that his work was “very slack and baggy.” This immediate and fierce backlash highlights a curious cultural phenomenon: the public’s resistance to allowing high-profile figures to redefine themselves outside of their primary domain of fame. It underscores the surprising emotional intensity surrounding crafting and the relentless, unforgiving pressure on celebrities to stay in the neat, predictable lanes society assigns them. This is the full story of how a wholesome, harmless hobby became the flashpoint for a public battle over taste, talent, and celebrity expectation.
The Great Transition: From Gold to Gauge
Tom Daley’s journey from Olympic superstar to knitting enthusiast has been one of the most unexpected and charming narratives in recent celebrity culture. His passion for knitting was not a manufactured PR stunt; it emerged during the intense, highly restrictive environment of the Tokyo 2020 Olympics, where he was famously seen crafting intricate pieces poolside, offering him a crucial emotional and mental respite from the pressures of competition. His hand-knitted items, often shared on social media, quickly became a viral sensation, transforming him into an unlikely, yet powerful, ambassador for the craft.
This organic passion has now evolved into a major television project: The Game of Wool. The series, which aims to find “Britain’s best knitter,” is a perfectly natural extension of his highly publicized hobby. Daley’s appearance on The One Show, where he was joined by guests like cricketer Phil Tufnell, was the formal announcement of his pivot from elite athlete to lifestyle host. He wore a colourful, self-knitted jumper, proudly showcasing the work that has defined his post-Olympic identity. For his fans, this was an inspiring demonstration of a man embracing vulnerability, creativity, and mental wellness.
However, the leap from a viral Olympic moment to hosting a prime-time reality show proved too much for some viewers. The backlash was immediate and biting, proving that the world of crafting, like the world of sport, is fiercely competitive and surprisingly judgmental.
The Double-Edged Needle: The Harshness of the Backlash
The criticism directed at Daley and his new show was delivered with a surprising degree of venom, reflecting a deep-seated public cynicism towards celebrity-led projects and the perceived decline of television standards.
The most general complaint focused on the concept, with one critic lamenting that “The public will watch literally anything.” This sentiment speaks to a broader cultural fatigue with the proliferation of niche reality and competition shows, often viewed as ‘filler’ content designed purely to exploit a passing trend. For these viewers, a show about knitting, regardless of the celebrity attached, represented the nadir of creative television programming.
More shockingly, the backlash targeted Daley personally and professionally. The vitriol was directed not at his diving skills, but at his newfound expertise. One user stated, “I am interested in knitting but can’t stand him,” exposing a personal aversion that celebrity ubiquity can generate. The most brutal critiques, however, came from the knitting community itself, or those purporting to be experts, who felt empowered to critique the Olympic gold medalist’s gauge. The comment that there are “Far more talented knitters out there” and that his work was “very slack and baggy” strips Daley of his authority in his chosen domain, dismissing his genuine passion as a mere amateur endeavor.
This specific, harsh criticism is a profound example of the psychological phenomenon of celebrity gatekeeping. When a celebrity enters a niche community—whether it’s cooking, art, or crafting—members of that community often feel a protective, proprietary impulse. They may resent the sudden influx of attention directed by a famous outsider, feeling that the celebrity’s fame overshadows the merit and long-standing dedication of genuine experts. The critique of his stitches being “slack and baggy” is less about textile quality and more about defending the professional boundaries of a deeply respected, traditional craft.
The Fandom Defence: Passion and Positivity Prevail
The backlash, however, was swiftly met with a powerful, emotional defence from Daley’s supporters, illustrating the strong bond he has cultivated with his audience, particularly through his openness about his sexuality, his family life, and his mental health struggles.
The fans’ response focused entirely on the authenticity of his passion. Comments like “I can’t wait and I’m already loving Tom’s enthusiasm and passion” and “Tom you’re lovely and looking forward to the TV programme. There are a lot of miserable people about” highlight a public desire to celebrate genuine, positive celebrity ventures. Supporters viewed the negative comments as mean-spirited and unnecessary, pointing out that Daley’s involvement will inevitably elevate the profile of knitting and crochet, introducing it to a younger, broader audience.
The defence also explicitly connected his new show to his athletic past. One fan offered their good wishes while thanking him “for not giving anything away about The Celebrity Traitors, which you were brilliant in,” drawing a clear line between his athletic, reality, and craft-based careers. For these viewers, Daley’s journey represents an inspiring lesson in mental wellness, where a demanding, high-pressure career is balanced by a creative, meditative escape. His public pivot normalizes the idea that strength can be found in softness, and that a professional athlete can possess a deeply sensitive, artistic side.
The fan defence was ultimately about supporting the person behind the titles, advocating for his right to pursue happiness and creativity outside of the highly masculine, hyper-competitive world of Olympic sport. They viewed his embrace of knitting not as a distraction, but as a crucial, inspiring component of his identity.
The Cultural Significance: Redefining Masculinity and Hobby
The division caused by Tom Daley’s knitting show is not merely a TV debate; it is a fascinating cultural conversation about gender norms and celebrity identity. Knitting, historically associated with domesticity and femininity, becomes a powerful statement when championed by a world-class male athlete. Daley’s enthusiastic embrace of the craft challenges outdated, toxic ideas about masculinity and what constitutes a “manly” hobby.
His choice to host The Game of Wool is an act of cultural normalization. It provides visibility and legitimacy to a craft that is increasingly valued for its therapeutic, stress-relieving qualities—qualities Daley himself discovered in the high-stress environment of the Olympic village. The show’s very existence, driven by his star power, validates the thousands of people who find solace and creative expression in fiber arts.
The critics who dismissed his show as “boring” or questioned his technical skill are, in essence, defending a narrow, rigid view of celebrity and gender roles. They are resistant to the idea that an Olympian can be both physically dominant and creatively sensitive. The fans, by contrast, are celebrating the modern, fluid definition of identity that Daley embodies: a professional athlete, a social advocate, a loving father, and a passionate, creative crafter.
Conclusion: The Unraveling of Expectations
Tom Daley’s appearance on The One Show proved that his transition from sporting hero to television host is far from smooth, even with a seemingly innocuous topic like knitting. The resulting public division acts as a cultural barometer, revealing the depth of public cynicism towards celebrity-driven projects and the strong societal expectations placed upon famous figures.
Yet, in a world that often rewards manufactured drama and fleeting trends, Daley’s determined pursuit of The Game of Wool is an act of quiet rebellion. By proudly wearing his self-knitted jumper and defending his passion, he is using his immense platform to champion creativity, mental health, and the right to authentic self-expression. He is challenging the public to expand their definition of a hero. The backlash over his “slack and baggy” knitting is a minor, forgettable detail. The lasting triumph is that he successfully moved knitting from the poolside sideline to the prime-time spotlight, cementing his legacy not just as an Olympic gold medalist, but as an unlikely, yet powerful, pioneer for a new, creative masculinity.
