What Do You Get For Winning Im A Celebrity

So, you’ve just watched some poor soul eat a kangaroo anus on national telly, and they’re now crowned the “King” or “Queen” of the Jungle. Your first thought is probably something like: “Surely that deserves more than a chunky plastic crown and a can of beans, right?” Well, grab a cuppa, because the reality is weirder, funnier, and more British than you’d ever imagine.

The Crown: It’s Not Royal, But It’s Iconic

First up, the actual physical prize. It’s not a gold-plated sceptre or a mansion in the Cotswolds. It’s a cheap-looking, diamond-encrusted crown that looks like it escaped from a child’s dressing-up box. And yet, winners clutch it like it’s the Holy Grail, often crying into it while jungle insects crawl up their legs.

The crown is not even real gold—it’s usually a plated base with Swarovski crystals. But here’s the fun bit: ITV reportedly insures it for a small fortune, because losing it would be a PR nightmare. Imagine the headline: “Queen of the Jungle Misplaces Crown in Lidl Car Park.”

The Cash: Actually, You Get Nothing (Sort Of)

Here’s the biggest jaw-dropper: the winner does not get a cash prize. Yes, you read that right. No cheque for a million quid. No golden briefcase. You starve for three weeks, get bitten by spiders, and your reward is… a crown and a heaping dose of fame. Nothing but the glory. Well, that’s not entirely true, because fame equals cash—just later.

The deal is that contestants are paid a fixed fee to appear, regardless of who wins. The actual “prize” is a massive boost to your public profile, which means book deals, panto roles, and appearing on cooking shows for the next five years. A win is basically a free ticket to the “Z-list celebrity mortgage club.”

The Jungle Feast: Your First Real Meal

But wait! There is one tangible, immediate reward. When the winner is announced, they get a massive, glorious, all-singing-all-dancing feast. We’re talking roast dinners, champagne, chocolate pudding, and probably a whole pie. It’s the most emotional meal you’ll ever see on television, more dramatic than a wedding reception.

Some winners have literally wept into their gravy. One even asked for ketchup, which is the most British thing possible. So the immediate prize is basically: “Here’s some calories, you majestic trainwreck.”

The Weirdest Surprise: A Car?

Every now and then, the show throws in a random curveball. In some past series, the winner has driven away in a brand-new car. But here’s the twist: it’s usually not a flashy Ferrari. It’s a sensible family SUV, because the show is sponsored by a car company. So you might win a crown and a Nissan Qashqai. Exciting, but also… a bit like winning a toaster at a wedding.

Also, they don’t just hand you the keys. You have to do a fake drive-out on the show where you wave awkwardly. Most winners sell the car within a year for a deposit on a house.

The Real Prize: Fleeting Fame and Weird Jobs

Here’s the ugly truth: winning is great, but being runner-up is often more lucrative. Why? Because runners-up don’t have the pressure of a “crown.” They get better book deals and less media scrutiny. Winners, meanwhile, become the go-to for questionable reality TV spin-offs.

For example, a recent winner now hosts a show about extreme dog grooming. Another one opened a pub in Norwich called “The Kangaroo’s Revenge.” You get to be instantly recognizable for about six weeks, then you’re back to arguing about parking spaces with your neighbours.

The Hidden Tax: Your Soul (And Your Dignity)

Let’s not forget the psychic cost. You have to watch yourself cry over a withered prune on national television. Your mum will text you memes of that face you made when you ate the fish eye. And every single Christmas party for the rest of your life, someone will ask: “Did you actually drink that blend of blended insects?” The answer is always yes, and you’ll have to tell the story again while politely smiling.

Also, there’s a secret clause in the contract. Winners must participate in at least one weird, semi-embarrassing charity skydive within 18 months. It’s not written down, but it’s spoken. It’s the law of the jungle—in real life.

The Verdict: Worth It Or Not?

So, what do you really get for winning? A cheap crown, a full belly, a car you’ll sell, and a lifetime of being the jungle person. But honestly? If you survive eating a testicle on TV, you’ve earned the right to milk that story for every free pint you can get. That’s the real prize, mate.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to apply for next season. I hear the crown makes a decent bottle opener. Wish me luck—and pray for the rice pudding.