He’s not just any celebrity offspring; he’s a second-generation wildlife warrior. He grew up bottle-feeding joeys and getting dragged on late-night TV couches casually balancing a funnel-web on his arm. His whole brand, up until very recently, has been “wholesome animal boy”. 

His dad may have won over the world by wrestling crocs, but Robert is making America (and the internet) absolutely wild for a boy with jazz hands. And I bet Steve Irwin is looking down from heaven, khakis on, whispering, “Crikey mate, that’s showmanship.”

Listen: Tina Burke and Ksenija Lukich discuss how two famous sisters somehow escaped the child-star curse on The Spill podcast.

We are now on a very slippery slope where Dancing With the Stars is suddenly appointment television again. The thirst is real, the memes are strong and if Robert doesn’t at least make it into the semi-finals, me and a few thousand other deeply unwell people will storm the network’s headquarters (fake tanned to the hilt and wearing sequins, of course) to demand justice for this jive.

Until then? I’ll be on my couch, watching the TikTok edits and analysing his every eyebrow wiggle. Screaming into the void about how Australian TV failed us, and America once again took one of our own and made him truly sparkle.

So yes, congratulations to Belly and Cameron/Conrad/whoever. But the only television that matters to me right now? Robert Irwin, on Dancing With The Stars Season 34. Because all I have to say is “crikey”. And also, call me. And also, if Robert Irwin in sequins doesn’t usher in world peace, then honestly, nothing will.

Feature image: ABC.

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