Cancelled or just controversial? Why being 'unusable' is no longer the full story
Everyone throws the word "cancelled" around, but what does it actually mean? Is it when your name trends for the wrong reasons? When your podcast gets pulled? When you lose your agent? Or is it when brands stop replying to your team altogether?
In crisis PR, I usually know someone is cancelled when I can’t get a single network, brand, or press contact to engage with them , even off the record. That’s when it becomes clear that it’s not about outrage anymore. It’s about utility. You’re no longer usable in the public eye. That’s what real cancellation looks like.
But even that line is starting to blur.
When cancellation actually happens
In its most literal form, cancellation happens when the industry stops seeing value in being associated with you. That usually comes after:
Serious allegations or convictions
Loss of management and representation
A collapse in brand partnerships
Mainstream media avoiding you altogether
It’s not always dramatic. Sometimes a celebrity just quietly disappears from every invite list and campaign pitch. Their name becomes a problem. And eventually, people stop even asking where they went.
In that sense, cancellation is often more about what happens behind the scenes than what trends on social media. A hashtag is not the same as a phone call from your lawyer or a terminated contract. I’ve seen public figures get absolutely destroyed online and lose nothing, and I’ve seen others get dropped over a single accusation that never even made headlines.
Another sign? When simply being seen with you causes problems for someone else. We've seen it happen repeatedly , a celebrity is photographed next to someone controversial, and the backlash lands on them too. Guilt by association is now a key feature of how online cancellation works. And that’s when it becomes clear that the issue isn’t just you. It’s anyone around you.
The rise of the cancelled-but-relevant
What’s shifted in the last few years is the way some people continue to thrive despite being cancelled in the traditional sense. They lose their access to mainstream platforms, but their audience stays , or even grows.
Candace Owens is a perfect example. On paper, she’s incredibly cancelled. You won’t see her interviewed on any major network in a favourable light. Her name rarely appears in glossy press unless it’s in a critical context. And brands tend to keep their distance. But in reality, she’s arguably more relevant than ever. Her audience is loyal, active, and monetised. And for a certain kind of platform, she’s a commercial engine.
Most recently, Owens became the target of a high-profile lawsuit filed by Emmanuel and Brigitte Macron for defamation across 22 counts in a 218-page complaint. Major outlets were forced to cover her again , not because they wanted to platform her, but because the story was too big to ignore.
That’s the contradiction. She is cancelled in terms of establishment access, yet she shapes headlines, drives narratives, and controls a profitable media ecosystem. She’s built a business that exists entirely outside traditional structures , and thrives because of it.
She’s not alone. In different corners of the internet, there are dozens of cancelled-but-thriving figures with podcasts, subscription sites, merch, and direct-to-fan ecosystems. Their names might scare a room of executives, but they have influence , just not the kind you can measure in Vogue features or primetime appearances.
When cancellation becomes commercial, not moral
Then there are people like Meghan Markle, where the situation is harder to define. She hasn’t been cancelled in the traditional sense , she hasn’t committed a crime, there are no formal allegations, and she hasn’t been removed from public life. But she’s been relentlessly bullied by the media to an extraordinary degree, far beyond what most public figures endure.
At the same time, she’s also made several questionable public relations decisions , ones that haven’t helped her public image and have created tension between how she wants to be seen and how she’s perceived. Spotify ended its deal early. Netflix has held off on renewing new content. Public interest has dropped. And that affects everything from investment to coverage.
For many people, their dislike of Meghan doesn’t come from anything she’s done in particular , they just don’t like her. Some British royalists, especially, have projected blame onto her for Harry stepping away from royal duties, as though he wasn’t a grown man capable of making that decision himself.
So while she hasn’t done anything ‘wrong’ in the classic sense, the outcome is similar: a reputational chill, reduced enthusiasm, and declining platform support. In PR terms, that’s its own kind of soft cancellation.
It’s a version of cancellation that isn’t about moral outrage. It’s about risk. Not just how controversial someone is, but how tired the public is of hearing about them.
What brands are starting to realise
That’s why the Sydney Sweeney situation with American Eagle matters. When the campaign faced backlash and ridiculous allegations, including claims it referenced Nazi propaganda , all based on nothing but the pun "great genes" , the brand didn’t apologise. They didn’t even edit the caption. They put out a statement publicly backing Sydney, and left the post live too.
It may not sound like much, but it’s a turning point. For the past five years, brands have reacted to backlash with instant apologies, pulled ads, and soft exits. This time, a major global brand didn’t flinch. And it worked.
I wouldn’t be surprised if American Eagle follow up with a second wave of that campaign , same copy, same creative tone, but using a more visibly diverse cast. That way, they don’t just defend Sydney. They defend the concept itself.
Because the truth is, brands are starting to realise that most online outrage doesn’t represent the public at large. American Eagle’s profits have reportedly soared since this campaign, despite the noise online. It shows just how wide the gap can be between digital backlash and actual consumer behaviour. The outrage might dominate social media timelines, but it isn’t always reflected in sales. And standing by someone doesn’t always mean reputational suicide. Sometimes, it just means you understand how short the internet’s memory really is.
So what does being cancelled actually mean now?
It depends who you ask.
To the public, being cancelled might just mean someone got criticised. To the press, it might mean someone lost access. To brands and broadcasters, it means someone is no longer safe enough to associate with.
But the internet has created a fourth category: the cancelled-but-relevant. People who are technically unbookable, but impossible to ignore. The kind who trend every week, move product, and shape discourse , but who rarely get invited back into the room.
And that’s what makes cancellation in 2025 so hard to define. Because it's no longer just about being shunned. It’s about being useful. And sometimes, even the most controversial figures can still be commercially invaluable. Just not in the places they used to be.
The noise online can be overwhelming. When you open your socials and all you see is hate, it feels like the whole world has turned on you. But most of the time, it’s not the whole world. It’s just a very loud corner of it , one that demands attention and insists its opinions be taken seriously. And that’s what makes navigating cancellation so complicated. Because perception can feel like reality , even when it isn’t.