In the green room before the taping, Thomas and Charlie were debating who would make the other look worse on camera and who would land a Netflix deal first. I was the one worried about what would happen if they froze, but I kept that to myself.
A makeup artist worked through the other guests and eventually reached the boys. They tried to wave her off until she explained the studio lights would turn them into two shiny tomatoes. They sat there as toner and blush went on. I stood next to them, taking photos, which I sent to their girlfriends immediately.
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The audience had been waiting for someone to make them laugh
The first 10 minutes of the show were serious and earnest. Other guests shared heavy responses about sibling relationships. Then the host turned to Charlie. He answered the way he answers everything, with a joke, and the whole room laughed. Thomas was also entertaining, and the audience lapped up their stories. I sat there trying not to look like a grinning idiot in case the camera panned over. I failed.
It was hard to square the two confident young men onstage with the brothers who’d argued every day about whose turn it was to take the bins out.
What I’d written about their rivalry wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the full picture
I’ve written multiple articles about Thomas and Charlie’s competitiveness: the injuries, the academic tension, and the constant measuring of one against the other. I thought I understood it. Sitting in the audience, I realized I’d been writing the rivalry like a problem they were stuck with. But they were describing it like a game they’d both signed up for.
Thomas told the host he’s never felt in Charlie’s shadow. Charlie is, in his words, “basically another version of me,” so anything Charlie achieves is proof Thomas can do it too. The rivalry I’d been framing as friction for years, they described as something they genuinely enjoy.
The dinner table arguments that frustrate my wife and me? They laughed about them. Said there’s nothing in it, that it’s just how they talk. There’s no malice and no grudges.
The host asked Thomas how he felt when Charlie tore his ACL and missed most of the football season. Thomas said the injury was bad for Charlie, but he’d enjoyed finally having the spotlight. For the first time, coaches and spectators could tell which twin was on the field. “So no sympathy then?” the host asked. The audience laughed. Charlie shook his head.
They both work in the fruit and vegetable section at the same supermarket. To decide who gets the worst jobs, they play rock-paper-scissors. Thomas said it’s easy to win because Charlie always picks rock and refuses to change his strategy. I’d never heard any of this.
The host asked if they’d live together, and I was surprised by the answer
The host’s final question was whether they’d live together after they leave home. Thomas said probably. Then he added he’d also be fine if they didn’t, because Charlie is the messiest person he’s ever met. His bathtub is overflowing with dirty clothes.
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When the episode aired a few months later, they watched it on their phones at the pub with mates. They weren’t going to sit on the couch and make a big deal of it with us. I’d been in the studio, I knew exactly what they’d said, and I still got nervous watching it back.
I’d spent years writing the bickering as a problem. It isn’t one. So when they do move in together, I’ll just come over for dinner, leave my dirty dishes on the table, and let them fight over whose turn it is.
