In a move that has sent shockwaves through the nation’s Wetherspoons and left office workers momentarily glancing up from their Tinder swipes, Marks & Spencer has announced a grand 1,000-strong traineeship scheme. The high street’s most beloved purveyor of overpriced Percy Pigs and questionable sandwich fillings is now offering a glimmer of hope to Britain’s youth. But, as always with the suits, the fine print is written in disappearing ink on a wet napkin.
Let us parse this. M&S, a retail titan that once stood for quality and a faint aura of old money, has decided to take a leaf from the grim factory handbook of the 19th century. They are now offering training in ‘advanced manufacturing’. Because nothing screams British manufacturing revival like a teenager learning to fold a cashmere jumper into a perfect origami swan for minimum wage. The scheme is part of a so-called ‘revival’ of British industry, a concept that has been dead longer than the last parliament’s credibility.
The company, whose chief executive seems to have been plucked from a dystopian sci-fi where they replace humans with spreadsheets, claims this will ‘boost’ youth employment. Indeed, the UK’s job market for the young is so buoyant that the only way is down. But fear not, for M&S will teach them the mystical arts of stocking shelves and standing behind tills with a rictus grin. Advanced manufacturing, indeed. I wondered if they’d be teaching the ancient craft of assembling flat-pack furniture without swearing, but no, that’s IKEA’s hell.
But let us not ignore the sheer farce of the announcement. The company was so thrilled about this it issued a press release longer than the queues at their checkouts. They even dragged out the usual suspects: a government minister or two, probably trying to look busy to avoid discussing the state of the NHS. The whole affair reeks of a PR stunt designed to distract from the fact that their profits have been propped up by their ability to sell a single Percy Pig at the price of a small car.
The trainees will be placed in various ‘centres of excellence’. This is the usual corporate jargon for ‘places where we force you to stay for nine hours a day while pretending we care about your future’. They promise development, career progression, and all the other buzzwords that have turned CVs into a bingo card of despair. I expect the training will include modules on how to handle customers who ask for ‘that beige jumper’ and the correct way to sigh when a pensioner fumbles for change.
Of course, the announcement is not just about jobs. It’s about ‘revitalising British manufacturing’. A phrase that has been used so often it now has more lives than a cat that has been through a Boris Johnson press conference. The UK’s manufacturing sector is a shadow of its former self, having outsourced everything except the ability to moan about the weather. M&S itself has been a bastion of offshoring for years, sourcing its goods from the same sweatshops as everyone else. But now, suddenly, they are the saviours of British industry? Please.
The subtext is clear: the government needs another leg to stand on before the next election, and M&S wants to seem relevant in an age of fast fashion and Amazon drones. This is a circus where the clowns are wearing suits and the lions have been replaced with AI chatbots. The real news is that 1,000 young people will be given a chance to work in a failing industry for a company that has long since abandoned its roots. Hooray for opportunity.
But wait, there’s more. M&S has also promised to invest millions in its supply chain. This is the part where the journalist is supposed to applaud, but I can’t help but think of the billions in tax avoidance and executive bonuses that have drained the life out of the high street. The company is essentially asking for a round of applause for doing what any sensible business should have been doing all along. It’s like a serial killer getting praise for not murdering for a day.
So here we have it: 1,000 trainees. A drop in the ocean of youth unemployment that has been steadily rising since the Blair years. But it is a photo opportunity, a chance for the CEO to pat his own back while the cameras flash. Meanwhile, the rest of us are left wondering if this is genuinely a step forward or just another day in the theatre of the absurd we call modern Britain.
I will be keeping an eye on this story. Not because I care about M&S or its trainees, but because the sheer hubris and detachment from reality is a fine source of column inches. And if nothing else, perhaps the trainees will learn to make a proper cup of tea, which is more than M&S’s current tea-making staff seem capable of.
