My roommate Katie was once an almost abnormally big fan of Chris Pratt. While I never fully understood the hype there, what can I say… she thought he was great in Guardians of the Galaxy.
So last October, when it was suddenly alleged that he was (among other things) “racist, homophobic, and a secret Trump supporter” — after being noticeably absent from an Avengers’ cast get-out-the-vote livestream for Biden — I knew I had to get her take on the whole situation:
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“He’s cancelled.”
She didn’t even know if the accusations against him were true (we still don’t). Yet, that was her gut response. And after opening Twitter for my end-of-the-day scroll to see #ChrisPrattIsOverParty trending, it appeared that an overwhelming number of others agreed.
Just like that, it’s almost as if every day the public decides it’s time to turn their backs against a new actor, athlete, influencer, or politician. And the “cancellable offenses” that prompt this sort of mutual reaction range across quite a spectrum. Sometimes, what a celebrity has said or done is so objectively terrible and harmful that media consumers, simply as humans, want to withdraw support and hold them accountable for their blatant misconduct. While other times, it’s just an unsubstantiated rumor about a celebrity (right...Chris?) or one trivial mistake that social media users and tabloids latch onto and blow out of proportion — in an attempt to be part of the demise of a high-profile figure they hate.
So, while cancel culture itself is nothing new (with ideas of similar public shaming existing for centuries), exchanges like the one above have led me to think about it even more lately. Why does it seem like instances of cancel culture have been really ramping up, in both frequency and intensity?
Do the multitude of social crises that we have been facing — systemic racism, rising numbers of sexual violence, political misinformation, and now, a pandemic (to name just a few) — have anything to do with it? Are we now more empowered to call out those sort of discriminatory or problematic people (especially people in power) when we see them? And perhaps most importantly: Is this participation in cancel culture actually productive in any way?
Through (8?) case studies which each analyze a different popular “cancellation” that has played out within late 2019 until now, this project will work to unpack those questions further. But, before beginning to read, it’s beneficial to, first, have a little context on cancel culture in order to ground yourself in its role within our lexicon and greater society.
Where did the phrase ‘cancel culture’ come from?
In a 2020 episode of The New York Times’ The Daily podcast, style reporter Jonah Engel Bromwich shared that the phrase “cancel culture” originated in approximately 2014 as a joke used within Black Twitter. “People would use it in this very flip way to express, you know, I’m done with this [thing].” However, Bromich added that over the years, it’s modern meaning has evolved, oddly-enough thanks in part to Kanye West. Around 2017, Kanye basically revolutionized the phrase to make it pertain more to the widespread reputational shunning of people (specifically public figures) when he claimed, “I’m gonna be canceled. They’re gonna cancel me because I didn’t cancel Trump.” It’s said that ever since that usage, “cancel culture” has become more colloquialized, its specific meaning finding a home within our collective consciousness.
What does it mean to be ‘cancelled?’
Best explained by digital media professor at the University of Michigan, Lisa Nakamura, think of getting “cancelled” as “a cultural boycott.” It’s a way to signal to others that you are revoking your support for someone — emotionally, socially, or monetarily — because of something that they have done which you disagree with. That can mean stopping listening to their music or buying their films, unfollowing them on social media, or simply refusing to speak of them or amplify their platform and voice further. And, as I see it, because there is a sort of agency inherent in being a celebrity, once one is deemed “cancelled,” their status and power naturally decrease as they lose out on that critical backing and attention.
Why does this all matter?
As a communications major fascinated by speech, social platforms, and pop culture, this topic obviously resonates with me. But, just as in the way my roommate Katie and thousands of others were, too, invested in the “cancellation” of Chris Pratt, it’s clear that conversations about cancel culture reach wider than just media junkies like me — holding sweeping implications for society.
In analyzing if there is a specific type of speech or action leading to “cancellations” most frequently, we can begin to see what topics or forms of prejudice and discrimination are, to a majority, becoming completely intolerable and unacceptable. Similarly, in analyzing if there are certain groups of people getting cancelled more quickly, forcefully, or unjustifiably than others, we can pinpoint certain shared social biases at play. And, finally, it is only through a real-world exploration of the consequences of cancel culture that we can finally start to assess whether it is truly more of a force for good or bad? Should it be viewed as important advocacy or unfair blacklisting? Or, maybe… somewhere in between?
With clearer answers there, I believe we’ll be better equipped to use our online voices for positive change — in giving platforms to only those who “deserve” it, reducing meaningless bandwagon bullying, and acting as smart, informed consumers of media.
