Who Is James Bond Going To Be in 2026?

Being a young Brit today is a lot like that Hannah Horvath line where she says, “any mean thing someone’s gonna think about me, I’ve already said to me, about me. Probably in the last half hour.” The economy is shit, political tensions are worse, Twitter calls us “beans on toast country.” And Europe keeps on voting us to the very bottom of the Eurovision table.

So, in many ways, thank a god who doesn’t exist for James Bond. Like the Beatles, the Spice Girls and Paddington Bear, these 20th century cultural institutions transcend merely being British; instead, they’ve come to define what being British is: a cultural export. Which, in the case of James Bond, encompasses style, bravado, unparalleled rizz.

Even if James Bond was a real, employed MI5 spy, it would still be his sex appeal that is so utterly useful for Blighty. For no male, real or fictional, has managed to monopolize what it is to be a man like James Bond. I don’t think that’s just a British thing; I think on both sides of the Atlantic, 007 has marched the gender ideals of the old school right up to the 21st century, martini instructions included.

Bond, in all his iterations, is just as enticing in a tuxedo as he is dripping wet, as powerful rescuing a woman (and then subsequently fucking her) as he is facing off with the enemy. He can speak several European languages fluently; he remains loyal to King and Country; he is gifted in high—society socialising.

No wonder both sides of the Atlantic have earnestly awaited the news of who the next Bond will be. It should come any day now, right?

It’s an anticipation that feels spiritually akin to the lead up of the Glastonbury line-up reveal each March. Most reckon it will be Callum Turner — Dua Lipa’s Callum Turner, that is. Theo James’ name has been thrown into the mix, which is good news for anyone that watched Divergent and thought the franchise should be just him. Damson Idris is a strong contender; Jacob Elordi too, although Bond going to an Australian might just be worse for public morale than the actual Blitz itself.

What is more interesting than who will play Bond in 2026 is how Bond will be written. James Bond, originally written by Ian Fleming in 1953 on Fleming’s estate in Jamaica, was a product of its time, when the Brits and Yanks had just won the Second World War and were in the leadup to its immediate sequel, the Cold War. Colonial rule was falling apart — let me emphasize Fleming's estate in Jamaica. From this swirling vortex of change came emergent depictions of espionage and glamour. The zeitgeist bent towards a new world of imperial reshuffling, intrigue and continental sensibilities.

It helped that culturally and conversationally, spies were everywhere, from the real life Cambridge Five (great Wikipedia read) to the entirely fictitious Austin Powers.

Beyond his looks and his curriculum vitae, the Bond ideas of manhood were also as of their time. To smoke, to drink, to surf and to ski, to alternate between riding horses and women, while anonymously saving the world from evil takeover again and again. To never talk about feelings, but rather, stare into the distance pensively.

Well it goes without saying that is simply not how men do things in 2026.

So what does that mean for Bond? It means a shit ton of therapy, to start with. If even Tony Soprano — that New Jersey pillar of masculinity — can find his way into the therapist’s chair, the tragically orphaned and assumedly PTSD suffering Bond should too. Admittedly, he did try out therapy once — in 2015’s Spectre — but he ultimately ended up seducing the Lea Seydoux played character, and she went onto become an iconic Bond Girl in her own right.

Which isn’t very 2026. As much as men might wish it was. (Bloody woke, preventing men from having sex with their therapists.) In a scene in which Seydoux has a psychiatrist session with Daniel Craig’s Bond, she asks him if he exercises. “When I have to,” he replied drily. It’s classic British humour, neatly packaged for American audiences. But when even British men have succumbed to Clavicular’s Looksmaxxing craze — with more 24 hour gyms in London than 24 hour pubs, clubs and bars — it is unsexy, but entirely fair, to wonder if Bond has a Huel subscription. He is still shaking, not stirring; but in a generation of great sober-curiosity, if not just soberness, is Bond taking gummies at the hotel bar? In No Time to Die, it’s revealed he has a child. I don’t think any woman would fancy a man not involved in his children’s lives, no matter how bad the current dating scene is.

Another major tenet of shifting gender norms, and subsequently masculinity, is transparency. Men are talking more. Perhaps too much, if you ask any incensed woman in the club toilets. Men dominate the podcast booth as much as they clear the podcast charts, discussing anything from portfolio investment to mental health. This is, obviously, a good thing: serious efforts to open up conversation about the latter has been instrumental in preventing mental illness and suicide amongst men. But it does mean the silent, sexy archetype is long over. Today’s male pin-ups, from Timothee Chalamet to potential future Bond Robert Pattinson, are desired not because they are brooding, but because they are the opposite: they are goofy, witty, and openly passionate about their careers.

As it were, “spies” these days are thoroughly unglamorous, instead characterized by allegedly CIA-backed incel communities, brainrot memes and fascism. Will Bond be a poster? Will he run in circles with the “spies” that invented frame-mogging? Will he not care, in that thoroughly Bond detachedness? Nowadays, women fancy men who question their governments, not weirdos who dedicate their lives to supporting them. Whether its "Hot Girls for Zohran" or women with Hasan Piker phone backgrounds, the Bond Girls this new 007 might try and woo probably follow outspoken thinkers, even if they're the losers behind Red Scare. I just don't see Bond hitting up the marketing girlies that love their Defense Contractor Boyfriends for a (once-again) trendy martini. (edited)

I ask more questions than Bond films have ever cared to address. Still, what does a fictional male character characterised for his silence, his seemingly infinite sexual partners, and his avid drinking look like in an age when men are louder and drinking less? It’s not only Brits, but the English speaking world at large that still loves James Bond. We wouldn’t have this excitable hype around who the next actor will be if we didn’t. But just over 60 years on from Thunderball, which positioned Sean Connery surrounded by underwear-clad Bond girls for the release poster, one might wonder if in 2026 they’re attentively listening to him unpack his childhood trauma with a vape in hand, instead.