Why the Russell Brand conviction shows it’s time for a cultural reckoning

It’s time to examine the social norms of the 2000s and 2010s which enabled and encouraged abusers like Brand to hide in plain sight, says linguistics PhD researcher Becky Howard.

Once an A-list comedian and actor celebrated for his reputation as a ‘womaniser’, Russell Brand is now starting a ten-year prison sentence after being convicted of one case of rape and three of sexual assault. The case and subsequent guilty conviction have unleashed a litany of shocking stories about his behaviour, from sexualised comments, to exposing himself, to procuring audience members for sex and several other allegations of abuse that were ‘brushed under the carpet’. His predatory nature was an ‘open secret’ within the industry for many years – so how did he get away with it for so long?

There are, of course, several dimensions that enable abusers to perpetuate abuse. The influence of a charismatic personality combined with the affordances of fame meant a power dynamic which was always heavily weighted in Brand’s favour. Add in an entourage of enablers offering ready laughs and encouragement, and workplace cultures that protected the ‘talent’ and it’s not difficult to build a picture of the environment that played a huge part in shielding Brand’s crimes for more than two decades. But it’s just as important to examine the societal and cultural norms of the era that made it feel hard, if not downright impossible, for women and girls to stand up and call out predatory sexual behaviour.  

For any woman who grew up in, or before, the 1990s and 2000s, that feeling was hardwired in. That it was on you to ignore behaviours that made you feel uncomfortable, upset or unsafe. That you shouldn’t make a fuss, and instead just ‘laugh it off’. Because the wider world told you that this was only a ‘bit of fun’. That it was ‘just a joke’. That if you complained, you risked being a humourless bitch, an over-sensitive prude, or someone who brought it upon themselves. Sexually explicit jokes at women’s expense were normalised, everyday.

Russell Brand’s time as a TV, film and comedy star attest to this. Infamously celebrated as three-time ‘shagger of the year’ by The Sun, his sexual aggression was successfully masked by a playful, nudge-nudge, this-is-all-for-laughs persona that chimed with the times. Brand portrayed himself as a sexually open libertine, pushing at the boundaries in a provocative fashion.  And it worked in the Noughties. This was a time when sexism and misogyny was framed as hilarious laddy bantz, and as put by Camilla Long in the Sunday Times, such ‘raunch culture provided perfect cover.’  From a 2026 perspective, it’s astonishing now to remind ourselves just how much of his appalling sexual predation was openly laid out; he hid in plain sight, indeed. But in 2007, when Brand’s My Booky Wook was topping the bestseller charts, he was simply a ‘larger-than-life lothario’.

The Russell Brand case is just one of the reasons why I’m doing my PhD research in changing language norms around sexual behaviour and intimate relationships. I was a journalist on celebrity magazines during the 2000s and 2010s and remember well how differently things were perceived and projected. As a linguistics researcher, I’m now investigating how language about personal relationships has developed in the past twenty years, and what this may suggest about societal attitudes and change. What’s framed as ‘acceptable’ and ‘normal’ has a big role to play in setting our collective expectations; and while the Brand case isn’t the focus of my research, it’s symptomatic of an era where misogynistic behaviour was not condemned, it was celebrated. As one of the women said in her victim impact statement in court, ‘There was a culture at the time which meant I felt I had to just carry on and not talk about it anymore.’

Guest post by: Becky Howard

https://liss-dtp.ac.uk/students/becky-howard/

https://www.qmul.ac.uk/arts/people/academic-and-research-staff/phd-students/becky-howard.html