FROM SOFT GIRLS TO SCANDAL: THE DIVA'S PLACE IN CANCEL CULTURE

FROM SOFT GIRLS TO SCANDAL: THE DIVA’S PLACE IN CANCEL CULTURE

By ANGEL MOON

Once, the pop diva was defined by her difficultness: she was demanding, dramatic, and untouchable. Mariah Carey refused to walk on grass. Whitney Houston checked Wendy Williams live on air. Lady Gaga arrived to the Grammys inside a giant translucent egg. These performances were declarations of power, regardless of consequential likeability. But in today’s mainstream, especially in light of social media-exacerbated “cancel culture,” the diva has gone soft. Billie Eilish whispers in lowercase and Sabrina Carpenter presents as  an adorable “Polly Pocket” in her platform boots and glittery Y2K-inspired concert outfits. The contemporary pop landscape, especially for women, now favors vulnerability and palatability, quick to turn against anyone who shows a hint of scandal. The sporadic glimmers of the diva that do exist today—such as pop star Chappell Roan’s press antics and the TV show Euphoria’s maximalist aesthetic—receive not only fame and captivation, but equal, if not more, volumes of backlash and criticism. How did this cultural shift occur? By gaining new expressions of femininity, will we lose the spectacle, the audacity, the unapologetic ego that once defined pop stardom? 

Before the ubiquity of social media, artists could control their image through music videos, magazine covers, and carefully created public appearances. Then, with the rise of social media, access to stars and celebrities reached unprecedented levels--creating higher fan expectations. To appear too polished and curated became synonymous with being fake or “out of touch:” pop audiences now wanted relatability and sincerity—or at least a believable illusion of it. The mistake made was that all curated images were lumped together and perceived as fake. What the general public did not understand is that divas use extravagant performance as the mode through which authenticity is revealed. The diva was not just a person but a mythos, and this mystique gave them the power to be unapologetically themselves. 

Now traits that once symbolized control and glamour now read as cold, egotistical, and even problematic. This was compounded with “soft girls” and “cancel culture,” concepts which became popularized through the #MeToo movement and the rise of TikTok. The soft girl aesthetic, a visual amalgamation of early 2010s Tumblr culture and “kawaii” elements, is a rejection of “hotness” as power, the cultural offspring of the post-#MeToo world where emotion and vulnerability were reclaimed after years of misogyny and sexual misconduct. If divas of the past flaunted power, today’s “soft girl” flaunts sensitivity—being gentle to others, and to oneself. But as the “soft girl” exploded on TikTok in 2019, capitalism and commodification followed. Brands like Glossier packaged softness into “clean girl” makeup routines and minimalist skincare regimens, turning the aesthetic into a mainstream and coveted lifestyle. “Softness,” then, turned into a kind of moral high ground.

Simultaneously, cancel culture rode the TikTok wave into the mainstream. It began as a form of collective refusal to support harmful people and institutions, but through the rise of social media as a justice-seeking platform, turned into a tool of public punishment. The internet was originally a good medium for activist discourse, an outlet through which people could be held accountable—especially in cases like the #MeToo movement, when institutions failed marginalized communities. But in gaining popularity through social media, a platform in which mob mentality can fester, cancel culture became a paradoxical power. People began using call-outs irresponsibly or performatively, and were often overly punitive. Ruthlessly tearing down anyone “problematic” without differentiating whether that person has done something wrong or is simply deviating from the norm harms other cultures like the diva, whose power comes from the latter. This combined with the ubiquity of “soft girls” has reframed diva behavior as selfish, toxic, and manipulative. Being difficult and untouchable by design transformed from legendary to arrogant. The diva’s very tools of survival became liabilities. 

Within this current cultural framework, Chappell Roan has broken into pop as not only a star, but a problematic one. Her theatrical performances, drag-inspired fashion, and irreverent onstage banter makes her feel like a throwback to classic diva energy, in a way that is defiantly out of step with today’s softness. Her confidence has made her a target: in less than a year, Roan has been publicly criticized for a series of so-called "problematic" moments: turning down an invitation to perform at the White House, canceling tours and festivals last-minute, snapping at a red carpet photographer on camera. She explained her anxiety as context, emphasizing that these were acts of boundary-setting, but in a cultural moment that conflates fierceness with entitlement, they were received as villainy. And yet, there is something powerful in Roan’s refusal to apologize for taking up space. Her diva behavior isn’t about entitlement—it’s about reclamation. In a culture that demands softness, Roan chooses spectacle. In a moment obsessed with likability, she chooses audacity. The result isn’t always smooth—but it feels honest. 

Another groundbreaking and diva-esque piece of culture is the TV show Euphoria. First, its visually striking aesthetics: rhinestone winged eyeliner, glitter tears, ruthless neons—these hyper-stylized looks heighten the show’s raw and unflinching themes. And the character Maddy Perez, especially, channels the same energy that made early pop divas iconic: disdain as performance, pain as power, a refusal to be small. Each episode of the show requires intense focus on the watcher’s part, to absorb all its unapologetic emotional maximalism. The modern diva is kept alive in this medium as a mesmerizing spectacle. General opinions on Euphoria are polarized, a huge criticism being that it’s over-the-top—prioritizing style over substance, unrealistically portraying teens, glorifying trauma and addiction. What these critics don’t understand is, once again, that extravagance is the medium through which the show’s messages are conveyed. They are visual declarations of defiance, heartbreak, and vengeance—armor for an emotional battlefield. Euphoria doesn’t care if it’s too much. It demands your gaze, dominates cultural discourse, and dares you to look away. 

In an era that demands transparency, humility, and softness, the diva—once a symbol of untouchable power—has become a cultural relic struggling to exist on her own terms. But figures like Chappell Roan and shows like Euphoria prove that the diva hasn’t disappeared; she’s evolving, awkwardly, defiantly, into new forms. Their resistance to palatability is not a flaw—it’s a challenge. They remind us that spectacle and sincerity are not opposites, that power can be both theatrical and true. As we navigate a culture that confuses vulnerability with virtue and harshness with harm, we must ask: who gets to be difficult? Who gets to be big, bold, and too much? Perhaps the future of the diva doesn’t lie in her disappearance, but in our ability to tolerate, even celebrate, her refusal to shrink. After all, not everything needs to be soft to be sincere.