How To Catch A Falling Star
Ryan Clemens; Rolling Stone
Chappell Roan took 13 years to achieve overnight success. Hailing from scenic Willard, Missouri, she’s a once-in-a-generation femininomenon. Amidst 2024’s pop renaissance, she stands out as a true original. Her vocals have been compared to Cyndi Lauper, her stage presence and fashion persona to early Gaga. But she is neither. She is a new-age queer popstar whose identity and politics have made her a front-page spectacle—despite an era of one of the most contentious presidential elections in modern history.
What goes up, must go on a social media rant, then come crashing down. Hollywood’s third law of physics.
These last few months for Chappell Roan have been an emotional rollercoaster to witness from the outside, so I can’t imagine what it’s like to be on the actual ride. Only two weeks ago, she was racking up MTV Video Music Awards in a medieval ensemble likely destined for the VMA red carpet hall of fame—an attraction I would literally pay to see. Now, she’s embroiled in her first major scandal after a political diatribe she posted to TikTok where she states she cannot endorse either presidential candidate. This follows a recent post about how uneasy her fandom makes her feel, and comes just two months after commanding the largest opening crowd in Lollapalooza history. A busy girl!
“Fame is not for everyone,” many have commented. We love triumphs in this country, but we love disasters even more. We love car wrecks, trainwrecks, shipwrecks—any wreck.
Chappell’s story is not unlike others we’ve seen before. In fact, we went through something similar just last year when Doja Cat shaved her head and told her fans to fuck off. People spread rumors that she was literally a demon. We do this often. We, society, make someone famous, then we, society, deem them too famous. Unrelatable. So we push them off a cliff, only to complain a few years later when we haven’t heard from our favorite toy in a while.
The same mob that idolizes Britney Spears—a woman whose brain practically melted under the constant scrutiny she faced for nearly a decade—now berates Chappell, a twentysomething from rural America who sometimes talks out of her ass. If she could sing out of it, I’m sure people would be nicer.
Why do we expect so much from our idols? They can sing. They can dance. They can wear meat dresses and start cosmetics lines. Need they do more? Are we not entertained?
The triumph-to-disaster pipeline has really sped up for this generation of pop stars. In past years, scrutiny arose from leaked nudes or drunken nights on Sunset Boulevard. Now it’s triggered by apolitical beliefs or a desire to be admired without being objectified. “You wanted to be famous, Chappell!” the internet mob roars. That’s just showbiz, baby. That's just rock ‘n’ roll. Now stop what you’re doing and take a selfie with me.
In the coming weeks, I’m sure many talking heads will analyze her every move, hopping on TikTok just to say, “I knew it! I told you she would fall off!” Yesterday, she canceled her sets at a major music festival just a day before she was scheduled to appear, citing that “things have gotten overwhelming these past few weeks.” Big oof, girly! Sick days are hard when millions of dollars rely soley on your performance. But also, I crumble under the pressure of a busy week at work making influencer ads. So who am I to judge?
The PR strategy for Chappell is simple: Log off. Take a break. Go on SNL in two weeks and make fun of yourself. Then go back to being cherished.
To be a star is to be loved. But to be an icon is to be hated and then loved again.
