Getting cancelled is hard, but friends can make it worse

If there's one consistent challenge in crisis PR that people don’t talk about enough, it’s this: when someone gets cancelled, one of the biggest risks isn’t necessarily the media or even the online backlash. It’s their own friends.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve spent days, sometimes weeks, building a strategic plan, cross-checking media angles, reviewing algorithm patterns, mapping timing, tone, and audience insight, only to have it completely derailed by a well-meaning friend who’s convinced they know better.

The advice bubble

When a client is in crisis, the people around them (friends, siblings, parents, partners) suddenly become experts. I call it the "advice bubble." Because even if someone has never worked in PR, media, or reputation management, it doesn’t stop them from confidently weighing in on how to fix the situation. Most of the time, their advice is based on personal opinion and whatever their algorithm has been feeding them online - not strategy, not evidence, and certainly not an understanding of how the public actually thinks. But personal opinion is irrelevant here. The goal isn’t to do what you would forgive, it’s to do what the audience needs to see to move on.

I’ve had clients call me asking for my opinion because their friend has suggested, “Just lie, I’ll back you, no one will ever know.”

That alone reveals how little people really understand about the internet. Everything is timestamped. Receipts get archived. Old interviews resurface within minutes. You can’t bluff your way through a scandal anymore. Especially not when influencers online are literally incentivised to expose you.

Worse still, I’ve seen friends actively try to involve themselves in the fallout. They’ll suggest doing joint videos or press pieces. I’ve sat in rooms where someone is clearly trying to make the moment about themselves, dropping lines like, “Maybe if I speak out too, it’ll show another side.” But they’re not helping, they’re trying to ride the wave. And when I politely shut it down, I can feel the resentment shift toward me instantly. That happens more than I care to admit.

Unfortunately, when you're in the public eye, not every friend is just a friend. Some are fame-adjacent by design. They like being photographed next to someone recognisable. They want the table at Soho House, not the pizza place around the corner. They want to be seen at press events, have their photo taken by Getty, and feel personally slighted when they’re not included. Many have, at some point, quietly tried to be famous themselves. And when scandal hits, it becomes their moment - even if it means worsening the situation.

I remember once, back before COVID, when Soho House was still fairly difficult to get into. Membership numbers were lower, it still felt exclusive, and wasn’t quite as diluted as it is now. These days, McDonald’s feels more elusive. That day, the Greek Street Soho House was closed for some reason, but I knew a nice little café around the corner. Still, the friend insisted we go to Dean Street Soho House instead, which was only a few steps away. I found it genuinely embarrassing how desperate he was to get inside. This wasn’t a casual hangout, we were supposed to be there supporting someone going through a horrible moment. But for him, the priority was clear. He wanted to be seen.

I could see him pretending to scroll on his phone, all while sneakily taking photos of the moment. Sure enough, later that day, there it was, a story post announcing he was “at Soho House.”

Sometimes, that jealousy is subtle. Other times, it’s loud. Either way, it’s rarely helpful. I can usually spot it within minutes. There’s a certain thrill some people get from being near someone in the spotlight. But they’re not there to support. They’re there to orbit.

The friend in the Zoom call

This is a familiar scenario. I’ll join a Zoom with a client to discuss crisis strategy and next thing, a friend appears on the call too. I’ve been brought to in-person meetings and met with a friend of theirs who ends up speaking more than the client themselves. They interrupt, contradict, and offer “alternatives” to everything I suggest.

It’s not that I think I’m untouchable. But when someone who has never worked in the public eye starts telling me how the media works, I have to draw a line. It would be like me, after watching a few science documentaries, telling a quantum physicist how to structure a CERN research paper or defend a thesis on particle collisions. Curiosity is valuable, but it’s not the same as qualification.

They've never sat in a crisis press briefing, never seen a statement go through multiple rounds of legal and label approval before a musician can even look at it, don’t know how embargoed political statements are worded to serve six stakeholders simultaneously, have never managed NDAs and exclusives between streaming platforms, or drafted an apology that has to sound heartfelt but avoid liability. But they still tell me, confidently, that their friend should "just post a story statement and be honest."

And if I had a penny for every time I heard, “But I’ve been on this journey with them from the start,” I’d have at least £1.23.

One time, a client of mine insisted that his friend join every meeting. That friend, who worked in a completely unrelated field, began shouting at me in a strategy session, saying my approach was stupid and wouldn’t work. I remained professional, knowing this probably wasn’t going to end well for my client. I told the client privately that if they followed the friend’s advice, the career would be over.

A few days later of being ghosted by both my client and his friend, I saw a public statement go out, it was exactly what the friend had pushed for, which I said would be a disaster when they originally showed me it. It backfired so badly that my clients reputation was beyond repair.

Friends often mean well, but they’re not PR experts

And don’t get me wrong. Friends are one of the most important parts of surviving a cancellation. It’s an isolating experience. It’s humiliating. It makes people question their self-worth, their relationships, their career, everything. And often, the person being cancelled is scared. Really scared. They might not say it, but I see it all the time.

That’s where friends matter most.

So if you’re close to someone going through it, here’s what does help:

• Be emotionally available. Listen to them. Let them vent, cry, or be silent.

• Get them out of the house, even just for dinner in a quiet spot.

• Offer your home if they’re being doxxed or hounded.

• Help them limit their screen time and social media exposure.

• Let them process the chaos without judgement.

What doesn’t help? Telling them what to say publicly if you’ve never worked in PR. Pushing them to post something for closure when it’s not strategic. Getting angry when they don’t follow your advice. It’s not personal, it’s tactical.

And if they haven’t hired someone yet? The most helpful thing you can do is encourage them to speak to someone who has handled public scrutiny before. Not just a lawyer, not just a manager. A specialist in reputation recovery who understands media mechanics, audience behaviour, and damage limitation. Someone who knows when to go quiet, when to respond, and how to do it without setting fire to everything.

If budget is a concern, I don’t charge a fee just to speak. Unlike many firms, I won’t bill you for an initial call where nothing’s being fixed yet. But I will listen, ask the right questions, and give early thoughts. And if my instinct is that staying silent is the best route, I’ll say that clearly, without trying to sell a plan. It’s worth speaking to someone like me before you rely on advice from people who don’t work in this type of PR.

Crisis management is a different world

You wouldn’t jump in to direct a film set because you’ve seen a few movies. You wouldn’t take over a hospital because you’ve watched House. But in PR, everyone thinks they’re an expert because they’ve seen people post online. And I get it, it looks simple from the outside. But behind that simplicity is years of navigating media storms, dealing with threats to sponsorship deals, wording things that won’t be pulled apart by tabloids, and preparing clients emotionally for what comes next.

One of the hardest parts of this job is protecting clients not just from the public, but from the people around them who think they’re helping. People who love them deeply, but don’t understand the battlefield they’ve walked into.

You can’t build a credible strategy on group chat opinions and a shared Google Doc. You need distance. You need skill. And you need someone who isn’t emotionally attached to what’s happened, but who knows how to fix it.

That’s what I do. Even when it's uncomfortable. Even when their friend in the Zoom is glaring at me from the corner of the screen.