From Circus to Cult Status? Has Misfits Boxing Just Outsmarted the Entire Industry?

By Billie Sloane, IFL TV

It started as a joke. A gimmick. A sideshow. “Influencer boxing” was the unwanted child of social media and combat sports—one nobody in the industry asked for and most wished would disappear.

But here we are in 2025, and Misfits Boxing isn’t just surviving—it’s thriving. The very platform that once had boxing purists foaming at the mouth has packed out major arenas, racked up millions of pay-per-view buys, and built a die-hard fanbase willing to travel across continents to scream for their favourite YouTuber throwing overhand rights with all the precision of a bar brawl.

So let’s ask the uncomfortable question: Has Misfits filled a void the traditional fight game didn’t even know it had?

From Viral Chaos to Organised Mayhem

When KSI first stepped into the ring with Joe Weller in 2018, it was chaos. The technique was wild, the atmosphere electric, and the skill levels—let’s be honest—mediocre at best. But what that fight had was attention. Millions tuned in. Not boxing fans, not sports fans—digital fans. People who had never watched a fight in their lives suddenly knew what a jab was.

Fast forward a few years, and Misfits, helmed by KSI, his promoter Mams Taylor, and of course the Sauerland brothers Kalle and Nisse has become a fully-fledged promotion with broadcast deals, weight classes, titles, and even crossovers into MMA.

And here’s the thing—while the pros snubbed their noses, Misfits got on with building an empire. They didn’t need traditional media—they had TikTok. They didn’t need legacy—they had visibility. And the numbers don’t lie.

The Numbers Don’t Lie

Let’s talk figures.

• KSI vs. Logan Paul II (under DAZN) reportedly did over 1.3 million PPV buys.

• Prime cards featuring the likes of Salt Papi, Slim, and King Kenny have filled venues like the OVO Arena and Manchester’s AO Arena.

• Social metrics? We’re talking hundreds of millions of impressions, trending hashtags, and fight night highlights shared more than most world title bouts.

And all the while, traditional promoters struggled to get their top-tier fighters to commit to dates. Fans waited years for Spence vs. Crawford, while Misfits lined up monthly events with full cards, backstage access, and storylines.

So let’s be honest: Misfits didn’t disrupt boxing—they exposed its weaknesses.

The Blurred Line Between Entertainment and Athleticism

Here’s where it gets interesting.

Critics used to call influencer boxing dangerous because the fighters “weren’t real.” But since then, Misfits has brought in athletes with legitimate experience—from former MMA champions to licensed pro boxers. Fighters like Darren Till (ex-UFC), Anthony Taylor (ex-Bellator) and Alex Wassabi (with pro coaching setups) have taken part. Some Misfits events have featured fighters with more gym hours than half the journeymen padding undercards on traditional shows.

And let’s not ignore the training camps, the discipline, the weight cuts. These aren’t just content creators rolling in off the couch. They’re training full-time, bringing in pro coaches, and taking this just as seriously—if not more so—than some established fighters.

But does the improved skill level justify the platform? Or is this still a circus, just with slightly better clowns?

The Critics Aren’t Entirely Wrong…

There’s a reason the backlash existed in the first place.

Fighters spend decades mastering their craft, grinding in gyms, fighting in leisure centres for £500 purses and ticket sales. Then a TikTok star with a million followers jumps the queue, gets a prime slot on DAZN, and earns six figures for windmilling through three rounds. Does that sit right with you?

Can we really call it “boxing” when some of these fights have more production than punch stats?

Even Jake Paul, arguably the most high-profile influencer-turned-fighter, has faced the backlash. But say what you like—he’s fought Anderson Silva, Tyron Woodley, and Tommy Fury. He’s stepping in there with real risk. That’s more than can be said for some undefeated prospects racking up 20-0 records fighting Uber drivers.

Has Misfits Found the Sweet Spot?

The truth might lie somewhere in the middle.

Misfits is never going to replace professional boxing—but maybe it doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s not trying to. Maybe it’s created something new—a hybrid of sport and spectacle, where narratives matter as much as skill, and entrances matter as much as jabs.

And guess what? People are watching. Fighters are queuing up to get on the cards. Even established pros are now trying to straddle both worlds, balancing the respect of the traditional scene with the visibility—and bankability—of the influencer one.

And that leads us to the next big question:

What Comes Next?

Where does Misfits go from here? Does it mature into something more regulated, more refined? Or does it stay in its chaotic lane, giving fans what they didn’t know they wanted—storyline-driven punch-ups with Instagram reels built in?

Could we one day see Misfits titles recognised by commissions? Will fighters start with Misfits and move into the traditional pro ranks? Or will the pro ranks move into Misfits, realising this is where the money—and the future—might actually be?

Is the gap between influencer boxing and pro boxing shrinking? Or is it becoming its own weight class—social relevance?

So… Is It Time to Accept the Influencer Era?

Are we clinging to old definitions of what boxing “should be,” while Misfits just gets on with giving fans what they want?

Or is boxing at risk of losing its soul to an algorithm?

One thing’s for certain—Misfits has proved the doubters wrong. What was once dismissed as a gimmick now has structure, substance, and staying power.

And if you still think influencer boxing is a joke… the punchline might be on you.