Celebrities and the Apology Economy

Years ago, I heard a story about a woman in a university seminar who would start or end any contribution to the discussion with a “Sorry”. It was a “sorry” of the excuse-me kind, like when you brush someone with your bag while boarding a bus: saying, “I didn’t mean to, and I regret my intrusion”. One day, the professor, fed up, commanded her to “Stop apologising!” Automatically the woman replied, “I’m sorry”, froze, and put her head down on her desk. This apology was different, not about recusing herself, but now abasing herself, drawing all attention in the room towards the face that she had hidden in shame. In that sense, it was a paradox. Shame is a black hole that irresistibly attracts the eyes of others at just the moment when you wish to be invisible. At the same time, when you issue an embarrassed apology, hoping to withdraw quietly, you make a bigger spectacle of yourself.

I don’t think that anyone else in the room relished this scene; they probably felt some mixture of pity and amusement. It wasn’t like she’d done a disservice to anyone but herself, anyway. But why, years later, is the story still so memorable, even though I didn’t experience it myself? It must be that the spectacle of a shame-filled apology is always entertaining, even when no real transgression has occurred, because of how it invites you to pass your own judgments guilt-free. And it is never more entertaining than when it comes from a celebrity, someone whose life itself is a spectacle, and whose trespasses can therefore be said to harm millions. No wonder then, in the time of the internet, do we demand public apologies from public figures nonstop. An apology from someone else offers you a degree of power over them—not simply to accept or decline it, but to evaluate its legitimacy and sincerity and its very eligibility for acceptance. To successfully exact a show of shame from a public figure grants you a tiny amount of power over a person whose influence in the world otherwise seems vast compared to yours.

If you’re online as much as I am (don’t be), you’ll have seen that this has become somewhat of a rote process: offence is caused; discourse ensues; if an apology is attempted, discourse over the apology follows; then people slowly lose interest. The cycle accelerated in the weeks leading up to last Sunday’s Oscars, crowned by some now infamous comments made by Timothée Chalamet on the state of the fine arts: “I don’t want to work in ballet, or opera, or things where it’s like, ‘Hey, keep this thing alive, even though like no one cares about this anymore’.” However, he has ignored calls for him to apologise, and these demands have faded away as people move on to fresher topics.

Source: Getty Images

There’s a lesson in that, and not the obvious one about “cancel culture” that goes, “Ignore them and they’ll leave you alone”. A person who refuses to apologise denies their critics the catharsis that makes an apology so satisfying. The Oxford English Dictionary defines catharsis as “purification of the emotions by vicarious experience”, and it does appear to be purity that apology-hunters are chasing—but not for the person who stands accused. Rather, it’s themselves they’re trying to purify. Another reason why the spectacle of shame is attractive is that, by imposing a moral reckoning on someone else, you can launder your own possible sins through them. If the woman in that seminar did herself a disservice by apologising too much, then you can do yourself an equal disservice by expecting too many apologies, as if apologies were a currency that paid for justice and paid out virtue.

I hate having to apologise (who doesn't), but I’m not against apologies entirely. Pain tends to want to be addressed, and knowing how to apologise strengthens personal relationships. But, as a culture, we have developed an overreliance on a phantom ledger of apologies, both given and received. Don’t put your faith in this apology economy to make things right for anyone.