Cancelled online, recognised nowhere: The reality of modern-day public backlash

I work in crisis PR, which means I spend a lot of time with people being cancelled. Some have genuinely messed up, others are misunderstood, and plenty fall into a grey area where the public only sees half the story. Some are dealing with things from their past, others are reacting badly to a current situation. I’ve worked with influencers, politicians, artists, actors and mainstream broadcasters. And in almost every case, one thing has been consistent.

The online storm never matches real life.

What a cancellation actually looks like

One of my clients lost over a million followers after a cancellation based entirely on fake screenshots. In the same week, he was being discussed on TikTok by thousands of people. Most of them weren’t joining in because they believed the story. They were doing it for content. For views. For money. Because on platforms like YouTube and TikTok, outrage brings in engagement, and engagement brings in cash.

People found new angles to keep the drama going. They dissected his initial rushed apology (before contacting me), made memes about his body language, and analysed past interviews for "evidence." In some cases, these weren't even fans or followers. Just people joining in because they found it entertaining, or profitable. If you're being cancelled, it's worth remembering you're likely at the centre of someone else's income stream.

What that looks like in real life

I've had clients so shaken up they were scared to leave their homes. One was staying in an Airbnb, terrified people would find out where he lived. He genuinely thought someone might hurt him. It took two weeks of convincing before he left the flat. When he did, we met for lunch at Soho House. He was shaking. But no one looked twice. No one recognised him. And after 45 minutes, he said, "I can’t believe no one cares." Because they didn’t. It was an intense drama online, but in person, it didn’t exist.

Another time, I had lunch with someone who’s been on British television nearly every day for decades. He was being accused of serious allegations which he heavily denied, so we met to discuss whether I’d be willing to work with him. We went to Claridge’s, one of the most well-known hotels in London. He was dropped off by taxi, walked through the lobby, and again - no one looked twice. Except for one elderly lady who stopped, smiled, and said, “I’ve watched you for 30 years, and I believe you.” That was it. No drama. No anger. Nothing. Despite being covered in every tabloid and morning show that month, the only reaction was quiet support. I remember seeing his story on the front page of the papers laid out in the hotel lobby.

That’s the difference. Mainstream media outlets (BBC, Sky News, CNN) will report on TV personalities being cancelled. They rarely bother with TikTokers or YouTubers (influencers) unless it’s already gone viral. So if you’re known from traditional media, there’s a higher chance people will recognise you. But even then, from what I’ve seen, the reality is still usually underwhelming.

TV faces vs online followings

One of my clients has over 30 million followers on TikTok and 8 million on Instagram. The decent portion of his audience is UK-based. At the height of his cancellation, we walked through central London. He was anxious, checking over his shoulder, assuming every glance was about him. And yet, in two hours, only two people recognised him. Both were kind.

That’s the thing about online fame, you can have millions of followers, but still be unknown in real life. Especially if your niche doesn’t cross over into mainstream culture. I've worked with gamers who have tens of millions of fans. They openly joke that they’re never recognised, unless they’re accidentally standing in the middle of a 14-year-old boy’s birthday party. Because that’s the core audience, and they’re rarely in places where that demographic exists.

Algorithms shape your reality

Extremes are designed to spread. That’s how platforms like TikTok and X (Twitter) work. Their algorithms push content that causes a reaction - anger, agreement, offence. Because reaction means engagement. And engagement means people stay on the app longer. Every time you pause on a video and watch a couple of seconds, like a post, comment on a post, you’re telling the system what you want to see more of. So it shows you more of it. Quickly, your entire feed is filled with the same opinion, making it feel like the whole internet agrees… When actually, it's just your algorithm feeding your own bias back to you.

It’s worth remembering that TikTok is owned by ByteDance, headquartered in Beijing, China. The content you see is selected and prioritised by a system built and controlled by a company thousands of miles away. And yet, people take what appears on their feed as truth, without question.

Why I try to not live in a bubble

When you work in crisis PR, you don’t get the luxury of only listening to people you agree with. Clients come from every background and political leaning. Some are staunchly left-wing. Others are proudly conservative. Some are completely apolitical but have been dragged into the culture war regardless.

If you're not willing to understand opinions that differ from your own, you'll struggle. You won’t grow, and you won’t be any use to your clients. But for me, it’s not just about work - I also read from a full range of news sources because I want my own thinking to be well-rounded. I enjoy reading perspectives I don’t always agree with. On any given day, I might read The New York Times, New York Post, The Telegraph, The Guardian, The Daily Mail, The Sun, The Times, BBC News, Sky News, CNN and Spectator, depending on what’s happening.

It doesn’t mean I believe them all. It just helps me get a fuller sense of what’s being said, how it’s being framed, and where people are getting their views from. That way, I don’t have to ask what’s influenced a client, I already know. It also keeps my own thinking more open, rather than falling into a narrow media bubble.

And professionally, it’s invaluable. I can receive a call at any moment from a potential client who’s being publicly slammed for their stance on a topic in the news. Having that prior context means I can join the conversation immediately, with understanding - not “I’ll need to read up on this.” It gives me the ability to fully understand their perspective while also being able to explain the other side, especially if the public or press are turning against them. It’s not about taking a side, it’s about seeing the full picture.

You can't expand your intelligence if everyone around you is just echoing your views back at you. Disagreement is uncomfortable, but it’s where growth happens.

Mainstream cancellations are rare - but serious

To be clear, mainstream TV personalities, especially those accused of serious crimes, can be shouted at in public. And rightly so, if they’re found guilty in a court of law. But the examples people often bring up of "real life backlash" are usually tied to high-profile cases with major criminal allegations. That’s a different category entirely.

For most other cancellations, especially those based on opinions or personality clashes, the drama stays online. I’ve had pub lunches with people labelled “controversial” for simply sharing strong opinions. People who receive death threats in their Instagram DMs, get thousands of Ofcom complaints from their appearances on TV, or trend weekly on X. And yet, in person, they’re approached by fans asking for selfies. One told me he’s never had a negative interaction in public. Everything lives online.

The Emotional Fallout of Online Harassment

Some of my clients have been suicidal. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve had people call me in floods of tears saying they don’t want to be here anymore. They can’t sleep. They feel hated. Some have had their home addresses shared online and now live in rented Airbnbs, convinced they’re being doxxed. Others haven’t left the house in weeks.

I’m not a therapist, and I never pretend to be one. But I’ve spoken with countless therapists for guidance on how to safely respond when someone tells me they want to end their life. I’ve read book after book on trauma, crisis psychology, and the ways panic manifests. I never want to say the wrong thing in those moments. So I try to be a steady, calm presence, someone they know won’t judge them or brush it off.

They often tell me I’m the only person they feel comfortable being honest with. Their family doesn’t get it. Their friends feel awkward. Even if it’s unintentional, they end up relying on me for their emotional safety. And I take that seriously. I check in regularly, keep them grounded, and try to remind them who they are when the online noise gets too loud.

And it’s not just cancelled clients. I work with people at the very start of their public careers… new actors cast in Netflix roles, musicians freshly signed to major labels. I media train them, advise on social strategy, and help shape their reputation. But I also see how quickly their confidence unravels after a single mean comment. One person questions their talent or appearance, and they spiral.

I always ask them gently: If one comment knocks you, how will you cope with thousands?

Everyone’s a public figure now

I get approached by people with huge followings almost weekly. And nine out of ten times, I’ve never heard of them. That’s not because they’re not successful, it’s because the internet has created hundreds of parallel ecosystems. You can be a major celebrity in one niche, and completely unknown in another. Food influencers, makeup vloggers, gaming streamers, history TikTokers, or people who are just famous for being famous… they all have audiences. But not necessarily cultural recognition.

Fame is splintered now. You might be a household name to a million people, but invisible to the other 67 million in your country. And a lot of those “millions” are usually TikTok followers. TikTok fame in particular rarely translates into real-world recognition. The platform’s audience tends to be less invested in the person, more in the content itself, and only for a very short burst of time. In contrast, YouTubers or Instagram personalities are more likely to get recognised in public, because their audiences tend to be more loyal and personally engaged. I’ve spent time with TikTokers who have millions of followers, and it’s incredibly rare that they get stopped or even noticed. But when I’ve been out with well-known YouTubers, they do tend to get looks, or asked for a quick photo.

What I find even more interesting is how little social media numbers actually mean in real life. I once walked through a major city with someone who had around 40 million followers across platforms, and not a single person paid them any attention. Yet on another day, I walked with someone who’s been on a UK news channel for decades, with barely 50,000 Instagram followers, and it felt like we were stopped on every corner. That kind of mainstream familiarity carries far more public recognition than big social numbers ever do.

The cost others often pay

One thing people rarely think about with fame is how much it can affect the people around you. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but it’s common enough that I always try to warn new clients early on.

Partners get insulted for how they look. Family members are mocked online. I’ve seen people’s siblings have their photos posted on Reddit threads just because they happen to be related to someone in the spotlight. One client even had some horrible person try to get their parent fired from their nursing job for no reason.

Sometimes, it’s old posts or photos that come back to haunt people. A client I worked with had an old Facebook photo from when they were 13, tagged sitting next to a classmate. That person (classmate) today posts racist and homophobic things on their own account, and it was used to imply guilt by association. They hadn’t spoken in over a decade.

This is why I often tell clients who are about to go public to archive or delete their old social media. Not because they’ve done anything wrong, but because people love to dig. I always say 2016 was a sabbatical year for political correctness. People were posting the most reckless things and forgetting it all lived online.

And sometimes it’s not the hate that’s damaging, but the weirdness, old classmates messaging out of nowhere, people pretending to know you, distant contacts suddenly acting proud.

I usually suggest changing phone numbers before a big launch, just to avoid those awkward messages. Fame doesn’t affect every relationship, but it definitely puts pressure on them. And most people don’t see that part coming.

When people say fame is isolating, this is what they mean

Fame doesn’t just lose you the people who don’t like you. It often loses you the ones who did.

One of the most heartbreaking patterns I’ve seen is when someone starts gaining success, and the people closest to them (the ones who shared their dream) are the first to disappear. If you’re an aspiring singer, dancer or actor, chances are you’ve surrounded yourself with others chasing the same thing. But when you’re the one to break through, the shift is instant. What used to be support becomes silence. Some friends quietly fade away. Others stop replying altogether. And the client is left wondering what they did wrong.

The answer, of course, is nothing. They just succeeded. And the others didn’t.

This same pattern plays out across all walks of life. It’s not just fame. It’s promotions, new jobs, higher salaries, new partners, buying a house, starting a family. Any time your life starts to look a little shinier than someone else’s, jealousy can kick in. And while it’s a painful reality, it’s often not about you. It’s about how you’ve made them feel about themselves.

But in fame, the scale is different. The judgment comes faster. The loyalty disappears quicker. And the hate is louder.

And it’s rarely about what someone’s actually done. It’s about the fact that they’ve “made it.” And someone else hasn’t.

One of my favourite self created sayings, which I truly believe should be framed and replace Live, Laugh, Love on every UK wall is this:

Happy people don’t slag off others

They just don’t. If you’re busy, fulfilled and content with your own life, you’re not sitting on Reddit threads or TikToks trying to ruin someone else’s. You’ve got better things to do.

The silence of the news cycle

I’m a regular media commentator, often appearing on BBC and Sky News to speak on public scandals. But for the past few months, it’s been eerily quiet. Not because public figures have stopped making mistakes, but because the news cycle is already full. When wars, elections, or economic chaos dominate headlines, there’s simply no space (or need) for outrage stories to fill the gaps.

That’s something people often overlook about cancel culture: its impact depends less on the severity of what’s happened, and more on the timing. An old interview taken out of context can suddenly become headline news if there’s nothing bigger going on. But if a story breaks during a period of national or international crisis, it barely lands.

You can see this playing out in real time with Russell Brand. Despite the serious legal developments surrounding him, most coverage has been confined to factual updates and court proceedings. There’s been very little in the way of opinion pieces, moral reckonings, or televised debate. Not because it isn’t newsworthy, but because the media is preoccupied elsewhere. If this same story had broken during a quieter news cycle, it would have dominated the front pages for weeks.

So if you're a public figure who’s just said or done something regrettable… this might quietly be the best possible time to mess up.

(I’m joking, of course. But not really.)

Final thoughts: Who deserves destruction?

What I often tell my clients is this: try to visualise the kind of person who’s attacking you online. Picture them properly. A grown adult, sat on the sofa, hiding behind a fake username, scrolling through their phone and choosing to write something cruel about someone they’ve never met. Maybe they’ve even created a whole new account just to do it. Would you really care what that person thought of you in real life?

But more importantly, let’s flip it. If you're someone who’s ever left a horrible comment about a public figure, ask yourself this: are you perfect? Have you ever made a mistake, said something clumsy, made a poor decision, or told a joke that someone could find offensive?

I find it quite mad that there are people out there genuinely trying to ruin lives as if they themselves have lived flawless ones. It’s delusional. You might consider yourself incredibly politically correct, but you’ve almost definitely done something to suit your own life that others would see as controversial or ethically questionable. Everyone has. That’s just being human.

This isn’t about defending people who’ve broken the law, if someone’s found guilty in court, then yes, consequences are necessary. But most of the so-called “cancellations” I deal with aren’t based on that. They’re based on public pile-ons, bad phrasing, exaggerated claims, or resurfaced clips taken out of context. The punishment is usually driven by performance. It’s not justice, it’s online theatre. It’s people playing to an audience.

And the thing that still amazes me is how rarely it shows up in real life. Most of the hate only exists online. In reality, around 80 percent of people aren't even commenting, and the majority of those who do are part of a very small, very loud minority. They’re not representative of real public opinion, they’re just the ones shouting loudest behind a screen and hiding in real life.

I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, like anyone. That’s part of life. You live, you learn, you get better. But cancel culture doesn’t allow for growth or nuance. It doesn’t believe in second chances. And if some people online had their way, no one would be allowed to move on from anything, ever.

Which is why I remind my clients again and again: your world may feel like it’s ending, but out there, beyond the internet, most people don’t even know it happened.