“Unproblematic Faves”: On the Moral Policing of Celebrities
The urge to see your favorite celebrities as good people seems logical—but is it really? A little meditation on celebrity worship and the responsibilities of fame.
My tongue is sacred, I speak upon what I like
Protected, sexy, discerning with my time
Your energy is yours and mine is mine
What's mine is mine
The bridge of Ariana Grande’s 2024 single “yes, and?” serves two purposes: It establishes Grande’s worth as an artist, and then establishes that worth as independent from public judgment. With the line “my tongue is sacred, I speak upon what I like,” Grande simultaneously defends the value of her art and control over her public persona, stating that she is not obligated to explain her actions to others. As the bridge continues, she further enforces this separation between her and her critics with the line, “your energy is yours and mine is mine.” Not only is her life separate from that of her critics, but so is her entire life force — her “energy.” With these few lines, Grande lays out the context necessary to make the meaning of her song’s hook clear by the end of the bridge. “Yes,” what you say about me is true. “And,” why does that matter? We are separate people, so why does it matter to you if what I do in my private life is morally good?
COURTESY IMAGE // iHEARTRADIOCA VIA WIKIPEDIA COMMONS CC3.0
Grande released “yes, and” in response to some particularly vicious criticism she received after starting a relationship with Wicked co-star Ethan Slater. Slater and Grande were both getting divorced from their partners when they began dating, and this quick turnaround caused some confusion in the timeline for fans. Many labeled Grande as a “cheater” and a “homewrecker” under the mistaken impression that Slater was still married when Grande pursued him. In the wake of this controversy, several interested parties began to dig up other Grande scandals — including her blackfishing allegations and 2015’s “donutgate” — in order to paint her as a generally rude, self-absorbed person. These scandals, coupled with Grande’s unique response, invite us to consider a broader version of the question Grande asked in “yes, and?”: Why do we care if celebrities are good people?
When I consider this question, the first thing that comes to mind is the common fandom mantra: “we made the right person famous.” This simple statement comes with a few loaded implications. One: Fans — essentially, ordinary people — determine who can achieve unimaginable stardom. Two: There is a wrong person that can be “made” famous. And three: Fame is a good thing, even a reward. These three implications lead to the most obvious reason why people want celebrities to be good people: Because fame is a good thing, and we shouldn’t give good things to bad people. Therefore, bad people are undeserving of fame.
This conclusion assumes that fame is a good thing, which in itself is debatable. However, even if we accept this assumption, the statement still creates a causal relationship between moral character and fame, which is nonexistent. Fame has never been a reward for good behavior — it is a reward for talent, artistic ability, or even just an engaging persona, none of which are dependent on one’s moral character. Saying you “made the right person famous” is a statement of luck, not responsibility. What person has ever started listening to Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, or Ariana Grande, just because they’re good people? This paints an unrealistic picture of how people rise to fame; personality only begins to matter after they have reached stardom.
Maybe personality doesn’t factor into how someone becomes famous, but shouldn’t it play a part in whether they're allowed to stay famous? After all, with fame comes a platform, and with that level of influence comes responsibility. To pay no mind to who holds this responsibility is reckless. I agree that celebrities shouldn’t be allowed to use their platforms to take advantage of their fans, promote hate speech, or commit crimes. This goes beyond a celebrity simply being a bad person; when one is actively weaponizing their fame and their platform, it’s time for fans to exercise their power and revoke the platform.
But when Ariana Grande started dating Ethan Slater, she wasn’t using her platform for anything: She was making personal decisions in her personal life. Her actions are akin to when Taylor Swift was “being obnoxious” at the Grammys, or when Raquel Leviss “caused the breakup” of her Vanderpump Rules co-stars. The media may have widely publicized their behavior, but it doesn’t have to affect their fans. Arguably the most infamous example of a celebrity being picked apart for bad behavior is Britney Spears. Her mistreatment is now widely recognized as cruel and misogynistic, as is the absurd expectation of her to act as role model to her fans (which was used to justify a large portion of her mistreatment). We no longer widely expect celebrities to be role models, but how is our modern criticism against them any different than the criticism against Spears in the 2000s?
Consider Grande and Slater once again. If this scandal occurred in the Britney Spears era, the backlash against Grande likely would have been: “How could she do this? Doesn’t she know she has young fans to set an example for? She is promoting cheating and homewrecking!” But that’s not what people said; rather, it was just, “how could she do this?” We’ve thrown out the justification for expecting celebrities to behave themselves in their personal lives, but we haven’t yet thrown out the expectation. I suspect that’s because it is a more selfish, purist urge than what was felt in the 2000s. We know why we hold onto our expectations — we’re just afraid to say it out loud.
I’m sure there’s a portion of people that truly want to maintain the cosmic order of rewarding good behavior and punishing bad, and therefore want to revoke fame from bad people. However, I believe that is not the majority because, let’s be honest, we don’t criticize celebrities because we’re altruistic. We do it because it’s fun. It’s enjoyable to exercise power over powerful people and to see a fame-hungry tyrant brought down a peg. Plus, hating on a celebrity is “punching up,” so a celebrity scandal is a guilt-free pass to let out all of your negative energy upon a deserving party. Perhaps one of the most dramatic examples of celebrity hatred on social media is the 2019 backlash against James Charles. Although Charles would later face allegations of greater weight, Tati Westbrook’s “Bye Sister” video exposé didn’t accuse Charles of much more than supporting Tati’s competing hair vitamin brand, being rude at her birthday dinner, and hitting on a straight man. But this did not stop the mass unfollowing and online hatred against Charles. And why did we do it? It’s not because we cared about hair vitamins; it’s because it was an excuse to berate a celebrity, and hating on celebrities is guilt-free fun.
“In fact, superfan culture actually causes a large amount of moral policing, because parasocial relationships are not restricted to thinking a celebrity is your best friend — they also extend to thinking that a celebrity is your worst enemy.”
However, the fun that comes with venomous hatred brings up another problem that plagues celebrity moral policing: misogynistic and homophobic double-standards. Most of the examples I’ve mentioned thus far are of female celebrities, as women in the public eye are generally held to a higher moral standard and are attacked more viciously when they fall short of expectations. Similarly, in scandals involving both men and women, the women involved are far more likely to be blamed. Take Grande and Slater, Raquel Leviss and Tom Sandoval, or even Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton. The spotlight shines on the woman involved, and it’s rarely for good reason. Even less acknowledged is the double-standard between straight and queer celebrities. James Charles, for example, was automatically labeled as a sexual predator in 2019 — despite minimal evidence — because of homophobic tropes about gay men. Many people admit to finding joy in hating celebrities. What they don’t admit is that because of our heteropatriarchal culture, it’s more fun, more permissible, and more common to hate on queer and female celebrities.
Hatred for hatred’s sake makes up a large portion of celebrity criticism, but it doesn’t account for some of the most vocal moral police: fans-turned-haters. In the wake of a celebrity scandal, you’re guaranteed to see the statement “I used to like her, but not any more” all over social media. Part of this is herd mentality, but not all of it, especially in today's ever-increasing culture of unquestioningly-loyal superfans. In fact, superfan culture actually causes a large amount of moral policing, because parasocial relationships are not restricted to thinking a celebrity is your best friend — they also extend to thinking that a celebrity is your worst enemy.
I’ve established that people don’t initially support artists because of their moral character, but because of their art. The power of this art cannot be understated. Take music, for example. For most, listening to music is an emotional experience. A song can cultivate nostalgia, connect us to the people we love, or help us through hard times. It’s difficult to become this connected to a piece of art without also feeling connected to the artist. Sometimes, we feel more connected to this artist than we do with our friends or family members, as if they’re the only person that truly understands us. So, when we discover that this artist cheated on their partner, is rude to service workers, or double-crossed their friends, it's hard not to feel betrayed. It’s hard not to lash out at them, as we would if our friend did the same thing. In this way, moral policing is just an unfortunate byproduct of parasocial relationships.
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This explanation holds truth, but it also makes moral policing seem more innocent than it is. More often than not, this betrayal is mixed with a much more malignant emotion: entitlement. Entitlement is the ugly product of a parasocial relationship mixed with the “we made you famous” mindset and a dash of the schadenfreude from hating on celebrities. It’s the conclusion of “we made you famous, and we care about you more than anyone, so you have to listen to us.” When moral policing progresses to robbing a celebrity of agency over their own lives, it can have real harm, even if it is justified as “punching up.” In 2022, Heartstopper star Kit Connor was harassed online with accusations of queerbaiting, ultimately forcing him to publicly come out as bisexual. Billie Eilish was similarly accused of queerbaiting after the release of her “Lost Cause” music video, and although she did not respond to those accusations, she did come out as queer in 2023, almost two years after the video’s release. It’s true that most celebrities, while criticism may bruise their egos, will emerge largely unharmed. But not everyone has the fame, status, and privilege of Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift.
The final nail in the coffin of celebrity moral policing is the existence of PR. Every aspect of most celebrities’ public image is curated, and there is no way to verify their moral character without knowing them personally. It doesn’t matter how nice they seem in front of the camera: The camera is still there, and as long as it is, we will never have an authentic portrait of their personality. Not only does moral policing have the potential to be harmful, but it’s fruitless. It’s a waste of our time.
This doesn’t mean we have to stop criticizing celebrities entirely (although, the more we de-center celebrities from our lives in general, the better). Rather, we should use our power as fans for better reasons and against people that actually deserve it. Instead of getting mad at Taylor Swift for bringing Lana Del Rey onstage at the Grammys, let’s continue to pressure her to lower her carbon emissions. And if we’re going to criticize her for the purpose of using our power for good — not just because it's fun — let’s put pressure on the other top carbon-emitting celebrities as well: Travis Scott, Kim Kardashian, and Elon Musk, to name a few. Let’s continue trying to deplatform the celebrities who have actually committed crimes, like Chris Brown, who is currently on tour. The moral policing of celebrities may not always be well-intentioned, but it does showcase the huge amount of power harnessed by fans. If we are more purposeful about how and why we use this power, we can genuinely change celebrity culture for the better.