The Failed Public Apology: Why Can’t Celebrities and Influencers Get It Right?
or is everyone just doomed for life?
When I launched my Substack a month ago, it came at a moment when problematic celebs and influencers were suddenly a supremely hot topic. Things had been relatively slow on the gossip front, but as of late, it seems to be one thing after another. It’s been interesting for me to write about because not only do I enjoy showcasing problematic public figures and holding them accountable, but each case in general has brought awareness to bigger issues.
Examining why Blake Lively is the worst got the public into a discussion about domestic violence. Katy Perry and the song that ended her career got us into a discussion about sexual assault. Brooke Schofield and her Tweets led to the conversation of racism as a youth and whether or not people can actually grow.
The Latest Internet Scandal
This week’s discourse du jour is the failed public apology. Almost always a response to a racist Tweet, it’s gotten to the point where it’s another day, another poorly received mea culpa. Is it that people can’t get it right, they don’t deserve to be forgiven, or a little bit of both?
Last week, we witnessed Alix Earle’s first major scandal unfold since blowing up on TikTok at the end of 2022. Before I get into it, I want to say I don’t have a problem with her personally (never met her) or as a content creator (I follow her but not like a superfan or anything). From what we’d seen up to this point, she’s handled her 7 million TikTok followers expertly. She doesn’t say controversial or click-bait-y things. She doesn’t publicly bash other content creators. She doesn’t really talk about sex or anything that would be considered crude or meant to stay private. Yet, she still connects with her audience in engaging FaceTime-like videos and 20-something nights out with her longtime close friends and wholesome-presenting boyfriend. And she’s skinny, seems like a genuinely good sister/daughter/girlfriend/friend, has an expensive wardrobe, a super fun life and opens up about cystic acne. So, like, I get the appeal.
I’m not here to bash Alix—just here to state facts. Alix’s controversial moment closely followed Brooke Schofield’s (another prominent white TikToker, who I’ve mentioned here before). Alix casually used the ‘N’ word on an app several times when she was an early teen 10 years ago. Said posts were uncovered by internet sleuths. The issue didn’t entirely come down to whether or not she should be forgiven, but how she chose to apologize. For one, people collectively agreed she waited too long (she finally launched a written Story post and then posted a talking video). Secondly, she did Get Ready With Me (GRWM) videos wearing her same apology outfit immediately following. Additionally, she didn’t address why using the ‘N’ word was damaging.
I’ve already shared my thoughts on cancel culture, but to hammer the point home, I think there are times when it’s totally deserved (ie. Chrissy Teigen’s onslaught of problematic Tweets as a full-grown adult, Kanye West’s anti-semitic rants, Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher supporting a convicted rapist, Shane Dawson and James Charles simply for existing).
Do I think Alix and Brooke deserve to be canceled? Their apology isn’t mine to accept, so I’m not going to speak on whether or not they should be forgiven—but I do think they’re examples of women who should be given the opportunity to grow if they actually decide to put in the work. People can change, especially since college or high school. While I was never a bigot, I was absolutely cringe with many, many regrets. I definitely think they should have both known better (Brooke’s case was far more problematic), but I do know opinions and realizations can change over time.
Is There a Right Way to Publicly Apologize for Problematic Behavior?
The issue I have with their situations is, like, in 2024, with all the public apologies we’ve witnessed for various things (some worse than others), how have these public figures not nailed it by now? Based on how many I’ve watched and how many content creators I’ve seen pick them apart, I’d think mastering the ol’ internet apology would be common sense at this point.
It’s about directly addressing the community/person you disparaged, why your behavior was problematic, the steps you’ll take to learn and hopefully grow, and what donation you’ll make to show you care about how you’ve hurt said community. They could also feature videos with content creators from the community they’ve hurt to share their perspective and help educate.
I’ve noticed people (in general) have a tough time using the words “Black community” or being direct about who they’re apologizing to (“I’m sorry to anyone I’ve hurt” is not it). They also commonly make excuses for their actions or excuses for not posting sooner: “This is not who I am today.” They also tear-up, making it more about them than the person or group they’re supposedly apologizing to. They also often post their apologies on Stories so they disappear after 24 hours.
In a New York Times opinion piece written a year ago, writer Elizabeth Spiers references the failed then-recent apologies of Drew Barrymore, and Ashton/Mila. She pointed out, “For all their supposed regret, not one of these people spoke up until the outcry—from a few million people on the internet, various television pundits and the people who were harmed or offended—had become deafening.”
As if Ashton’s claim that his Danny Masterson defense letter was only “intended for the judge to read” helped his case at all.
There’s an insightful mutual TikTok follower of mine named Sara McCord who expressed her approval of people dropping the speaking apology altogether and putting their thoughts into a concise written statement. What prompted her to make this comment was a reaction to Alix’s first apology, which disappeared after 24 hours in a TikTok Story. Sara is against the Story decision, but stands by the written apology.
“The exact minute the public figure has been called to account, they’re not actually prepared to give a cogent video that centers the communities who they may have hurt—in a meaningful way,” she says in a seven-minute response to Alix’s written statement. “They’re not prepared. They haven’t actually gone out and done the learning and done the work, and thought about what they’re gonna do differently in their content, in their business.”
When they do these textbook “influencer apologies,” Sara says, “There’s almost a standard cadence that we’ve come to expect to being disappointed … They try to lean into the parasocial relationship, they talk about how much they love their audience, they talk about the fact they know their audience knows what a good person they are. They blame something that has happened in their life. They try and make themself this really empathetic figure and promise to do better.”
Sara goes on to say that she isn’t disappointed in Alix’s written decision, but instead, it should have said something along the lines of, “I’m sorry, I was wrong, I need to take a break from social media while I address what I can do to make this right.”
Sara goes on to say that if someone genuinely means it, takes the break and does the work, it’s an acceptable step in the right direction.
This takes me right into my final thought: How long after the apology should a person go back to posting their normal content? In the case of Alix and Brooke, who waited a day or two, it was back to business as usual, and all seems fine (for them). So to Sara’s point, the whole “taking a break to think about what I did” did not apply here.
I don’t have a right or wrong answer to the best plan of attack or what an exact timeline should look like. What I do know, however, is that when you’re a public figure on the internet, you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Even if Alix followed the correct public apology playbook, there would still be people tearing it apart. Ultimately, you should just not make mistakes in the first place. But is that possible? And should you avoid the spotlight if your past can be tracked? The nuance is never ending, which is why I wrote this in the first place.
What are your thoughts?