The applause still ringing through Elstree Studios for Amber Davies marks more than another Strictly Come Dancing finalist. Her journey to the glitterball trophy decider alongside professional partner Nikita Kuzmin reveals uncomfortable truths about how Britain consumes entertainment. When the Welsh actress and musical theatre star advanced past the semi finals last weekend, the celebration carried notes of vindication against a torrent of online abuse claiming her West End background constituted unfair advantage.

For those unfamiliar with the mechanics of reality competition, this argument might appear superficially reasonable. Davies built her career performing in productions like 9 to 5 The Musical and Pretty Woman before replacing injured contestant Dani Dyer this season. Detractors flooded social media insisting her dance training inherently advantaged her over opponents like EastEnders actress Balvinder Sopal. Lost in this reductive take is both the specificity of ballroom technique and the troubling pattern of how viewers weaponize contestants' professional backgrounds when convenient.

Delving into Strictly's nineteen year history exposes this persistent hypocrisy. Former Houghton star Ashley Roberts faced similar vitriol in 2018 despite the hilarious mismatch between her pop choreography experience and the Argentine Tango. Olympic gymnast Louis Smith encountered identical criticism during his 2012 victory run. Yet when rugby player Ben Cohen or journalist John Sergeant parlayed limited dance ability into audience votes through charm alone, their perceived authenticity shielded them from similar backlash. The double standard reveals a deeper bias equating privilege solely with formal training while ignoring other advantages like natural rhythm or pre existing fanbases.

Davies' former teacher Catherine Jones offered essential clarity when noting none of her student's musical theatre work approached ballroom fundamentals. The dismissive attitude toward Davies' career typifies how society undervalues musical theatre performers even while consuming their labor. West End veterans endure years mastering triple threat skills only to watch television audiences dismiss their discipline as 'lesser' than concert dance traditions. This cultural hierarchy persists despite icons like Andrew Lloyd Webber dominating global entertainment.

The disturbing normalization of online abuse targeting Davies cannot be disconnected from broader trends in reality television consumption. Researchers at King's College London published a 2024 study documenting how reality contestants now receive 300% more toxic social media engagement than scripted television actors. Psychological analysis suggests audiences develop parasocial relationships with unscripted personalities that lower inhibitions against vitriol. Davies' experience mirrors singer Fleur East enduring racist abuse during her 2022 Strictly run. Both cases saw producers issuing boilerplate be kind statements while avoiding substantive duty of care reforms.

Behind Strictly's glittering facade lies production choices actively fostering this toxicity. The BBC generates drama through contestant backstories emphasizing vulnerability before exposing them to public vote mechanisms. Press packets emphasize Davies replacing Dyer due to injury and Kuzmin discussing his Ukrainian family's wartime struggles. Such narrative framing invites disproportionate investment from viewers who then feel entitled to lash out when favorites face elimination. These structural factors remain unaddressed while performers bear the brunt of audience hostility.

Historical context shows this as evolution rather than anomaly. Twenty years ago, Fame Academy contestant Malachi Cush needed police protection after racist threats. Big Brother launched counseling services in 2007 following Jade Goody's bullying scandal. Each generation of reality TV widens accessibility for public cruelty through new technologies. Early Strictly seasons saw judges receiving hate mail and now entire online communities brigade voting campaigns against targeted contestants like Davies.

The human cost becomes visible in Davies' resilience. Kuzmin revealed she arrived smiling to rehearsals daily despite the barrage, prioritizing their partnership's integrity over external noise. This aligns with coping mechanisms child stars develop early in careers where public approval determines employment. Former Disney Channel actors often discuss compartmentalizing harsh feedback as professional obligation rather than personal attack. For Davies who entered public consciousness through Love Island's emotionally raw environment, such resilience seems both impressive and tragic.

Strictly's place in British cultural identity makes these dynamics particularly potent. The show occupies familial viewing space more akin to holiday specials than mean spirited competitions. Families gather to cheer hometown heroes like Davies alongside beloved professionals like recently cancer recovering Amy Dowden. This dissonance between comforting ritual and emerging toxicity reflects a broader national conversation about kindness. Political rhetoric emphasizes British values of fairness while reality television reveals baser instincts.

Solutions remain frustratingly elusive. Channel 4's The Big Narstie Show pioneered real time AI moderation for live broadcasts last year, automatically filtering abusive hashtags. Australian networks require verified accounts for voting on reality shows. The BBC maintains Strictly's format remains sacrosanct despite growing calls to delay audience voting until after performances or eliminate public eliminations entirely. With advertising revenue still tied to social media engagement metrics, structural incentives resist meaningful change.

At its core, the vitriol toward Davies stems from society's discomfort with female ambition. Male Strictly contestants with dance experience like Blue singer Simon Webbe faced criticism yet none approached the gendered viciousness targeting women. Research by cyberbullying nonprofit Ditch the Label finds women receive 78% more derogatory comments about their qualifications on competition shows. This aligns with tennis stars like Serena Williams enduring claims their power 'isn't real tennis' or Simone Biles facing accusations her gymnastics advantage stems from medication rather than discipline. Davies being labeled too professional echoes these historic slights.

As Davies prepares for Saturday's final against retired footballer Karen Carney and social media influencer George Clarke, the glitterball's symbolic weight intensifies. Carney's own groundbreaking status as the first footballer finalist highlights how sports backgrounds escape the same censure as performers. Her graceful paso doble receives praise for athleticism while Davies' Charleston provokes accusations of unfairness. This irony permeates Strictly as the series increasingly relies on West End performers to maintain quality while viewers punish them for their competence.

Perhaps the greatest indictment lies in what Davies represents for post pandemic career reinvention. She built success across genres from reality television to musical theatre proving adaptability is survival in modern entertainment. This should inspire admiration rather than resentment. Strictly's magic traditionally stems from witnessing growth whether from novices or veterans. Davies' journey from Love Island to this moment showcases Britain's cultural breadth precisely because her training doesn't guarantee mastery of unfamiliar disciplines.

The online bile obscures a simpler truth her former teacher Jones articulated best. It does not take much to be kind. Millions will tune in Saturday night seeking comfort and escapism, momentarily united by Davies' grace under fire. Whether that shared humanity extends beyond the closing credits remains Strictly's most consequential competition. Victories fade but dignity persists long after glitter gets vacuumed from studio floors.