There has been a long-standing debate on whether we can separate the art from the artist, and my credentials to form an opinion are as follows: I’ve been chronically online since a young age, and while that’s not something I’m proud to admit, it is something that has shaped a lot of my interests. I love writing about entertainment and pop culture for Her Campus. I love participating in internet discourse and debating random topics with my friends. In the past, I was heavily involved with fandom culture (if you aren’t familiar, participating in a fandom is very different from being a casual fan of something), which might have actually been a disservice to my take on separating the art from the artist.
I am no stranger to using my hyperfixations as a method of escapism, but this reached a peak during quarantine when I fell into the traps of Twitter. I remember exactly where I was when my fandom imploded because one of the people we ‘stanned’ was exposed for doing something problematic. Cancel culture was extremely pervasive in 2020. My favorite artists in middle school were Twenty One Pilots and Panic! At The Disco, and both groups were ‘cancelled’ on Twitter for past (and present) offenses. I vowed never to listen to their music again, so I wasn’t putting any money in their pockets.
In essence, I am used to being obsessed with an artist, finding out they did something I don’t agree with, and then never being able to find the same appreciation for their work again. Most of the time, this wasn’t something I had to reason with because I had either grown out of the fandom naturally or felt so deeply betrayed that I wanted nothing to do with it anyway. However, this feeling of being deceived because I had misjudged someone I thought I knew was rooted in parasociality, which is also the foundation of fandom culture and ultimately why I stopped participating.
I thought I had moved past my fandom days, but I could never escape the feeling that came with discovering my favorite artists’ wrongdoings. Some of these were online statements that were in poor taste or repeated patterns of behavior that I couldn’t condone, but they all made me look at the artist differently. I felt so passionate about these issues (if you’ve read my articles on Taylor Swift or Harry Styles, you can definitely tell), but it’s only because these were artists I used to admire. Maybe I am that friend who’s too woke.
I realized I should reevaluate my stance when I noticed I was side-eying people who listened to problematic figures like Chris Brown or Kanye, as if that meant they condoned their actions. I can make the choice not to listen to someone I don’t align with, but judging others comes across as virtue signaling. I don’t feel a sense of moral superiority for my harsh rejection of artists, but rather, a strong sense of discomfort when I am reminded of what they have said or done.
What changed my attitude the most was the realization that no artist could meet the high standards I had set for them. This isn’t a case of infantilization, but rather an acceptance that artists’ actions, as everything does, go back to capitalism. If I decide that I can’t separate the art from the artist, then I can’t cherry-pick which artists that applies to (and, unfortunately, evidence is showing that the majority of my favorite artists have done something that I consider corrupt; the question is whether or not it’s come to light).
I don’t think this perspective is one of cynicism, but realism. There’s no ethical consumption under capitalism, and that applies to art as well. Mass production has robbed the culture industry of true innovation; everything is a byproduct of something that came before, and the inspiration is typically what’s been profitable. In this respect, how could I blame Taylor Swift or Harry Styles for doing their jobs and trying to make money?
Perhaps the biggest case, for me, as of late, was Chappell Roan, which, might I add, came after I had solidified my stance on this debate. I have been a supporter for years (read my articles from 2023 and 2024 here), and defended her rejection of fame because I respected that her behavior stemmed from a love of the game, or so I thought. I admired that, in a world of artists making unethical decisions to get to the top, here was someone who genuinely just wanted to make music and be left alone. But, this past week, some hard truths came out about my “favorite artist’s favorite artist.”
On her rise to fame, Roan claimed that she grew up in a trailer park, which was consistent with her ‘small-town Midwest Princess and moved to a big city’ branding. She talked about going to summer camp as a kid, not being able to afford health insurance as an adult, and even said, “I’ve been poor […] Not having money doesn’t scare me,” all of which make her seem relatable and authentic. However, it seems that, all along, ‘summer camp’ was the expensive Grammy and Interlochen Arts camps, and her grandpa Chappell, whom she named herself after, was a millionaire who owned an insurance company and a country club.
Now, this obviously isn’t to say that she’s never struggled in her life, and that none of what she said is accurate, but she’s certainly omitted details to benefit her branding, which comes across as especially disingenuous given her propensity for demanding privacy. Not being personally successful wouldn’t scare me either if my mom had three quarters of $1 million to spare towards upgrading her veterinary business.
Maybe the point is that there are few real rags-to-riches stories. Maybe, to be successful in show business, you have to be willing to be cutthroat and deceitful. Being a good person has never been a requirement for having a place in history. When put into perspective, contemporary transgressions like cultivating a specific image for commercial benefit don’t seem so bad.
So, the answer to the debate? Separating the art from the artist is a complex moral dilemma that is deeply personal. There’s no rulebook to navigating this world and all its injustices, and it’s hard to feel like you’re committing one just by enjoying art. I don’t think you can separate the art from the artist, but maybe you can acknowledge it without condoning it. And maybe enjoying the art doesn’t have to mean condoning it. Maybe I just don’t know what it means to be a casual fan of someone.
To be clear, there are still artists I will never give money to, and that’s a line each of us can draw for ourselves. Likewise, most people aren’t black and white when it comes to morality, especially when we’re judging based on an online persona. At the end of the day, art is never just art, but there are also more important things I want to turn my attention to than policing other people’s listening habits.