“10 Years After Maltesers: The Ad That Changed My Life… and What Didn’t Change After”

Little did I know that appearing in a chocolate advert ten years ago would change my life forever.

Can you believe the rather unforgettable Maltesers “Look on the Light Side” adverts turn ten this summer? For me, it still feels like yesterday. I can remember the nerves of the audition, the buzz on set, and quite literally hiding behind a friend’s armpit when it first aired on national television.

For those of you wondering what I’m on about, let’s rewind.

Back in 2016, I appeared in a set of adverts that were hailed as groundbreaking. And in many ways, they were. I’d been trying my hand at an acting career since 2012, but opportunities for Disabled performers were few and far between. Casting directors rarely asked for wheelchair users or Disabled talent at all. And when we were cast, it was rarely as the lead. More often than not, we were background characters: the woman in the office, the man in the shop, maybe a line or two if we were lucky.

Anything more prominent usually came wrapped in the same tired tropes—pity, tragedy, inspirational-overcoming narratives, or “unlucky in love.” And more often than not, those roles weren’t even played by Disabled actors—a practice many of us know all too well as “cripping up.”

So when these adverts came along, they felt different. We weren’t side characters—we were the story. Messy, funny, awkward, unapologetic. As an actor, it was a joy to play my flirty, confident character. As a Disabled woman, it felt refreshing. At the time, it genuinely felt like we were part of something revolutionary.

Like many actors, I was invited to an audition in central London. Normally, I’d have my pessimistic cap firmly on—I’ll never get this. But when my agent called, I surprised myself. I whispered, “You’ve got this.”

It was a mix of nerves and excitement. The producer had flown in from Los Angeles and, in the tiny audition room, had requested a sushi platter. That detail completely floored me—the kid from rural Lancashire, now auditioning in London for an LA producer with a tray of sushi in the corner. It felt surreal. Magical, even. And in that moment, I thought: this has to be mine. You didn’t move your whole life down here for nothing.

The adverts themselves came out of Channel 4’s “Superhumans Wanted” competition—a bold attempt to push brands into including Disabled people in mainstream advertising, backed by a one-million airtime prize. Maltesers, alongside Mars and agency AMV BBDO, won with a campaign that put Disability front and centre, aligning with their “Look on the Light Side of Life” platform.

The adverts launched during the Rio Paralympics opening ceremony and reached millions.

And almost overnight, my life changed.

For a good six months, I couldn’t leave the house without being stopped. People wanted selfies. Builders in white vans weren’t catcalling they were shouting lines from the advert. It was surreal. Before that, attention in public had often come with discomfort, even hostility. Suddenly, the tone had shifted.

Were people staring out of ableism, or because I was “the girl off the telly”? The lines blurred. But what I do know is this: something softened. My everyday interactions with the pre-disabled world became lighter, more open. As an activist and educator, that brought me real solace.

And behind the scenes, the process felt just as progressive.

Before casting, the agency brought together dozens of Deaf, Disabled and Neurodivergent people—including me—for paid roundtable sessions. We weren’t just there to be seen; we were there to shape the work. We were invited to challenge ideas, share our own awkward experiences, and influence the direction of the campaign.

Not many people know this, but it genuinely felt like Disabled people were in the driving seat.

Too often, we’re expected to give our lived experience for free—as if being invited into the room is payment enough. This was different. We were listened to.

On set, I was even encouraged to ad-lib. The original script was solid, but the timing didn’t quite land. I was told to lean into myself—to be cheeky, natural—and some of the most memorable lines that made the final cut came from that freedom.

So yes, I’ll take a small flex. Still rather smug about that detail.

The whole experience felt collaborative, energising—and, at the time, genuinely hopeful. It felt like the industry was waking up. Like diversity, equity and inclusion weren’t just buzzwords, but the beginning of something lasting.

As an actress, I truly believed this would lead to more consistent work. Instead, much of my visibility in the years that followed came from speaking out about the ableist abuse I received online.

“That midget freak has put me off eating chocolate,” one troll wrote.

“Real humans walk on two legs,” said another.

https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/samantha-renke/malteasers-advert-anti-bullying-month_b_12911978.html

The years that followed weren’t spent on set performing, they were spent highlighting the abuse Disabled people endure every single day. Not quite the trajectory I imagined when I got the call saying I’d got the part. If I’m honest, those years almost broke me as a performer. I truly believe the hate that came from the public—online at least—negatively impacted companies’ willingness to use Disabled talent. It fed into their pre-existing fear that people don’t want to see us.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened. When Cerrie Burnell joined CBeebies in 2009, a small but vocal group of parents complained to the BBC about her limb difference, claiming her appearance might “frighten” children or lead to difficult questions at home.

The abuse was so great that in 2018, Channel 4 launched a follow-up campaign addressing the online abuse faced by people in its diversity adverts—including ours. It was powerful. But for me, a real stance would have been doubling down—employing more Disabled talent and not letting the bullies win.

Ten years on, that’s where the discomfort creeps in.

Because what felt like a breakthrough hasn’t built into sustained change. If anything, it feels like we’ve slipped backwards—like the industry congratulated itself for including Disabled people once, and then quietly moved on.

Which leaves me sitting with a complicated truth: I can’t help but wonder if I was, in part, a token.

Now, I don’t say that lightly—and I don’t even think tokenism is entirely a bad thing. In an industry as closed off as this one, sometimes it’s the only way in. It opens doors. It certainly did for me.

That opportunity gave me visibility, experience, and a platform I might not have accessed otherwise. I don’t regret it for a second.

But tokenism isn’t sustainable, having Disabled people brought to the table me is.

Because when the door doesn’t stay open, you’re left questioning everything. Was I valued for my talent, or simply for what I represented? Was I good—or was I convenient?

That kind of doubt gets into your psyche.

As a Disabled woman, I now find myself feeling something I didn’t expect: depleted. There was a time when I would light up seeing someone who looked like me on screen. Now, I find myself searching for it.

We proved it could be done. Disabled talent, front and centre, without the world ending.

So why hasn’t it continued?

Where are the follow-ups? The investment? The Disabled creatives behind the camera—directors, writers, decision-makers?

Because I know I’m not alone in this. So many of my peers feel it too. That familiar message creeping back in: you are not important enough. Not worthy enough to invest in.

For many of us, tokenism wasn’t the problem—it was the beginning. The problem is that it never evolved into anything deeper.

Disabled people are the fastest-growing underserved group in the world. Any one of us can join that community at any time. And yet, we continue to be sidelined, minimised, and treated as an afterthought.

Still now people recognise me from the advert, a smile or a cheeky comment. They don’t remember me because of my disability rather how that advert made them laugh. This is why it’s so heartbreaking to see my community fall by the sideline more and more.