Claudia Winkleman’s Gothic Boots and Killer Twists Rock The Traitors Castle

Max Sterling, 12/29/2025Claudia Winkleman returns to “The Traitors” set in a gothic Scottish castle, leading 22 contestants through a high-stakes game of trust and betrayal. With her iconic fashion and a promise of fresh twists, this season is set to deliver unexpected drama and intrigue.

There’s something almost medicinal about the timing. January, that grey hangover of a month, can sometimes feel unkind even by Scottish standards. The nation, dusted with frost and groaning under credit card statements, gets its annual jolt—a kind of ritual televised catharsis. For the past three years, “The Traitors” has arrived right about when people start Googling “how soon is too soon for hot cross buns.” This fourth series, set to tiptoe across screens in 2025, brings with it the promise of cold comfort for the soul—or perhaps, comfort by firelight, so long as that fire burns with treachery.

If “The Traitors” remains unknown territory, imagine a cross between parlour game subterfuge and a Hitchcockian fashion parade. Faithfuls eye one another over borrowed loafers and even more borrowed trust, while Traitors lurk among them, gleefully sabotaging hopes, diets, and group morale. The mechanics of the contest hum with sinister precision, and Claudia, reigning queen of mischief, presides like an operatic villainess who moonlights as a Vogue columnist.

Let’s not tiptoe round the boots, because the boots most certainly do not tiptoe. They stomp, they clomp, they thunder their way round the roundtable, black Saint Laurent leather announcing doom like a herald at the gates. It doesn’t get more high stakes than a host whose footwear is priced almost as sharply as her wit. “It gets a bit flamenco,” Claudia jokes, relishing the drama. No glass slippers. Just several kilos of bespoke doom ringing off stone, punctuating the tension as surely as Monica Bellucci punctuates a red carpet.

Claudia’s wardrobe is now embedded in the show’s DNA. What was once merely a presenter’s arsenal—hair, makeup, shoes, key light—has become part of the ceremony. There was talk of channeling Cruella, whispers of Princess Anne, flirtations with Oliver Twist. Apparently, the goal is to “patch” things up with a Dickensian flair, though tea stains remain (much to her chagrin) strictly off-limits. Fashion, in this context, isn’t just set dressing—it’s sound design, acting as a percussive counterpoint to the team’s nervous laughter.

Dig beneath the couture, though, and things sharpen again. Even with its glitzy trappings, “The Traitors” thrives on the oldest of human games: trust and betrayal, and the agony of both. The producers—Mike Cotton and Sarah Fay, no strangers to the chessboard of human drama—promise this year’s run is tougher, tighter, and more brutally inventive. The show’s very core remains unchanged; a nod to classic murder mysteries. But like a rolling fog, new twists seep in from the margins. The current favorite among fan theorists? A figure in a scarlet cloak. Maybe a new Traitor, maybe the spirit of Agatha Christie, maybe someone who just got lost on the way to a Renaissance fair.

Throughout, the Highland castle isn’t just a stage; it’s a sentient character. The setting intensifies everything, from the breathless breakfast (sliced cheese staring back, judgmental) to the echo of boots in the gallery. It’s not the kind of environment that invites trust. Instead, the ancient stone, with its centuries of silent witness, feels like it’s rooting for betrayal.

It’s in these long mornings and tenser still evenings that the show’s secret ingredient is quietly revealed. Contestants, unvarnished and sleep-deprived, lurch from camaraderie to suspicion and back again, half-hoping to outwit each other, half-hoping not to be undone by self-doubt. The roundtable, reminiscent of some gothic jury deliberation, becomes a battleground where Shakespearean monologues wouldn’t be out of place. If last year’s Celebrity edition was a high-spirited comedy of manners, this year’s cast seems more willing to bare teeth—for money, for pride, for the pure adrenaline buzz of getting away with something wicked.

Of course, not everything is cloak and dagger. Every so often, the castle relaxes its guard. At breakfast, Claudia watches, bemused, almost as if conducting a low-key anthropological study for Radio 4. One suspects David Attenborough himself might stumble over the layers of subterfuge woven into even the act of buttering a crumpet.

Back at home, Claudia’s family tends to find out who wins the same time as everyone else. In a rare show of domestic chaos, her son and husband erupted into disbelief over Alan Carr’s victory in the previous series—not that the host gave anything away. Odd, isn’t it, how a show built around lies and deception can somehow make for genuinely honest excitement?

Now, as 2025's winter trudges onward (and half the UK quietly rehearses their “new year, new me” speeches), “The Traitors” is poised to tug audiences back into its spell—part pageant, part panto, all pressure cooker. Secrets linger in the rafters, boots scrape menacingly, and somewhere, behind a velvet curtain or two, a new twist waits to break the internet. If Claudia gets her way, there’ll be exclamations, accusations, and at least one plot-line that leaves viewers so startled they nearly drop their toast.

The show is ready to test the limits of trust once again. Betrayal never goes out of style. And as the credits roll, somewhere out in the Highlands, the castle keeps its secrets for another season.

Picture the Scottish Highlands: rolling vistas under a leaden sky, the air so damp even the midges seem to shiver. Perched in the mist—half fortress, half fever dream—a castle surveys its domain, heavy with the kind of secrets that Scottish ballads are written about. Twenty-two strangers, at once hesitant and eager, cross the drawbridge of this gothic fairytale, each hoping to outwit the others for a crisp £120,000. Shadows lengthen. Enter Claudia Winkleman: her boots crash over ancient flagstones, her eyes glinting with conspiratorial knowledge, fringe formidable enough to cow both Faithfuls and Traitors alike. At this point, the lochs might as well tremble.There’s something almost medicinal about the timing. January, that grey hangover of a month, can sometimes feel unkind even by Scottish standards. The nation, dusted with frost and groaning under credit card statements, gets its annual jolt—a kind of ritual televised catharsis. For the past three years, “The Traitors” has arrived right about when people start Googling “how soon is too soon for hot cross buns.” This fourth series, set to tiptoe across screens in 2025, brings with it the promise of cold comfort for the soul—or perhaps, comfort by firelight, so long as that fire burns with treachery.If “The Traitors” remains unknown territory, imagine a cross between parlour game subterfuge and a Hitchcockian fashion parade. Faithfuls eye one another over borrowed loafers and even more borrowed trust, while Traitors lurk among them, gleefully sabotaging hopes, diets, and group morale. The mechanics of the contest hum with sinister precision, and Claudia, reigning queen of mischief, presides like an operatic villainess who moonlights as a Vogue columnist.Let’s not tiptoe round the boots, because the boots most certainly do not tiptoe. They stomp, they clomp, they thunder their way round the roundtable, black Saint Laurent leather announcing doom like a herald at the gates. It doesn’t get more high stakes than a host whose footwear is priced almost as sharply as her wit. “It gets a bit flamenco,” Claudia jokes, relishing the drama. No glass slippers. Just several kilos of bespoke doom ringing off stone, punctuating the tension as surely as Monica Bellucci punctuates a red carpet.Claudia’s wardrobe is now embedded in the show’s DNA. What was once merely a presenter’s arsenal—hair, makeup, shoes, key light—has become part of the ceremony. There was talk of channeling Cruella, whispers of Princess Anne, flirtations with Oliver Twist. Apparently, the goal is to “patch” things up with a Dickensian flair, though tea stains remain (much to her chagrin) strictly off-limits. Fashion, in this context, isn’t just set dressing—it’s sound design, acting as a percussive counterpoint to the team’s nervous laughter.Dig beneath the couture, though, and things sharpen again. Even with its glitzy trappings, “The Traitors” thrives on the oldest of human games: trust and betrayal, and the agony of both. The producers—Mike Cotton and Sarah Fay, no strangers to the chessboard of human drama—promise this year’s run is tougher, tighter, and more brutally inventive. The show’s very core remains unchanged; a nod to classic murder mysteries. But like a rolling fog, new twists seep in from the margins. The current favorite among fan theorists? A figure in a scarlet cloak. Maybe a new Traitor, maybe the spirit of Agatha Christie, maybe someone who just got lost on the way to a Renaissance fair.Throughout, the Highland castle isn’t just a stage; it’s a sentient character. The setting intensifies everything, from the breathless breakfast (sliced cheese staring back, judgmental) to the echo of boots in the gallery. It’s not the kind of environment that invites trust. Instead, the ancient stone, with its centuries of silent witness, feels like it’s rooting for betrayal.It’s in these long mornings and tenser still evenings that the show’s secret ingredient is quietly revealed. Contestants, unvarnished and sleep-deprived, lurch from camaraderie to suspicion and back again, half-hoping to outwit each other, half-hoping not to be undone by self-doubt. The roundtable, reminiscent of some gothic jury deliberation, becomes a battleground where Shakespearean monologues wouldn’t be out of place. If last year’s Celebrity edition was a high-spirited comedy of manners, this year’s cast seems more willing to bare teeth—for money, for pride, for the pure adrenaline buzz of getting away with something wicked.Of course, not everything is cloak and dagger. Every so often, the castle relaxes its guard. At breakfast, Claudia watches, bemused, almost as if conducting a low-key anthropological study for Radio 4. One suspects David Attenborough himself might stumble over the layers of subterfuge woven into even the act of buttering a crumpet.Back at home, Claudia’s family tends to find out who wins the same time as everyone else. In a rare show of domestic chaos, her son and husband erupted into disbelief over Alan Carr’s victory in the previous series—not that the host gave anything away. Odd, isn’t it, how a show built around lies and deception can somehow make for genuinely honest excitement?Now, as 2025's winter trudges onward (and half the UK quietly rehearses their “new year, new me” speeches), “The Traitors” is poised to tug audiences back into its spell—part pageant, part panto, all pressure cooker. Secrets linger in the rafters, boots scrape menacingly, and somewhere, behind a velvet curtain or two, a new twist waits to break the internet. If Claudia gets her way, there’ll be exclamations, accusations, and at least one plot-line that leaves viewers so startled they nearly drop their toast.The show is ready to test the limits of trust once again. Betrayal never goes out of style. And as the credits roll, somewhere out in the Highlands, the castle keeps its secrets for another season.