In Defense of Chappell Roan: The Left and the Impossible Standards for Women

In a recent Call Her Daddy episode, pop star Chappell Roan made a candid statement: "Why the [ ] are you looking to me for some political answer?" It was honest, a little brash, and completely fair. And yet, the internet erupted. She's since faced a wave of criticism for not being politically perfect, for setting boundaries, for being a queer woman navigating fame without having all the answers at all times. The backlash is revealing; not about her, but about us.

The full context of Roan’s comments is essential. In the interview, she reflected:

"People expect me to play by different rules because I'm gay and I should be more politically correct about that and I should actually be way more knowledgeable about it... That doesn't mean I'm like completely—like I don't know everything about every topic I have opinions on. Like I don't know everything about being gay. Like I don't know everything about being a woman. I don't know everything about fashion or drag or performing. I try to know everything I can, but like when I don't answer a question correctly or like I don't acknowledge one community, it's like—how can I do it all?"

"How can these girls tour, write, perform, interview, sleep, eat and eat and [ ] work out and like—how can they do it all and lead a team and be a boss and pay people and be like so politically educated? It's exhausting and it's also impossible."

"Also why the [] are you looking to me for some political answer? You think I have the [] answer? You're like—'Listen to my song, [ ], turn it up.' Like, I'm a pop star. I wish I had the answers. I wish the president was a pop star, but she's not."

The key here is that Roan is not shirking responsibility, she’s being honest about the impossibility of being everything at once. She’s not claiming to be apolitical; she’s acknowledging her limits. She’s asking for empathy in a culture that demands perfection, particularly from women and queer artists. Roan is absolutely right: we shouldn’t look to celebrities to solve our political problems or to provide our political views.

Let’s be clear: Chappell Roan is not a politician. She’s a queer artist who has spoken out about trans rights, workers' rights, and Palestine. She’s fundraised for queer youth and for humanitarian relief. And yet, despite this, she's being accused of performative activism, white feminism, and even Republican sympathies, all based on snippets of an interview in which she dared to express that she doesn’t have all the answers, the fact she’s from the Midwest and has Republican relatives and didn't endorse Kamala in the election.

The criticism of Chappell Roan isn’t solely about her political knowledge; it’s about how she’s expected to present herself. Her honesty in admitting that she doesn’t have all the answers, and her request for empathy in navigating the contradictions of fame and activism, is treated as an offense because women, especially queer and marginalized women, are held to an impossible standard of political perfection, always poised and expected to present neatly packaged responses. Roan’s statement, “I don’t know everything about being gay... I try to know everything I can,” wasn’t a refusal to engage but an invitation to acknowledge her humanity, yet instead of understanding, she was met with a wave of tone policing. This response reflects a disturbing cocktail of misogyny, queerphobia, and a desperate need to project our desire for political leadership onto celebrities. Roan is being held to a standard rarely imposed on her male counterparts, who often speak on politics with less nuance but escape similar scrutiny. She’s expected to be a perfect activist, an expert in every intersectional issue, all while managing the pressures of touring, performing, leading a creative team, staying fit, and maintaining her mental health. In this case, tone policing means that Roan’s emotions, frustration, and vulnerability were weaponized against her. The criticism of her “brashness” or “imperfect” delivery ignores the fact that she was simply speaking out against the overwhelming expectations placed on her as a queer woman in the public eye. Women who don’t fit socially prescribed roles of being demure or soft-spoken are judged more harshly for expressing frustration or vulnerability, and Roan was torn down for not presenting herself in a more “polished” way. If her message had been delivered by a man, would it have been scrutinized so harshly? Probably not—men, particularly in music and entertainment, are often allowed to express frustration or uncertainty without facing the same level of critique. Women, on the other hand, are more frequently penalized for failing to sound “perfectly” politically correct.

This relentless pressure is not new. Women, especially queer women and women of colour, are often tone-policed into silence, with their boundaries mistaken for arrogance and their self-awareness reframed as ignorance. Roan’s admission, “I don’t know everything about being gay... I try to know everything I can”, was not a refusal to engage, but an invitation to acknowledge her humanity. Yet, for this, she is being torn apart. Her acknowledgment of not being an expert has been twisted into an accusation of cowardice, further proving the way in which women are expected to be flawless, knowledgeable, and without the freedom to admit their imperfections.

We’ve seen this before. Megan Thee Stallion, for example, has been routinely criticised for not speaking in a way that satisfies every political expectation. Despite being a victim of violence, advocating for mental health, and contributing meaningfully to conversations about Black womanhood, she’s faced intense scrutiny, often far more than her male peers, for not speaking or acting "correctly". The same people who praise her one day for being empowered and outspoken will tear her down the next for being too sexual, too loud, too unapologetic. Like Roan, Megan is navigating impossible demands: be a survivor, but not too sad. Be sexy, but not too empowered. Be political, but only in the right ways.

It’s worth pausing here to ask: what would we gain from this kind of discourse? Does it build solidarity? Does it create a better-informed public? Or does it simply cannibalise our own, demanding moral perfection from allies while the real sources of harm, political elites, corporate exploiters, war-mongering governments, escape the spotlight? The energy people spend tearing down celebrities like Roan could be far more productively spent engaging with the actual political structures that need reform. The idea that you can't speak on something unless you're perfectly informed about every facet of every struggle harms allyship. It creates an environment where people feel that it’s not their place to speak up or advocate for others unless they are entirely versed in every detail. This shuts down conversation, silences potential allies, and prevents progress. If we demand absolute knowledge and flawlessness from everyone before they speak out, we create a culture of fear and inaction, where people are scared to engage on important issues because they don’t have all the answers.

The reality is this: the left, broadly speaking, has a problem. It often consumes itself with call-outs aimed at those who are trying, imperfectly, earnestly, to speak up. This dynamic doesn’t promote accountability; it discourages participation. If you don’t say the exact right thing, in the exact right way, you’re out. This is a game of ideological purity that benefits no one. This happens both in liberal and left-wing circles, where individuals who are not perfect, who make mistakes, or who fail to meet every expectation are torn down. Instead of fostering a space for growth, dialogue, and learning, this kind of environment only alienates potential allies and discourages people from speaking out at all. We shame people for not being perfectly informed, for giving a message that isn't fully “polished,” and then wonder why they retreat into silence or fail to engage with certain issues. Instead of building solidarity, we are breaking it down.

There’s a disturbing irony here too. Many of the people critiquing Roan for not being politically informed are the same ones who expect her, a pop star,  to be their moral compass. And when she fails to meet their imagined standard, she’s denounced. But why are we looking to musicians to solve political crises? Why aren’t we directing that energy at elected officials, policymakers, or even ourselves?

Roan’s role is not to be a politician. She’s an artist. And art, by its very nature, is exploratory. It’s not always clear-cut or didactic. It exists to provoke, to move, to challenge. Expecting it to deliver tidy political answers is not only misguided, it’s anti-art.

Furthermore, the parasocial expectations placed on her are staggering. When she expressed a desire for privacy and healthy boundaries with fans, the response was not support, but outrage. We see this again and again with women in the public eye: the moment they assert their autonomy, they’re punished for it. She doesn’t owe us constant access to her life, and she certainly doesn’t owe us flawless political commentary.

This entire controversy proves her point. She speaks candidly for 30 seconds about the pressure of being a politically-conscious pop star, and suddenly, she's dismissed as fake, privileged, and complicit. It's deeply telling that people are still angry at her for not endorsing Kamala Harris, when her critique was not a call to disengage, but a demand for accountability. You can be left-wing and still critique establishment figures.  that’s not contradiction, that’s clarity.

There’s a troubling trend of equating existing and performing as a queer person with having to be an activist or a political educator. This expectation is not only unfair but dangerous, as it places an impossible burden on individuals simply for being who they are. It’s the same kind of expectation placed on people of color to be walking encyclopedias on race issues, forcing them to educate others rather than letting them simply exist. Roan's honesty about not knowing everything should be seen as an invitation for understanding, not as a failing. Asking her, or anyone, to be an expert on every issue simply because they belong to a marginalized group further isolates people and stifles potential allyship.

Often, the hyperbole and the harsh tone in Roan's comments are taken at face value, ignoring the broader message she’s trying to convey. It's easy to point to her choice of words or tone, but when you do that, you miss the main point. The least charitable interpretation is often the one that gains the most attention, which leads to Roan being critiqued for things she wasn’t actually saying. The focus should be on her core message: the need for empathy, understanding, and the impossibility of being "perfect" in every way. This over-scrutiny of her delivery only detracts from the deeper, more important conversation about the expectations placed on women, especially queer women.

What we’re seeing is not a woman failing to live up to the political moment. What we’re seeing is a culture that refuses to allow women, especially queer women and women of colour, to exist in complexity. Roan isn’t presenting herself as a saviour. She’s showing us that she’s human. That should be enough.

If we had real political leadership, perhaps we wouldn’t project our desires for justice and clarity onto pop stars. Perhaps we wouldn’t punish artists for being vulnerable. Perhaps we’d stop demanding perfection from people who are simply trying their best. Until then, maybe we should take Roan’s advice: turn up the music, and think for ourselves.