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From Call Center to Cambridge: How 'Eat the Rich' Frames Social Mobility for Young Viewers

UUnknown

2026-02-28

10 min read

Jade Franks' one-woman show reframes social mobility for students and career-switchers, blending humour with tough truths about class and belonging.

Hook: When the next step feels like a different language

Deciding whether to go to university or switch careers in 2026 feels like navigating two worlds at once: overflowing online advice and the real, often awkward, on-the-ground experience of cultural mismatch. Young people juggling debt, mental health concerns and shifting labour markets need clear, honest stories that show what social mobility actually looks like — not just glossy aspirational posts. Jade Franks' one-woman show Eat the Rich offers that kind of clarity, using bite-sized theatre to map the awkwardness, comedy and cost of stepping between classes.

Lead: What the show is and why it matters now

Eat the Rich (but maybe not me mates x) — Jade Franks' semi-autobiographical one-woman show — landed at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 2025 and ran in London through January 2026. It follows a 20-year-old Liverpudlian who leaves a call centre job for Cambridge University, only to find that the emotional price of social mobility is not what she expected. The performance is short, sharp and deeply tuned to the anxieties of people who are first in family to attend higher education, or who are contemplating a late pivot from secure work into uncertain academic or professional pathways.

Key takeaway

Franks' work reframes social mobility as a textured psychological and cultural negotiation — not simply an upward trajectory on a CV. For young audiences weighing university against vocational routes or career changes, the show translates lived experience into actionable insights about identity, money and belonging.

Why young viewers see themselves in Jade Franks

Many under-30s encounter pressure on three fronts in 2026: escalating living costs, uncertain return on educational investment, and a jobs market reshaped by AI and hybrid roles. In that context, a narrative where the protagonist is simultaneously ambitious, class-aware and financially vulnerable lands hard.

Franks' protagonist is relatable because she is neither a victim nor a polished success story — she’s candid, funny and sometimes painfully self-conscious. She works part-time as a cleaner to afford Cambridge life, confronts subtle slights about her accent, and learns the social code of privilege through small rituals — sweaters tied around shoulders, restrained night-out makeup and an almost performative nonchalance.

"If there’s one thing worse than classism … it’s FOMO," the show quips — a line that crystallises the emotional tug-of-war many young people face.

Performance and craft: How the show conveys class friction

As a one-woman show, Eat the Rich relies on economy of means: a single performer, tight pacing, and direct address. Franks alternates character voices, physical comedy and moments of stillness to make class differences tangible.

Key theatrical techniques include:

Vocal contrast: Franks uses accent shifts to signal social boundary crossings, exposing how language can become a tool of inclusion or exclusion.
Props as class markers: A cleaning apron, a coffee cup and a sweater become shorthand for labour, leisure and belonging.
Audience as confidant: Direct address collapses distance, inviting viewers to feel complicit in microaggressions and to laugh despite discomfort.

The result is a performance that both disarms and pushes viewers to reflect. In theatre terms, it's economical storytelling with a sociological sting.

Most mainstream narratives about social mobility present it as a linear climb: education → better job → different lifestyle. Franks complicates that myth. She shows social mobility as:

Relational: Changes affect family ties and friendships; success can create distance or guilt.
Performative: ‘Fitting in’ often means rehearsing new behaviours that may feel inauthentic.
Material: Financial insecurity persists even with access to elite institutions; scholarships and part-time work create a parallel economy of precarity.

For young people weighing higher education, that framing matters because it reframes decision-making from purely economic calculus to a fuller account of identity costs and benefits.

Context in 2026: Trends that amplify the show's resonance

Several developments in late 2025 and early 2026 intensify the show’s relevance:

Rising cost pressures: Continued living-cost volatility in the UK has made part-time work a necessity for many students, not a choice.
New pathways to work: The expansion of apprenticeships, micro-credentials and employer-led training means university is just one route among many.
Streaming adaptations bolster reach: With a Netflix adaptation in development, the one-person-theatre-to-streaming pipeline has accelerated in 2025–26, amplifying stories that speak to Gen Z and younger millennials.
AI and career tools: Young job-seekers increasingly use AI CV builders and interview simulators, changing expectations about skills vs cultural capital.
Mental health discourse: Universities have expanded wellbeing services since 2024, but stigma persists—making candid portrayals of anxiety like Franks' particularly useful.

In short, the socioeconomic landscape of 2026 makes a show about the lived texture of mobility more than just entertainment — it’s a cultural document.

Case study: From call centre to Cambridge — micro decisions, big consequences

Franks’ character makes a sequence of mundane decisions — applying for college, taking a cleaning shift, switching accents in conversation — that have outsized emotional consequence. This mirrors real-life trajectories where small choices (accepting a scholarship, moving to a new city, or taking on unpaid internships) accumulate into structural shifts in status and wellbeing.

For readers considering similar transitions, the show functions as a case study in three clear lessons:

Map the hidden costs: Look beyond tuition — housing, social expectations, and mental load matter.
Maintain anchors: Friendships and family ties can be resilient but require deliberate effort to preserve.
Don’t let aspirational images be the only data: Talk to alumni from your background and seek grounded perspectives.

Actionable advice for students and career changers

Franks' performance is a cultural mirror, but viewers also need practical steps. Here are evidence-based actions to pair with the show's emotional insights.

Financial planning

Build a realistic monthly budget that includes incidental social costs (transport, clothes, nights out).
Explore targeted scholarships, emergency bursaries and hardship funds — many universities expanded these in 2024–26.
Consider part-time work that offers flexibility and skill-building (e.g., student ambassador roles rather than only hospitality shifts).

Mental health and belonging

Use university wellbeing services early — preventative check-ins are more effective than crisis care.
Join student groups that reflect your background; affinity spaces reduce isolation and create mentoring networks.
Practice conversational rehearsals: if accent comments hurt, prepare short responses or self-care scripts to regain composure in the moment.

Career strategy

Map skills to roles using sector-specific frameworks; apprenticeships and micro-credentials can be shortcuts to stability.
Use alumni networks intentionally: ask for 30-minute informational chats focused on lived experience, not CV polishing.
Leverage AI tools for CV drafting but validate outputs with a human mentor to avoid generic messaging that erases your background story.

Theatre as civic education: What a one-woman show can teach policy and institutions

Short, personal performances like Franks' do policy work by making abstract inequalities visible. Policymakers and institutions can learn three things from the show:

Data alone is not enough — lived narratives reveal emotional costs of mobility that statistics don’t capture.
Universities should expand mentoring programs that pair first-generation students with near-peers from similar backgrounds.
Support for performing arts — especially low-budget one-person shows — is a high-impact way to surface marginalized voices.

Youth culture and the politics of authenticity in 2026

Gen Z and younger audiences prize authenticity but navigate platforms that reward performative success. Franks’ show confronts that tension head-on: authenticity is portrayed not as a static trait but as a practice — one that requires boundaries, storytelling skill and a supportive social infrastructure.

That framing resonates because youth culture in 2026 is simultaneously more public (via social media) and more fragmented (multiple niche communities). Stories like Eat the Rich help audiences parse what authenticity costs and what it can buy — socially and materially.

Comparative context: From Fleabag to Baby Reindeer — the pipeline from stage to screen

Franks’ path — Fringe success, London run, streaming interest — follows a model seen with Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag and more recently with Baby Reindeer. The difference in 2026 is scale: streaming platforms now actively scout live fringe shows for compact, character-driven adaptations because short-form theatre translates well to limited series formats.

For performers and producers, this means two practical shifts:

Design live pieces with adaptability in mind — strong central voice, clear arcs and cinematic moments.
Use digital-first marketing during runs (microclips, director’s notes) to prove streaming viability to buyers.

Criticisms and limits: What the show doesn’t solve

While emotionally compelling, a 70- to 90-minute one-woman show can’t provide policy solutions. Franks illuminates emotional labour and cultural dissonance but does not (and cannot) address systemic barriers like unequal school funding, housing shortages or macroeconomic shifts. Viewers should treat the show as a catalyst for reflection, not a roadmap for policy change.

Practical next steps after watching

If Jade Franks' performance resonates with you, here are concrete actions to take next:

Document your own transition story — write a 500-word reflection on your motives and costs. This clarifies values and reduces future regret.
Set up three informational interviews with alumni from similar backgrounds to test assumptions about fit and support networks.
Audit your finances with a 6-month living-cost plan that includes emergency savings equal to one month’s basic expenses.
Join or start an affinity group on campus or at work to maintain cultural anchors while you adapt.

Future predictions: How stories like this will shape mobility conversations

Looking ahead to late 2026 and beyond, expect three developments:

Greater mainstreaming of lived-experience art: Platforms will continue to back authentic voices because audiences crave real stories about class and belonging.
Hybrid supports for mobility: Universities and employers will expand mentoring and financial safety nets in response to public pressure amplified by cultural moments.
Normalized career plurality: As micro-credentials and apprenticeships grow, narratives of mobility will diversify beyond degree-driven stories to include lateral and nonlinear paths.

Final verdict: A show that is both mirror and map

Eat the Rich succeeds because it is honest about discomfort and generous with humour. It gives young audiences permission to laugh at awkwardness while taking seriously the real costs of upward movement. For viewers deciding between higher education and alternative routes in 2026, the show is less a how-to and more a how-it-feels — which, for many, is precisely what they need.

Call to action

See the show, share your story, and use what you learn to make better choices: attend a performance or stream the upcoming adaptation, then take the practical steps above — budget, mentor outreach, and wellbeing check-ins. If Jade Franks’ narrative has sparked questions about your own next move, start a short reflection today and book one informational interview this week.

Support new voices in theatre — they do more than entertain. They teach, challenge and make policy-relevant experiences visible. Whether you’re a prospective student, a career changer, or an ally, engage: go to a performance, join the conversation on social media with care, and push institutions to convert empathy into concrete supports.

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