Jacob Elordi: The Man Who Would Be King (But The Internet Made Him a Princess)
He towers at 6'5", plays literal monsters, and verbally sparred with a Venice official. So why is the online world determined to treat him like a delicate porcelain doll? Welcome to the paradox of the decade.
I was standing a few feet away from the red carpet in Venice last September when it happened. You know the moment. The finger point. The "Don't ever tell me what to do" growled at a festival official that instantly went viral on TikTok. In the room, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife (or perhaps a jagged rock, given the Frankenstein premiere context). But online? The internet didn't see a rude superstar or a stressed actor. They saw their "Babygirl" asserting dominance.
It is the strangest branding accident in modern Hollywood history.
Jacob Elordi, the Brisbane boy who spent the last two years desperately trying to scrub the scent of The Kissing Booth off his skin with prestige roles, has become the patron saint of a very specific, very online desire. The more he frowns, the more they swoon. The more he hates the game, the more points he scores.
The "Babygirl" Industrial Complex
If you're over 30 and offline, you might look at Elordi—a hulking, brooding giant who looks like he was carved out of granite and cigarette smoke—and see a traditional leading man. A young Brando. A Hemsworth with a dark side.
Gen Z sees something else entirely. They see a "Babygirl".
👀 Wait, why is a 6'5" man called 'Babygirl'?
It’s the ultimate term of endearment for the internet age, born from irony. To qualify as "Babygirl", a man usually needs to fit the "Eyes, Cries, and War Crimes" criteria. He must be:
1. Physically imposing but emotionally vulnerable (or pathetic).
2. A fictional villain or morally grey character (see: Euphoria's Nate Jacobs).
3. So aesthetically pleasing that you want to "put him in your pocket" despite the fact he wouldn't fit in a cargo shipping container.
It started, really, with the bath water. You remember Saltburn. (How could you not? We all have the trauma). When Barry Keoghan slurped up the dregs of Elordi’s bath, it wasn't just a gross-out scene; it was a baptism. It cemented Elordi as an object of consumption. Literal consumption. While he was busy trying to channel James Dean, the internet was busy meme-ing him into a helpless, wet-eyed object of affection.
"I don't love you. You make it really hard for me to live." – Elordi to a paparazzo in Paris, December 2025.
And that's the kicker. That quote above? It should have been a PR disaster. A wealthy celebrity snapping at a photographer in Paris? Usually, that's grounds for a cancellation. Instead, the footage was remixed with Lana Del Rey audio within hours. His disdain doesn't repel the audience; it acts as an accelerant. It proves he is "real" in an era of media-trained robots.
The Monster in the Mirror
Here’s what my sources in the industry tell me (and what becomes obvious if you watch closely): Elordi is not playing hard to get. He is genuinely, deeply uncomfortable with the "heartthrob" label. The pivot to Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein was supposed to be the nail in the coffin of his teen-idol image. He wore prosthetics. He grunted. He played a literal reanimated corpse.
Result? A 13-minute standing ovation and a million tweets about how the Monster "needs a warm blanket."
It’s a uniquely modern trap. In the 90s, if you wanted to be a serious actor, you did an indie movie and got fat (the Clooney method). In 2026, there is no escape. The mechanism that turns actors into memes is faster than any PR strategy. Elordi’s refusal to play along—his refusal to do the TikTok dances, his visible annoyance at the "Babygirl" questions on SNL—only reinforces the fantasy. He is the Grumpy Cat of prestige cinema.
Is it sustainable? Probably not. You can only tell your fans you hate them for so long before they believe you. But for now, Jacob Elordi is stuck in a golden cage of his own making. He’s the serious artist who just wants to talk about cinema verité, trapped in a digital world that just wants to pinch his cheeks.
