Horsin’ Around
Forget what you think you know about hobby horsing – photographer Jack Kenyon dives hoof-first into a world where wooden steeds meet high-flying leaps and boundless imagination. We discover how Britain’s young riders are building a fierce, creative community that’s galloping straight into the spotlight.
By Glorious
Photography by Jack Kenyon
Hobby Horsing…
Yes, you’ve probably seen the memes as you scroll your feed. Wide-eyed teens galloping down suburban back gardens, wooden horse heads held proudly, leaping fences as if competing at Badminton. It might have looked utterly surreal at first glance, yet, somehow, deeply delightful too. You may even have seen hobby horsing make an appearance at Karen Walker x Adidas’s latest launch during New Zealand Fashion Week. Models strutted down the runway while a troupe of young riders bounced and sprang over jumps so high they seemed to defy gravity. The crowd cheered. Fashion editors nodded approvingly. Suddenly, hobby horsing was having its glossy moment.
ECCENTRIC
Perhaps it’s awakened the inner horse girl in all of us. Those long afternoons spent pretending the garden fence was a Grand Prix course and a broomstick a noble steed, dreaming of one day owning a real pony. That combination of childhood earnestness and ridiculous commitment is exactly what makes hobby horsing feel both delightfully daft and quietly fierce. Maybe it’s simply that old dream made tangible, no stable required, a mix of imagination, movement and pure energy.
Which brings us neatly onto the question: what is hobby horsing really? Is it a sport? Or is it just kids horsing around? (See what we did there..?!) To find out, photographer Jack Kenyon headed to the UK Hobby Horse Championships, camera in hand, ready to document the scene and discover what drives Britain’s newest riders.
Earlier this year, Jack stumbled across a story about hobby horsing in Finland, which is widely considered the mecca of the sport. He was instantly hooked. “I started looking for UK events and the Championship organisers were happy to have me along,” he says. “Hobby horsing is the perfect blend of total commitment to something endearingly eccentric.”
The UK Championships were held at an equestrian centre near Leighton Buzzard, just outside of Luton. It’s the sort of location that sets the tone beautifully: picturesque paddocks dotted with real ponies trotting about, and inside, a sandschool buzzing with excitement. “There were about forty competitors,” Jack says. “Mostly girls with a few boys sprinkled in, aged around seven to thirteen, with parents dutifully in tow.” The mix of fantasy and sport was irresistible. Outside, real horses. Inside, hand-crafted hobby horses charging down makeshift courses with total conviction.
If you’ve never witnessed hobby horsing in action, imagine traditional equestrian disciplines – dressage, show jumping, cross country – reinvented with just a toy horse head and pure determination. Competitors don’t ride, they run, jump and perform choreographed routines that blend athletics, dance and make-believe. The sport took off in Finland in the early 2000s and has since grown into a global movement with thousands taking part. There’s genuine athleticism involved: flexibility, rhythm, explosive jumps and poise under pressure. The wooden horse is merely the vessel through which the imagination gallops.
When the Championships kicked off, Jack found himself fascinated by the skill and focus in the arena. “In the competition ring everyone was dialled in,” he says. “But between heats there was a nice playful energy, with lots of swapping hobby horses and carefully grooming their hair.” The day was equal parts sport and spectacle. “Some of the jumps were absurdly high,” Jack laughs. “I think these children could be future Olympic hurdlers!”
Every hobby horse even had its own personality. “They have a full bio! Name, birthday, favourite snack,” Jack recalls fondly. “And lots of the kids also own real ponies, so they’re full-blown horse obsessed.” This blend of imagination and identity-building is part of the appeal. The horses are extensions of their riders, avatars of sorts. There’s as much pride and creativity in the crafting as in the competition itself. Many are made from scratch or customised with intricate details, with plaited manes, braided bridles and expressive eyes. To watch a child present their horse is to witness a little world built with care and conviction.
MINDSET
Jack’s photography captures that energy perfectly. His images brim with colour, motion and humour, but crucially, with respect. “I like making pictures of people who care deeply about something that might seem a bit unusual from the outside,” he says. “Hobby horsing has that through and through.” His lens finds connection rather than absurdity, transforming what might be seen as niche or whimsical into something beautifully human. The photos show airborne jumps, laughter mid-landing, concentration on small faces, and horses mid-flight, manes flared dramatically. It’s movement meets imagination, and that combination feels genuinely exciting.
Behind the silliness that outsiders sometimes project onto hobby horsing lies something powerful. Girls between the ages of seven and thirteen are among the most likely to drop out of sport. Pressure, self-consciousness and competition can drain the fun from movement. Hobby horsing bucks that trend. It thrives on play, creativity and freedom rather than rigid rules or a win-at-all-costs mentality. It’s movement reinvented, sport through imagination, exercise powered by storytelling. When you think about it that way, hobby horsing might just have cracked a code that the wider sports world has struggled with for decades.
Finland’s hobby horsing community even sees it as a feminist statement. It’s largely led by girls and young women who’ve created their own sporting subculture outside traditional systems, using playgrounds, fields and social media to build a space where they belong. There are national leagues, choreography sessions and an evolving etiquette. Their commitment is total, yet distinctly their own. No one is shouting instructions. No one is judging their body shape or speed. They run for themselves, not approval.
That same spirit was alive and well near Luton. Parents lined the fences, clapping politely, some holding spare hobby horses as if waiting for their turn. The competitors dashed over hurdles, flipped ponytails and cheered one another on. There were awards for different categories – best jump, best dressage routine, most creative horse – and an undeniable sense of shared excitement throughout. “In the ring it was serious,” Jack says. “Out of it, playful chaos.” The camaraderie was infectious.
The UK Hobby Horse Association runs events, publishes rules and curates an online community for riders who cannot make live shows, and the championship is a focal point for that small but growing scene. It has quietly developed a loyal online following, with clips and photos garnering thousands of views. The official channels now attract riders from across the country, eager to take part in local meets. There are further events popping up in Yorkshire and the South West. What started as a Finnish curiosity has galloped firmly into British culture, complete with medals, costumes and cheering crowds.
Jack plans to keep exploring more unusual corners of England. Hobby horsing, for him, is emblematic of something bigger, something about British eccentricity, conviction and creativity. As his photos show, there’s nothing frivolous about this sport. It’s imaginative, yes, but also athletic. It’s serious, but never dour. It’s communal, grounded in celebration rather than competition. The girls and boys who take part do so with energy that’s infectious. Watching them, you can’t help but feel a hint of that inner horse girl stirring once more.
By the end of the day at Leighton Buzzard, a few loose feathers from a jump’s decoration fluttered across the floor. Parents wrangled hobby horses into the boots of their cars, kids squeezed in one last canter down the aisle and half a dozen ponies poked their fabric noses out of rucksacks ready for the journey home. In that moment, it didn’t matter that the horses were stitched and stuffed. The movement was real. The wonder was real. And somewhere, the spirit of a sport – or perhaps a collective daydream – was alive and galloping freely.
Find out more about hobby horsing here: UK Hobby Horse Championships
Follow Jack Kenyon and check out more of his work here.
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