How To Apply For The Traitors Uk

So you’ve watched The Traitors and thought, “I could absolutely nail that.” You’ve seen contestants drink goblets of wine, whisper in dark corners, and accuse each other with the energy of a soap opera star. You’re convinced you could lie better than a politician at a barbecue. Good news: you can apply. Bad news: it’s harder than getting a reservation at a trendy London speakeasy—but way more fun.

First, the basics: you have to be a real person

The producers want normal humans, not actors. That’s right—you cannot have a headshot or a SAG card. They want your aunt who shouts at the telly, your mate who’s “just a bit too good at Monopoly,” and you—someone who might accidentally accuse the literal priest of murder. Age? They don’t care, as long as you’re over 18. In fact, the show loves mixing up pensioners, influencers, and that one guy who still owns a flip phone. Surprising fact: the oldest contestant so far was 72. She nearly won by just nodding a lot.

You also need to be available for up to four weeks of filming. That’s roughly the same amount of time it takes to grow a succulent from seed, or to fully recover from watching season two’s finale. So clear your calendar, cancel your dentist appointment, and prepare to “work” zero days a year. It’s a weird job, but someone’s got to do it.

How to actually apply (no, you don’t just send a £5 note)

Head to the BBC’s casting page for The Traitors UK. It lives somewhere among “Cake Decorating Auditions” and “Searching for the Next Great British Sewer.” You’ll fill out a form that asks for your name, age, and your “unique selling point.” Don’t just say “I’m good at keeping secrets.” Everyone says that. Say something like, “I once convinced my entire family I was allergic to garlic for four years.” That’s gold.

They’ll also ask for a video of yourself. This is the scary bit. You must record a 60-second clip where you don’t look like a hostage. Stand in front of a blank wall, hold a cup of tea (optional but powerful), and talk directly to the camera like you’re telling your best mate a secret. Don’t read a script. Producers can smell a script from a mile away, and they will roast you on Twitter. Instead, say why you’d be a brilliant Traitor or a hopeless Faithful. Exaggerate. “I’m so good at lying, I once convinced a taxi driver I was the Duke of Edinburgh.” Or, “I’m so gullible, I still think the moon landing was filmed in Stevenage.” They want personality, not perfection.

How To Apply For BBC's 'The Traitors' S2

The real secret sauce: dramatic flair

The producers don’t just want a liar—they want a character. Think of yourself as a contestant in a murder mystery dinner party, but the dinner lasts a month and the wine is pretend. They love people who will bolt upright at breakfast and scream, “It was obviously you, Sharon!” You don’t need six-pack abs or a master’s degree in psychology. You just need the courage to look into someone’s eyes and say, “I voted for you because you breathed too loud.” That’s the energy. Surprising fact: more than 70% of applicants are eliminated because they “look too nervous on tape.” So relax. Imagine you’re just complaining about work to a friend.

Also, they actively avoid people with political ambitions or criminal records. Unless your crime is “stealing the last biscuit from the office kitchen”—that’s fine, that’s character. But if you’ve been on Love Island or once ran for local council? Hard pass. The show prides itself on casting people who are “real” and slightly unexpected. Recent contestants included a barrister, a funeral director, and a 19-year-old who just wanted to skip university.

The Traitors season 3: How to apply for the BBC show

What happens if you get through?

You’ll get a mysterious phone call from a number that says “Unknown.” This is not a scam, though it feels like one. They’ll ask you to attend a gruelling two-day audition bootcamp, where you’ll play psychological games, answer weird questions (“If you were a food, what food would betray you?”), and eat stale sandwiches. Most people fail here because they cry or laugh at the wrong moment. Tip: cry anyway. Drama is currency.

If you survive that, you’ll be invited to a remote Scottish castle for filming. The actual castle is a fancy hotel. The “murders” are just people being sent to a separate lounge with a non-alcoholic cider. And the dramatic banishments? They’re filmed three times from different angles. But don’t tell anyone that—it ruins the magic. Oh, and the prize money? It’s £120,000, but you’ll probably split it with someone and then argue about it on Instagram for the rest of your life. Worth it.

So go on, record that video. Tell them you’re “devastatingly charming and suspiciously sweaty.” The worst they can say is no. The best? You get to wear a velvet cloak and whisper “I voted for you” while someone else cries. That’s the dream.