CAROLINE BULLOCK reveals why you should feel SORRY for nepo babies: Inside the sad life of celeb kids like Sunday Rose who are destined to become dead-eyed copycats of their famous parents

When Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban’s daughter Sunday Rose, 16, made her runway debut for MiuMiu, it didn’t get the breathless reception the brand expected.

The teen’s ‘stomping’ went viral on TikTok, with commentators criticizing her style, saying she looked like a ‘prickly child’, and calling on brands to give opportunities to emerging models, rather than young people whose only qualification is having famous parents. .

Her mother Nicole would encourage Sunday to “pave her own way” and not look at criticism on social media, but I fear this may be the wrong advice.

Why would anyone want their child to be known as a nepo child; those much-maligned, accomplished offspring of celebrities, usually dead-eyed and posing at the opening of an envelope near you?

Granted, their lives may seem gilded; unlimited opportunities presented to them on a plate, along with their already silver spoon. Still, the road from co-ed boarding school to acting in their parents’ films can be fraught.

With their panned vanity projects, they tend to get discovered, gobbled up and spit out on the fame by proxy gravy train, where all you have to do is be a pale imitation of the real thing – and who really wants that?

Take the Gallagher brood. Oasis fans were still stuck in the queue for next summer’s much-hyped reunion gigs, when Liam’s sons Lennon and Gene and Noel’s daughter Anais came out to milk the moment at London Fashion Week.

Complete with obligatory pout, Gene Gallagher (Oasis’ 2025 tour program) turned up at the Burberry show looking like a low-budget Liam tribute act; proof that despite all its open doors, the nepo world is a closed case: soulless, boring and often quite sad.

Isn’t all that entitled swagger and wearing their nepo credentials like a badge of honor the joke on them?

Where lies the real reward in trying to channel your Mancunian working-class father’s rebellious action when you’re a former private school student living in North London?

Of course, Gallagher junior is not alone. There are many more who base their currency on channeling the heyday of their parents.

Take Cindy Crawford’s model daughter Kaia Gerber, who has a penchant for recreating her mother’s iconic ’90s outfits on the red carpet.

At the premiere of her new film Shell (Me Neither) in Toronto last month, the model and actress wore a version of the Hervé Leger body-con maxi dress that Crawford wore to the 1993 Oscars.

Not big or particularly smart; it just serves as a familiar but less stellar time warp, with the only real reminder being that the nepo generation 2.0 is so much shorter than the originals.

Elizabeth Hurley’s model son Damian is also inspired by mum and trades on that association – with his luscious locks and love of lip gloss.

The actor, who appeared in The Royal’s starring Liz Hurley and directed Strictly Confidential also starring Liz Hurley, couldn’t resist recreating my mother’s famous Versace safety pin dress in a matching version.

Of course, it’s not really their fault. The thirst for ’90s nostalgia has given these otherwise unremarkable offspring of those who came of age in the era of British pop, supermodels, spice girl mania and cool Britannia a free pass to the popular culture that loves a good legacy.

While British broadcasters like the Dimblebys and acting greats like the Redgraves can attest to multi-generational talent, this is somewhat of a departure from today’s nepo-verse unencumbered by meritocracy.

No one seems to care how good or bad you are, how unprepared or unqualified, there is always a TV channel and publisher willing to sign this up by proxy, stardust, exalt what is often little more than a hobby or indulgence with a book and TV agreement.

That’s why it’s quite common for the usual suspects to have built so many careers at such a young age.

Anais Gallagher’s cracking CV confirms the usual clique; author, model, photographer and even fashion editor for Tatler magazine, all at the age of 24.

Multi-talented polymaths or a reflection of easy opportunity and a low threshold for boredom?

It’s all in stark contrast to the more single-minded focus that propelled their parents’ original success.

From a young David Beckham practicing his free-kick for hours to Gordon Ramsey’s hard work and long hours in Marco Pierre White’s kitchen – it took hard work and commitment to reap the rewards.

Is it any surprise that the next generation, often pushed in the same direction but with a safety net of trust funds and no real risk or consequences, is somewhat less motivated.

In this world, there’s little sign of honing your craft, rising through the ranks or god forbid taking on an internship – unless it’s with celebrity-friendly photographer Rankin and you happen to be Brooklyn Beckham in the photography phase circa 2019, at the is about to release a book with his snaps.

The 25-year-old has since become a model, chef and brand ambassador, promoting his new savory sauce range in upmarket supermarket chain Wholefoods with mum, dad and siblings all in tow.

Part of the blame lies with the parents who are seemingly determined to extend their brand and own ubiquity to the next generation, no matter how weak the foundations, leaving their loved ones quite exposed in the process.

Check out this week’s social media roast of Sunday-Rose Urban Kidman’s somber, blunt runway debut at Paris Fashion Week.

The precise job description of Gordon Ramsay’s daughter Tilly remained a moot point when she took part in Strictly Come Dancing.

And do we really need Jamie Oliver’s mini-me son Buddy making cheese toasties on his new BBC show? How about, for once, let someone without all the parental privileges take a look, instead of this tired obsession with keeping it within the family.

The world of the nepo boy is a shiny, fast, free entry into the world of celebrity and its riches, but the downside is obvious.

To never feel that real satisfaction that comes from a little self-made hard grave and to rest your raison d’être on the (often fading) relevance of your famous family isn’t much to write home about.