— how the overcorrection of #MeToo is manifesting for women like Blake Lively —

On Saturday morning, The New York Times broke the story that Blake Lively’s widespread online cancellation over the summer was actually a coordinated campaign funded by Justin Baldoni, the director and lead, and Jamey Health, the producer of It Ends With Us, on a pointed mission to “bury” the megastar. Anyone who has spent time on the internet watched the downfall of Lively, who’s starred in a plethora of beloved film and television, most notably her lead role as Serena Van der Woodsen on Gossip Girl. 

In July, before the release of It Ends With Us— a movie centered around domestic violence— a wave of tweets and Tik Toks started circulating, casting Lively in an overwhelmingly negative light. Criticism mounted as people accused the actress of sidestepping the weighty subject matter of the film, and people jumped on the hate train labeling her as a “bitch” or “evil” or “controlling” among other things. The backlash crescendoed when rumors surfaced that her husband, Ryan Reynolds, had rewritten a scene during filming. All the while, her co-star and director Justin Baldoni seemed to ascend effortlessly into public favor. His Instagram brimmed with seemingly earnest posts about supporting survivors of abuse and he used his press appearances to champion men’s responsibility in addressing domestic violence. Baldoni’s star rose as Lively’s seemed to plummet— his virtue juxtaposed sharply against her perceived silence. 

The shift in public perception was swift, seamless even, but we should know by now when something looks too good to be true, it probably is.  

After staying quiet during the media storm, Blake Lively has filed a defamation lawsuit against Justin Baldoni, unveiling allegations of a toxic environment on the set of It Ends With Us. In her filing, Lively accuses Baldoni and Health of sexually harassing her, claiming Health watched her while she was topless in her trailer without consent and Baldoni attempted to insert unapproved sex scenes into the script and inappropriate kissing. 

In response to these incidents, Lively brought her husband, Ryan Reynolds, onto the set to act as a safeguard. Reynolds’ rewritten scene was actually him stepping in to protect Lively from further discomfort and inappropriate behavior. What initially seemed like creative intervention now emerges as a defense strategy in a toxic work environment. 

The New York Times has uncovered a trove of damning text messages from Justin Baldoni’s PR crisis firm, The Agency Group—the same group that represented Johnny Depp during his high-profile legal battle against Amber Heard last year, and whose majority shareholder is Scooter Braun. 

Lively subpoenaed these messages between the producers, Baldoni, and their crisis PR team, which reveal a calculated strategy to dismantle Blake Lively’s reputation, with the team, including veteran crisis manager Melissa Nathan, celebrating how “easy” and “successful” it was to orchestrate her public downfall. As Baldoni pivoted to a carefully curated campaign on domestic violence awareness, his team worked behind the scenes to “bury” Lively entirely. In these messages, even the team is impressed with the campaign’s success, obliterating Lively’s reputation while concealing all allegations of Baldoni’s misconduct and behavior on set.  

The real story here isn’t Lively or Baldoni, but how easily we are swayed by online campaigns that feel organic. Particularly when it involves the downfall of successful women. Because of the nature of social media, we feel as though we, the consumers, are personally controlling these narratives, and the presence of a PR team at play in these campaigns is brilliantly invisible. 

The glorification of “cancelling” others on the internet traces back to 2016 when the #MeToo movement emerged, originally as an earnest campaign to dismantle systemic sexual abuse in the workplace and provide women with a platform to hold their abusers accountable. For a moment, it seemed like progress. But as the movement expanded, its clarity began to blur. What we were cancelling people for became murkier. Internet trolls and opportunists twisted its purpose, weaponizing public outrage against anyone for anything. Suddenly, the lines between genuine accountability and petty grievances vanished, with rapists and those guilty of a bad text message subjected to the same level of public condemnation. People’s careers and lives were destroyed, some justifiably and some without sufficient cause.

Matt Damon came under fire at the turn of 2018 when speaking about #MeToo, adding that he believes “sexual misconduct should be judged on a spectrum of behavior.”

He said that there is a difference between “patting someone on the butt” and “rape or child molestation” adding both should be eradicated but that “they shouldn’t be conflated.” These comments may read as sensical and fair now, but they were unpalatable to the culture at the time. 

If #MeToo eventually overreached, the overcorrection since Johnny Depp’s trial has been equally astounding. Rather than simmering down on the extremes of cancel culture, the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction, pivoting to attack and defame certain women and revel in their demise. 

The collective euphoria surrounding the public takedown of Amber Heard and the redemption of Johnny Depp during his defamation trial was nothing short of extraordinary. 

We cheered at every meme, every photograph, and every sound bite that restored Depp’s reputation, all while relentlessly dismantling Heard’s. It was a spectacle—equal parts vindication and vitriol—with the scales of public opinion tipping wildly in his favor. The joy that permeated from retweets and Instagram comments spoke volumes to a deep-seated hatred and desire for revenge against women, especially those who go against our favorite male celebrities. 

In Angelina Jolie’s divorce filing, Brad Pitt was accused of hitting her and in one incident “choked one of the children and struck another in the face.”

His children have distanced themselves from him, even changing their last names. And yet, Jolie is often viewed as a cold, calculating villain, while Pitt is beloved and admired as a charming heartthrob. 

In 2019, Taylor Swift’s masters were infamously sold behind her back by Kanye West’s former manager Scooter Braun, despite her attempts to buy them herself. a friend of Braun shared a photo of him raising a glass of whiskey in celebration, captioned, “When your friend buys Taylor Swift.”

Since then, Swift has re-recorded her masters, reclaiming the rights to the self-written songs she released between the ages of 14 and 27. This bold move has been called a cynical cash grab, part of her capitalist agenda, while Braun’s celebrity clients have publicly defended him, portraying him as a misunderstood, well-intentioned businessman. 

With Braun’s ties as majority shareholder to Justin Baldoni’s PR firm and Johnny Depp as a past client, the pattern becomes strikingly clear: this team has perfected the art of dismantling women’s reputations while uplifting powerful men. And they’ve done it so flawlessly, we actually believe that we’re the ones orchestrating it ourselves. 

By 6pm on Saturday, the same day the article came out, talent agency WME dropped Justin Baldoni as a client. The Times breaking Blake Lively’s lawsuit was a real achievement in investigative journalism. The report is a lengthy, exceptionally detailed, and widely researched account of the events that actually transpired during filming and after, and its broader implications, without the implicit bias of social media antics. It took three reporters, Megan Twohey, who broke the Harvey Weinstein story in 2017, Mike McIntire, and Julie Tate to pull it off. 

But all it took for the entire internet to turn against A-list actress Blake Lively was a few rumors and speculation. As if the netizens had been lingering by their keyboards, awaiting the opportunity, and they will likely bide their time for the next. Maybe this story will clear Lively’s name and that’s all, or perhaps it will prompt us to pause before leaping onto the cancel train, learning we will never know who might be the engineer behind it. 

Or, Trump’s victory in the 2024 election could mark a larger retaliation against identity politics altogether, heralding its decline in the years to come. Cancel culture, for all its tenacity, may never die, but its participants may grow more weary and sparing in the wake of stories like Blake Lively’s. The future of public reckonings remains unpredictable, while their impact looms large.