Will Hosie: In defence of gatekeeping and why we have to stop confusing TopJaw with proper critique

I met a wine critic at dinner recently. They are smart, stylish and media savvy, with a sizable online following, and told me that they often receive questions from people who follow them, but have never met. ‘Where should I take my girlfriend for our anniversary?’, one asks. ‘What’s a good pub for a first date in Ladbroke Grove?’

The wine critic’s fortune is built on a substantial-enough audience that counts on them to recommend the hottest barstools in town. They are now expected to do this off the clock, dispensing advice pro bono like they don’t have bills to pay. When they refuse, they risk the ire of the crowds. ‘How dare you gatekeep’, followers huff. They might as well be saying, ‘I thought you were my friend?’

There are two reasons for this particular fallout. The first is a culture in which pundits and audiences are both terminally online. The second is the rise of amateur opinions taken as gospel by those who no longer recognise the difference between someone with an iPhone and an expert.

Modern critics are a far cry from predecessors such as A. A. Gill, Jonathan Gold or Ruth Reichl. They might once have resembled Pixar’s Anton Ego, but no more. It’s not that intransigence is no longer a prerequisite, but that a new generation of readers expects critics to be, first and foremost, accessible.

This means, at least tonally, that modern critics ought to be less pedantic than their forebears. Although good writing has always been about expressing complex ideas in simple terms, they are now forced to eschew complexity altogether for fear that it might make them harder to relate to.

They should still gesture towards such ideas, of course — even name drop a few key phrases (‘tannins’, ‘blown glass’, ‘Georgian orange wine’) so that the reader recognises their own erudition and comes away from the article thinking they’ve gleaned subtle nuances. The truth, however, is that most people no longer consume critiques through these articles. In fact, very few consume any real critique at all.

The food influencer has been on the rise for close to a decade; since Covid, their ascent has been unstoppable. Will Warr and Jesse Burgess, the posh chaps behind TopJaw (a video channel that can make a restaurant go viral in minutes), have become more valuable to the restaurateur than even the most renowned food writer. It helps that Jesse — the one facing the camera — is easy on the eye. The internet is eating out of his hand.

What TopJaw produces is not a critique: it is the video equivalent of what we call an advertorial. It is impossible for a critic to ever be entirely objective, but TopJaw are all subjective. ‘Mmmm’, ‘woooow’, ‘phwoaaaar’, Jesse gushes to the camera whenever he shoves something into his mouth. Britain’s biggest food influencer, meanwhile, is a man called Toby Inskip, whose rumoured earnings is akin to the salary of an associate in a Magic Circle law firm.

Toby does not opine on food, besides elementary groans and the sort of wide grin that says ‘I got this meal for free’. I understand there is an audience for this (Toby has nearly 2 million followers on the Gram) and that it may even overlap with those who read Grace Dent or Tim Hayward. What I struggle with are the people who read Grace Dent or Tim Hayward, often via the same platforms through which they consume TopJaw videos (as publications will routinely run segments of an article on their social media), and who then expect critics to act with the same benevolence and magnanimity as amateurs who are just very enthusiastic about sandwiches.

The critic has long served a noble purpose, deciding what’s hot, what’s not and — most importantly — what’s overhyped. This intel is shared with a deserving audience who pay for the privilege via a subscription. But besides sharing recommendations, the critic has a right to gatekeep. Perhaps even a responsibility.

More than anyone else, they need places to call their own; to keep hidden from the very people who hang onto their every word. This is true beyond food or wine, of course. An art critic might want to keep their favourite artist under wraps. The fashion critic, a dying breed, might want to keep their favourite designer a secret.

Gatekeeping, like snobbery, is the backbone of a healthy artistic culture. Audiences need to know that they don’t know everything; that there is a kind of culinary Shangri-La for them to aspire to. The same with art, fashion, film; even with music.

I recognise that TopJaw typically recommends nice places (Brat, Mountain, The Devonshire), but at what cost for the visitor? At least half the restaurant experience is to do with stuff other than food: the bill, the lighting, the atmosphere, the people, and whether this was somewhere you queued to get into or booked two months in advance on SevenRooms at midnight, when the tables for the day you wanted to book for suddenly became available. Embarrassing? Perhaps. But by 00:05, they’d have been fully booked.

For the restaurants cherry-picked by the TopJaw lads, it’s boom time. But one has to wonder what gets lost in metaphorical translation. I should know: I have loved and patronised The Chancellors pub in Hammersmith for years. Their pizza is the stuff of legend, winning awards. Growing up locally meant it was somewhere me and my friends would regularly enjoy a pint and a slice. It was always popular, of course; but then came TopJaw and the rest is history.

The Chancellors is now so over-subscribed that you have to pre-order your pizza dough. I refuse to do this: it is debasing. Yet the stunt has sent Crisp Pizza — the brand sold at The Chancellors — on a meteoric path. It is due to open a new outpost at The Marlborough, a pub launching on Mayfair’s North Audley Street, in October.

In an era where a popular neighbourhood haunt can become a viral sensation overnight, gatekeeping our hidden gems is more important than ever. Rather than attempting to court the same audiences as TopJaw or adopting their mannerisms, critics should double down: tell us where not to go a bit more often and purse their lips a little more.

It is, in a sense, good that they still receive inquiries from the odd fool (you really ought to know where to take your girlfriend for your anniversary, Alan). It shows that people trust them. But it also signals a clear misunderstanding: critics are gatekeepers.

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