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Chappell Roan inspired a wave of discourse this week when she chastised her own fans for approaching her in public, bullying her online, and attempting to contact her family — in short, feeling "entitled" to her time, energy, and personal life.
"I don't care that abuse and harassment, stalking, whatever, is a normal thing to do to people who are famous," Roan said in her second of two TikTok videos. "I don't care that this crazy type of behavior comes along with the job, the career, field, I've chosen. That doesn't make it OK. That doesn't make it normal. Doesn't mean I want it."
On a basic human level, her unease is understandable. After years of modest success in niche circles, Roan, who's known for her viral "Hot to Go" dance, drag-inspired stage persona, and Kate Bush-esque vocals, has endured a breakneck rise to superstardom that would be a jarring experience for anyone.
But Roan's comments also speak to a larger trend among celebrities, especially female musicians, who seem to be getting louder about feeling unsafe or uncomfortable in the spotlight.
Of course, the toxic symptoms of fame and fan culture, particularly in the social media era, have been widely discussed and written about — but what's new is the raw, unvarnished way that celebrities have been reacting to it in real time.
Just three years ago, after recovering from a near-fatal overdose, Demi Lovato gently scolded a subset of fans, known as "Lovatics," who sent her close friend thousands of death threats because they mistakenly believed the friend was a "bad influence."
"My fans are amazing. They're very passionate," Lovato said in a documentary about the experience. "But they're a little out of line sometimes. Because they want what's best for me, but don't always have all the information."
"A little out of line" is rather mild given the flood of verbal abuse Lovato's friend received — but still, as The Independent's Rachel Brodsky noted at the time, this kind of acknowledgment of toxic fan behavior from a pop star was "frustratingly rare." It was like they'd all agreed to coddle their self-described devotees, even when they acted more like villains and antagonists.
It's not hard to understand how this became the norm. It's often argued that, in pursuit of fame and wealth, artists must sacrifice their right to privacy when they become public figures. In exchange for their support, many fans expect unrestricted access to their favorite stars.
These demands tend to fall along gendered lines, too. Non-male celebrities are expected to perform gratitude, to remain picture-perfect, like dolls with prescribed dialogue. Lyricists like Roan and Taylor Swift often have the added pressure of authenticity. After pouring details of their personal lives into songs, many fans argue that a celebrity's personal life is fair game, even when they're not singing about their experiences.
But if Roan's recent comments are any indication, she's refusing to tolerate toxic fan culture — and she isn't the only one.
Just a few weeks before Roan shared her frustrations on TikTok, Halsey wrote an impassionated Tumblr post about the response to her new single, "Lucky." The song, which pays homage to Britney Spears' 2000 hit of the same name, was partially inspired by Halsey's recent health scare and the pain of putting on a happy face in public.
"My own fans are hands down meaner to me than any other people on the planet," Halsey wrote. "Not speaking for all of you, of course. But it used to be just a minority that were awful to me and now it seems like a majority have only stuck around to chime in occasionally with their opinion of how much they hate me or how awful I am."
True, Halsey has never been one to hide their feelings beneath a polished veneer — but such sharp teeth, plainly bared at the hand that feeds, would be notable from any pop star.
Doja Cat also made headlines last year for waging an open war against her fans, telling them in no uncertain terms that she does not love them. "I don't even know y'all," she tweeted.
After Doja lost nearly 1 million Instagram followers, she refused to engage in damage control. In fact, she doubled down.
"Seeing all these people unfollow makes me feel like I've defeated a large beast that's been holding me down for so long," she wrote, risking fame and wealth for privacy and freedom in a delicious subversion of the standard agreement.
Even Swift seems to be growing weary. Early in her career, she made a point to be seen as sweet and appreciative for her following, insisting that she'd never complain about living in a fishbowl, even if it made her life more complicated.
Some have tried to weaponize Swift's youthful idealism to shame up-and-comers who disagree. "That's why she's at the top of the game 17 years later," one Swiftie tweeted on Monday. "This is a message to you, Chappell."
But Swift was a teenager in that video. Now, at 34, it's safe to say Swift's relationship with fame has changed. In fact, this strained dynamic is a key theme in her work. Songs like "I Know Places" and "The Archer" cast Swift as a hunted animal, hiding from traps and prying eyes. "Mirrorball" and "Dear Reader" lament her role as a performer and a professional illusionist.
Most notably, on her latest album "The Tortured Poets Department," Swift repeatedly complains of being caged; she compares entitled fans to "saboteurs," "vipers dressed in empath's clothing" and quite literally "judgmental creeps," finally condemning the people who worship her to the point of dehumanization.
Since rising to fame as a tween, Swift has dealt with everything from mean comments and casual misogyny to sexual assault, stalking, and attempted terrorism. That's what she means in "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" when she snaps, "You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me."
Younger stars like Roan, 26, and Billie Eilish, who's already released two songs inspired by her own stalkers at 22, are unfortunately finding they can relate. But they're also finding they don't want to grin and bear it for 17 years — to wait until their parasocial fandom reaches Swiftian levels to set explicit boundaries.
In many ways, social media has created a harsher world for public figures. Cruelty and criticism have never been more visible or easy to internalize, and a sense of decorum has been lost — but the road goes both ways. Just as we can tell a pop star what we think of her at any time, she can hit right back with her own opinion.
"It's weird how people think that you know a person just because you see them online and you listen to the art they make," Roan said to conclude her pair of videos. "I'm allowed to say no to creepy behavior."
