Interviewing Ellie Kildunne feels a bit like getting an entrepreneurial masterclass from a Gen Z brand founder. She says “I love it” about social media, like she’s talking about a tool she actually uses, not a platform she tolerates.
“And it’s a chance to share your personality and inspire.” Then, when the subject turns to trolls, her tone doesn’t harden—she shrugs, like she’s already thought it through. “I see it as market research,” she says. “If they say I’m bad at tackling, that’s a driver for me. Okay, fine. I’ll get better at tackling.” And rage bait? The offensive comments meant to spark an argument. “I roll my eyes,” she dismisses. There’s this grin
she can’t quite hide as she explains her logic: there are “a few [people] that hate me or hate the way I play,” but she’s basically telling them the algorithm is going to put her face in their feed anyway—watching becomes part of the engagement. It’s funny. It’s also… not just a quip. She’s treating the internet like a messy training ground.
But focusing on haters misses the point. Ellie’s latest wave of attention isn’t only about what she wins on the pitch—it’s how she shows up off it. When she posted a carousel from a recent appearance on The Jonathan Ross Show, followers reacted to the authenticity of rocking a mini dress with a visible graze on her knee. Down to earth in every sense, people said, like they could see the real human bit under
the highlights. Back in December, Heathrow Airport made Ellie its inaugural ‘Voice of Britain’—taking over the tannoy for 7 million travellers. Then Mattel turned her into Barbie form, curly hair and a nose ring included, and she approves, plainly delighted. Recognition like that doesn’t just “happen” to athletes anymore. It spreads. It sticks. And the whole thing reads like a playbook for Gen Z success language—“aura harvesting,” “main character energy,” the voice of a generation.
Today, though, the vibe is different. She’s 26, but the story has a slower edge because her schedule got knocked sideways. The emergency is not dramatic in a movie way—it’s more the awkward kind: an emergency Airbnb, the kind where you can hear someone’s plumbing and feel the air conditioning fight the room. Our call was supposed to line up with a car journey from Reading to London; that window took two weeks of email
back-and-forth to arrange. Then Donald Trump waged war on Iran and the airspace above Dubai—where Ellie had spent a week with four other players—closed. Three players flew back earlier; Ellie arrived at the airport and found operations shut. Also, equally unforeseen, there was a group of boys wanting fist bumps and photos. “I have it in my head [that] boys my age won’t care,” she says, “because… they grew up at the same time as
me… so won’t have seen much women’s sport.” But they did recognize her. Cool for her. Less cool for the 140,000 stranded Brits who still aren’t going anywhere fast.
Still, she stays upbeat—delivering a quip more quintessentially British than eye-rolling a queue jumper. “I’ll come back super tanned,” she says, shielding squinting eyes from sun on a balcony. She says they haven’t heard bangs from anti-missile defences since yesterday, and there’s a real relief in that simple line. Yet even with safety sorted, sitting still is hard for someone whose modus operandi is basically “full send.” “Relaxing? I see relaxing as not running,” she says. Even via Zoom, you can sense a timer toward cabin fever, like she’s itching to play padel or train with a local football team. UAE government advice, though, says stay indoors where possible. She pauses, then adds—maybe joking, maybe not—“I’ll probably end up in a rickety helicopter somewhere [to get out].”
And underneath all of it is the momentum of a staggeringly successful six months: the World Cup win on home turf with a try-for-the-ages in the final made possible by Ellie outpacing seven of Canada’s players. Her recognition followed fast—second place in the BBC’s public-voted Sports Personality of the Year (pipped by Rory McIlroy), an MBE in the King’s New Year Honours. This April her autobiography Game Changer will be published, and two days later
she’ll start England’s defence of the Six Nations trophy. You can see how that might tilt into smugness, but she frames it as focus. Her career advice used to come with a wall: teachers and well-known coaches telling her women’s rugby is “not a thing,” so why waste education. She didn’t accept that—started with boys next door in West Yorkshire, then later lobbied for A-levels at Hartpury College. She’s clear about the why, too: “I
wanted to be successful in my studies and in my sport.”
Her argument for changing the narrative now is basically the same argument she made to herself then. She believes visibility is everything. “We’re not just players, we’re people,” she says—show the person. She talks about being a brand ambassador, pushing women’s sport forward in front of a camera or behind a microphone, not being scared to show muscles, rolls, cellulite in your legs. She believes in a healthy, functional body, even if “functionality… looks different
on everyone.” And while she’s careful—she’s not saying everyone should look like her—she’s also adamant about the danger of shrinking, physically or mentally, into something quieter than you are. Not everyone in the world will be built for the same training, the same routines, the same life. She was evaluated for ADHD in 2024 and says it didn’t change anything, it just gave her understanding and systems—daily stimulation, when food gets repetitive it’s a conversation
with the nutritionist, if she’s overstimulated maybe the other person just needs three points. It’s the same forensic mindset, just applied to living.
What she wants, though, is simple: keep pushing. “I want to become world player of the year twice,” she says. Anything else is “by the by.” She’s ambitious, yes—but also oddly protective of boundaries now, learning to say, “No, sorry, not today, I’m going to be with my girls.” The besties part lands, because it makes the whole thing feel less like a brand and more like a team sport she can’t actually quit. And if you’re still trying to bring Ellie down—nice try. She’s already moved the conversation to where she wants it, and she seems—fingers crossed—to be going nowhere but forward, even if right now she’s stuck on a balcony in Dubai, listening to the ordinary quiet and wondering when the airspace will open again.
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