Apology Videos: How Celebrities Have Traded Sorrys for Shock Factor
Everyone with a teenage YouTube phase found themselves mortified over Colleen Ballinger’s attempt at an apology video last Thursday. As you can likely guess, the 10-minute (monetised) video saw the YouTuber, best known as Miranda Sings, take to performing with a ukulele, as she began and then destroyed any pursuit of regained reputation. I’m not sure how much you could say the video addressed the allegations of child grooming that have followed Colleen since 2020 – instead it took a patronising tone which, given the circumstances feels rogue. Controversy response videos have been the subject of online jokes for almost a decade, but in 2023, some celebrities seem to care less about self-image, and are committing fully to the ‘bit’ that is their own villainy.
The rise of the Apology Video took off with YouTube and has almost become its own genre in the world of beauty gurus and drama channels. The concept has even gained its own visual conventions in recent years, with the routine set up of raw editing, no-make up and a blunt video title with a full-stop for impact, as YouTubers pursue a fake form of authenticity by flicking on the sincerity and reciting from an intricate script. In a way, their audiences already know that the majority of these called-out creators aren’t actually as affected as they appear, but for some reason we’d rather them act this way. We’d rather they deliver this mechanical sense of earnestness instead of sharing their real thoughts on the topic, because this veneer of PR-friendliness is what needs to be kept up to maintain careers.
But what’s actually keeping these creators afloat, rather than any semblance of a redemption, is the memeification of these videos by both invested followers and unbothered drama seekers. We love to hate watch. We make parody videos, TikTok rankings, and responses º and these quasi-apologies are now more amplified by the tropes that define them than their actual content. Just like fast-fashion, and the constant content-sludge that swallows us whole online, we invest all our energy into making them hot topics whilst unintentionally funding them with every “Click to view.”
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Ballinger was first pulled up for questionable actions back in 2020, when receipts of previous racist tweets, as well as reports of sending a fan underwear, emerged. But the apology she made in response to these allegations at the time stands separately from the baffling musical mess that is her most recent upload. Fitting the conventional ‘vlogpology’ format, her 2020 upload titled ‘Addressing Everything’ sees the creator with no make-up, speaking calmly about her narrative and eventually claiming responsibility for her poor actions.
As a response it clearly didn’t kill the allegations against her, but for a time it tucked them to bed. Come 2023 however, and not only is Colleen’s video titled ‘Hi.’ – a chaos of ukulele chords and condescension – but it also pokes fun at those artificial apology tropes we all know and love. She might as well have hopped on camera with a smeared red lip and teary eyes and started her video with ‘Hey guys it’s me Miranda.’
Where apologies once came from a desire to rebuild self-image, the likes of Shane Dawson and Jeffree Star have shown that a complete comeback can never really be possible, so on one hand: why should content creators bother to be serious at all anymore? Many cancelled celebs are finding safety in being able to hide behind the meme – and what’s worse is that it’s working. Some viewers online might be astounded at Colleen’s severely distasteful video, but online commentors are still remarking on the irony of her ‘playing in A Minor’, and still making comparisons to that one clip of Ariana Grande in Victorious. Our mindsets have shifted in terms of digital content across recent years, with the perfection of Instagram lives and immaculately edited YouTube videos paving way for the unpredictable and often downright cursed content of TikTok. The gimmicky evolution of apology videos and our quippy, dark humoured reaction to them, is starting to feel no different.
“We’d rather they deliver this mechanical sense of earnestness instead of sharing their real thoughts on the topic, because this veneer of PR-friendliness is what needs to be kept up to maintain careers.”
But it’s not just YouTubers. When ex-This Morning presenter Philip Schofield took to the BBC to address his own allegations of grooming, what viewers couldn’t take their eyes away from was the disposable vape he suckled throughout the interview. Most people probably could’t tell you what was said, but due to the committed detective level research of some tweeters, they would know which flavour Schofield was puffing on (Blueberry Ice.) Similarly to Ballinger, who stated in her response that this was something her team ‘very strongly advised her not to do’, Schofield’s vape cameo nods towards the internet’s new standards of authenticity, which have moved past the archetypes of the ‘old-school’ performative relatability we’re familiar with from YouTube.
We’ve become so desensitised to the apology video blueprint, that as much as we hate to admit it, these shock-factor gimmicks do spark a little joy. In contrast to the fake accountability that YouTube apologies tend to be steeped in, Ballinger’s video and Schofield’s interview deny more than they admit. And whether their stark use of props was PR planned or not, the attention drawn towards them is certainly a strategy that seeks to swap villainy for comedy: they’ll never truly be cancelled, but they’ll never truly come back either. Instead they’ll be caught in the limbo of being both icons and offenders – though it remains to be seen whether this strategy is one that gains longevity: for how long will they be reaping the attention from our clicks, comments and views?
Words: Mia Autumn Roe
