The idea of revival of The Inbetweeners manages to be both my worst nightmare and my highest priority. There is, to be clear, no confirmed title, no air date, and no official synopsis. What we have is speculation, dread and the bizarre certainty that, if this actually happens, we’ll willingly press play on fresh trauma.
Part of the anxiety is that the original show felt accidentally perfect. Running from 2008 until 2019, it was broadcast on E4, managing to pin down a very specific kind of British adolescence: corridor politics, awkward coach trips, and the awful realisation that you’re not special, you’re just another idiot in a bad tie.
Bringing it back now risks two equally cursed outcomes. One is nostalgia sanitising it beyond recognition. Or worse, pure repetition: recycled lines wheeled out so often they begin to resemble Jay’s stories—loud, desperate, and obviously made-up.
Put simply, I don’t want catchphrase karaoke, although I will be genuinely offended if Jay doesn’t proudly announce he’s “completed it mate” at least once. I want a sharp, knowledgeable nod to who they were, wrapped in new and uniquely awful situations that actually make sense for where they’ve ended up.
Because if we’re honest, we all have a sense of where that might be. Will, overusing “circling back” in emails while his colleagues mute him on video calls. Simon, still stuck over-explaining his pathetic love life to anyone who makes the mistake of asking how he is. Neil, in defiance of both science and meritocracy, somehow wandering into the perfect suburban life. Jay treating TikTok as his new global sixth-form common room, lying to an endless crowd of digital “fwends”.
Done right, The Inbetweeners revival wouldn’t just drag these four into 2026 for the sake of it. It would let them collide with the modern world in ways that feel painfully recognisable. I don’t want a healed-inner-child reboot. I want pure, weaponised second-hand embarrassment: the spiritual sequel to a school trip, except now it’s a corporate away day with trust falls, forced office “fwends” and the gnawing realisation that, actually, we never stopped being inbetweeners.
Words by Sophia McHardy
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