What Cultural Studies Teaches Us: Reflections on Billie Eilish’s Animal Advocacy and the Patterns of Discourse
- Tap on the Glass
- 4 hours ago
- 8 min read
Camoya Evans, co-founder of Wild We Stand, unpacks how public conversations can blur the real roots of injustice and fracture solidarity. Using cultural studies theory, she reveals how debates about animal exploitation often splinter into polarised, individual battles, diverting attention from the broader social and historical picture. Her piece urges us to embrace a more nuanced, collective advocacy that unites differences and digs into the deeper forces shaping our world.
Earlier this year, I completed my master's in Cultural Studies at Goldsmiths, University of London. I haven’t had much time to reflect on this achievement because I’ve been focused on reaching the bigger goal in the distance (anyone else hear the calling of a doctorate?). But recently, I’ve noticed a shift in how I approach the world and its problems—particularly through social and legacy media—with a perspective rooted in cultural studies. This shift in thinking has exposed how media discourse can deepen social disconnection and misunderstanding, often stoking old divisions. Cultural studies, with its interdisciplinary reach, explores how culture shapes, transforms, and sustains power in our daily lives. Culture is more than art or tradition; it’s the fabric of our existence—woven from media, language, rituals, and institutions, each a battleground for meaning. These meanings ripple through our communities, shaped by economic, political, and social conjunctures. My approach is to apply cultural studies theory to environmental issues and human-wildlife relationships, revealing how power feeds on our separation from the earth and from each other. Again and again, I see how public discourse—across every media platform—magnifies this disconnection.
This realisation about disconnection has influenced how I engage with online discourse. I have found myself wanting to engage less and less with chronically online areas—while the world has descended into fascist times, being on social media feels so overwhelmingly negative. While it can connect you to friends, family, and those with similar interests, it's often overloaded with too many people’s opinions, projections, and agendas. Social media is intentionally soul-draining, numbing our creative imaginations and disconnecting us from one another. What frustrates me most about social media discourse is that it amplifies absolute statements, which leads to huge, sweeping generalisations. These generalisations are meant to inspire disgust, frustration, and outrage. This leads to tense discourse in digital spaces, where everyone slings mud while talking past each other. Because of my work in conservation and cultural theory, my feeds are filled with debates about nature, animals, and how these issues play out across cultures and media. I’ve spent hours dissecting these online debates—even writing a dissertation on the discourse around Harambe, the Silverback Gorilla killed at the Cincinnati Zoo in 2016—and I see how these spaces breed disconnection. Sometimes, the battlefield of discourse is so heatedly misdirected that, as a student of cultural theory, it becomes too fascinating to pass up. I can't help but lean into it—to try to understand it, find common ground, and uncover why everyone is so up in arms. That curiosity is the gift (and curse) of cultural studies.
The latest example that proves my point—that media discourse intensifies social divides—came with Billie Eilish's statement about meat eaters and veganism. I watched as this less-than-45-second clip of her swept through my feed, and I found the passionate responses from vegans, vegetarians, and meat eaters to be an absolute mess. This is where cultural studies steps in: it helps us untangle the many forces and influences that shape how people argue and engage in a collective dialogue. What systems are people pushing against? Who holds the power, and how does that shape resistance? How can we (cultural theorists/activists/organisers) use this information to support marginalised identities who are often ignored in these debates? My course convener, Julian Henriques, once said that cultural studies is about finding what gets people on the bus toward social change—a line that’s always stayed with me. Because that bus for social change requires collective effort and dialogue amongst ourselves. Yet, in reality, discourse often serves more divisive ends, fueling factionalism, distrust, and echo chambers, sometimes even propping up the very systems it claims to fight. Billie Eilish’s statement didn’t build bridges; it sparked polarisation. Yes, that sells very well for social media engagement, but it doesn’t get us closer to solutions. This cycle is a stark reminder of why we must challenge the ways discourse and how we hear one another out can lock us into disconnection, especially in times of crisis.
Billie Eilish’s statement is a perfect example of how absolutist online discourse can push people apart rather than inspiring real change. In her ELLE interview, when asked, ‘What hill would you die on?’ Billie named two: that eating meat is inherently wrong, and that you can’t love all animals if you eat meat. My main issue is that such absolutist statements—likely to go viral—do not promote social change but instead intensify division and distract from the real issues. The 'hill to die on' question works for debates like “I think 'Revenge of the Sith' is better than 'Empire Strikes Back'!, not for complex, deeply rooted beliefs. Statements like "Blank is inherently wrong" kill nuance and thrive on rage-baiting. Online, these conversations rarely make room for intersectionality or the messy realities of people’s lives, so everyone ends up shouting their own experience into the void. So, instead of interrogating systemic exploitation or capitalism’s impact on food sovereignty, the debate collapses into moral judgments over eating habits, reinforcing disconnection and inhibiting social progress. This framing not only shapes the responses but also steers the entire conversation off course.
Billie’s veganism might stem from genuine care for animals, but here her message comes across as in bad faith. This isn’t unique to her—many vegans and vegetarians fall into linking their advocacy with strong ideological frameworks, such as seeing eating meat as inherently wrong, keeping the conversation in a moral and ethical standoff. While ethical debates can be insightful and important, they don’t always align with our advocacy because no one lives their entire lives in an ethical conundrum. It’s more complex than that, and cultural studies urges us to look at the real, material conditions shaping our lives and the struggles of our most vulnerable communities. This requires an intersectional approach and seeing both humans and non-humans as exploited under the same capitalist systems. But Billie’s statement doesn’t invite that kind of dialogue. Instead, she drops her opinion, the video cuts to credits, and the conversation is over before it even starts.
A few days later, the singer posted an Instagram story in response to the vitriol she received online, stating:
“Go watch a documentary or two and some footage of what is done to the animals u claim to love and what it does to the planet u pretend to love as well. If that footage was hard for u to watch, I encourage u to pls take a look a urself. Like, I am so tired of standing up for/having empathy for living beings being controversial. pls continue to live in cognitive dissonance and denial and try to convince urself that ur not living a lie.”
Choosing veganism or vegetarianism to stand against animal cruelty can be a powerful act of solidarity. But if you spend your time shaming everyone who doesn’t show their support in the same way, you’ll never achieve genuine, progressive dialogue. Billie’s statement seems designed to antagonise and shame meat eaters, hinting that they’re simply uneducated about the horrors of animal agriculture. Yet, most people know that animals die for meat—so this approach feels condescending. Even if she wanted to highlight these cruelties, she offers no specifics, not even a documentary recommendation. Her criticism goes further, accusing people of pretending to love animals, which continues to erase the complex web of relationships, cultures, and histories at play. What frustrates me most is how hollow and passive her words feel, especially from someone who claims to be tired of defending empathy for living beings. Maybe her stance is controversial to some, but for most meat eaters, it’s not about controversy—it’s about lived reality and surrounding conditions. Framing animal suffering as a simple battle between meat eaters and non-meat eaters keeps us stuck, never moving toward real solutions or challenging the deeper issues, like speciesist ideology propped up by unchecked capitalism. Instead of naming the corporations responsible for animal suffering, Billie’s only advice is to watch documentaries. What is her endgame? Her snarky sign-off—“continue to live in cognitive dissonance and denial”—does little to help the animals she claims to champion.
It’s striking that Billie’s message never mentions other ways of being and cultures, or histories—missing a chance to offer real alternatives. But sharing alternatives and imagining better practices means letting go of factionalism. I saw vegans cheering Billie on for defending animals, but that wasn’t really the heart of her message. Instead, her focus zeroes in on individuals, especially meat eaters, sidestepping the bigger picture. Capitalism is far more tangled than just a consumer-versus-producer divide, as struggles for food sovereignty make clear. This discourse's framing and popularity, thanks to Billie’s stardom, is a dream come true for neoliberalism. It shifts all the pain and outrage about factory farming away from the systems causing harm and dumps it on consumers. That’s why we can’t ignore the intersectionality of human lives and our ties to ecosystems when raising awareness. Individuals carry that complexity in their lives. Corporations do not, and that is why it’s easy to shift the discourse onto individuals living under pressured systems. Naming the systems at fault is a vital step toward social change because those forces shape every choice and awareness we have.
Let me be clear: I’m not dismissing veganism; it is an example of how to practice your advocacy. But this requires an understanding of privilege and how that might not be a universal reality. Nor am I saying meat eaters shouldn’t learn more about where their food comes from or the cost of destructive, exploitative practices. What wears me down is the endless finger-pointing in these debates. It boxes people into rigid ideologies and makes it normal to stay there. Instead of seeing our struggles as overlapping Venn diagrams, we stand at the edges, lobbing fireballs at each other and scorching everything in between. This vegan-versus-meat-eater framing will never help exploited beings or dismantle harmful industry practices. I’m not asking everyone to share the same goals. If you’re a vegan who believes eating meat is inherently wrong, that’s your conviction. But how do you engage with those who see things differently? Are you open to hearing their stories, and how can that help aid the fight for animal rights? For meat eaters, I ask the same: how can you challenge the speciesist ideas that numbs you to animal exploitation? When it comes to our planet and all its living beings, nuance is everything. Say it with me: nuance is good, nuance is healthy, nuance is how we build a better world. Binaries only serve the disconnected agenda. If you care about a cause, don’t push away your allies. And if you think vegans and meat eaters can’t work together for sustainability, I urge you to reconsider—look for common ground and figure out what you’re really fighting against.
We all know that “dying on a hill” means holding an opinion that is very strong, but maybe it’s time to stop dying and start living and working through our seemingly conflicting beliefs instead of letting them divide us. That’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from cultural theory, and it’s changed how I see injustice and how to join the conversation across divisions. It becomes easier to spot patterns of exploitation and control, and to find ways to connect with people and animals more holistically if you aim to find those points of connection. When advocating for a cause, always look for the various reasons to get people on that bus for social change. That’s the spirit I bring to Wild We Stand, the collective I co-founded, inspired by the endless questions cultural studies gave me. I wanted a space beyond academia to reflect on how culture shapes our bond with the earth and to rethink what it means to truly participate in that culture. Progress is slow and hard when we waste our energy fighting each other. Forces like capitalism and the privatisation of essentials—food, water, housing—along with racism, speciesism, and relentless extraction, touch us all. If we’re going to call out harmful practices, let’s do so with care, always seeking new bonds of solidarity across our struggles. That’s the only way forward in a world built to keep us divided from each other, from animals, and from the earth itself.
This op-ed was written for Tap on the Glass Journal. You can read more about the journal and our current writing contest here: Announcement: Tap on the Glass Writing Contest
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