Try Hard, Get Canceled: My Life as an Accidental Villain
Every year, my little climbing brand manages to enrage a new corner of the internet. Apparently I've offended the homeless, condoned misogyny, fat shamed, silenced a Black woman—and somehow—even encouraged people to bring their dogs out climbing. You read that right. To some, bringing a dog climbing is actually a cause for outrage.
I live the nightmare of small businesses everywhere.
In 2014, I started an apparel brand called Dynamite Starfish. I know it sounds funny. It's meant to be. Dynamite Starfish uses heartfelt humor to encourage rock climbers to embrace adventure and their unique selves. I create graphic t-shirts with uplifting messages like "Keep Climbing" and "Try Hard Have Fun."
My customers often thank me for creating a climbing brand that isn't all about elite performance or chasing an impossible goal. The way I see it, climbing can also be about personal growth and finding joy in life's challenges. We can be imperfect and gentle with ourselves, yet still be competent, badass climbers. For a decade, my brand has appealed to people across any identity spectrum: experienced climbers, newbies, children, and seniors.
So when I first experienced a cancellation, I was shocked. Unbelievably, it was over a silly drawing — that I didn't even make!
Irreparable Damage to the Homeless
In 2018, two friends presented me with some art. A poorly drawn Mercedes Sprinter van with the caption, “gentrifying homelessness since 2013.” It poked fun at affluent vanlifers who glorified their “authentic, low-income dirtbag” lifestyles on social media. My friends had been asked to put this art on t-shirts, but they didn't know how. Naturally, I jumped in to help.
We needed a few more orders to make even a DIY print run worth it. So I shared the art in some online climbing groups to gauge interest. One post backfired spectacularly.
Members of one women’s climbing group erupted in outrage. One member demanded I refund all the money I'd make ($9 after costs). A well-known influencer chimed in, unsure what exactly was wrong but declaring it “poor taste.” Another woman claimed I’d done “irreparable damage to ALL homeless people.”
Irreparable damage! I’d never felt so accidentally powerful—or so confused.
Sleepless nights followed, filled with anxiety, concern, and horror. The weirdest thing was, it wasn't the first time they had seen this. I had posted it about a week earlier, but as a drawing, not a product. When I re-posted it, saying it was now available for anyone who’d like one, the women lashed out.
Ew, merch! Turns out, the mere idea of selling a product makes some people go bonkers.
Weeks later, a climber who had spent her teen years homeless thanked us for posting the art. She said she had been afraid to bring up the topic due to potential backlash, and was relieved we did.
Silencing a Black woman
Years later, in the wake of George Floyd, I shared an Instagram post from a diversity group’s chapter leader.
She had written an optimistic message about activism—how you don’t have to be angry all the time, how it’s still possible to have fun and fight for what’s right.
It seemed like a hopeful reminder. And in the photo, she was even wearing our t-shirt! I reposted it, word for word, assuming everyone in the left-leaning climbing space would resonate with the message. I may even have overlooked a curious phrase.
It turns out, I was naive. And short-sighted.
Some of the critical comments made me pause. A few readers had found her words genuinely hurtful. So I took a closer look.
In one section, the chapter leader had written that you can still enjoy the climbing gym even while pushing back against racist white men who follow you around.
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Was she referring to all white men? Or even multiple? The phrasing was vague, and I wanted to understand her intent before acting. So I let the commenters know they had made a point worth talking about, and reached out privately to the original poster.
She admitted it was a grammatical mistake. What she had meant to describe was a single instance—a time when a white man followed her around the gym, climbing the same boulder problems as her. She’d felt uncomfortable and singled out. But it was wrong to suggest this behavior came from multiple people.
We agreed to change “men” to “man.” That felt like a fair and honest correction.
However, she felt strongly that the word white should stay. I agreed to leave it in.
The next day, my phone blew up.
HOW DARE YOU?!?!?!
YOU SILENCED A BLACK WOMAN!!!!!
CAN’T YOU SEE THE COMMENTERS WERE WHITE?!?!
My notifications were flooded with hysterics—people accusing me of harm, sending “resources” to re-educate me, calling me out for what they believed I had done.
I was stunned. Hadn’t we just had this conversation? We had come to an agreement. We had, I thought, resolved it like two thoughtful people trying to be responsible in a tense moment. But it felt like the reasonable person I’d spoken to disappeared.
In the end, she demanded the post be taken down. I deleted it.
Incidents like these only became more common over the next five years
If you encourage bringing dogs outdoors, you are responsible for all dogs’ trash!
You didn't delete a post of a guy I don't like! So, you must condone misogyny!
You posted a photo of a "lean mean crushing machine." This is fat-shaming!
In each of these scenarios, a single comment, often based on a misunderstanding, set off a chain of increasingly aggressive reactions.
Once commenters were convinced of their righteousness, it seemed like details and facts no longer mattered. The crowd cheered as they blindly marched onward, together.
My original response to outrage was simple: ignore it.
These tantrums felt so absurd I didn’t want to give them another second of my time. I also found the idea of publicly shaming others cruel and inappropriate—so why would I participate, even if it was being done to me?
I ignored outburst after outburst, thinking it was the right thing to do. But what grew wasn’t a garden of peace. It was a widening rift—one filled with hopelessness.
I stopped writing the heartfelt letters that many had come to love. No new designs were in the works. Each encounter with outrage left me burnt out, caring about my community less and less.
Working on my business became a tedious chore. Honestly, I didn't want to fix it or fight for it. I just wanted to give up.
Standing at the edge, facing that choice, I finally realized what I’d lost: genuine connection. My art had always been inspired by honest conversations and authentic interactions. Customers weren't just buyers; they were part of my adventure. But under the stifling weight of relentless call-out culture, meaningful conversation felt impossible.
Behavior vs. Beliefs
I’m afraid too many people don’t realize that online behavior reveals just as much about their character as their actions in the real world.
Imagine this: you’re a fully committed vegan and believe you hold the ethical high ground. (And you might!) Does that give you permission to rip a turkey sandwich out of a stranger’s hand? Would you storm into a diner and scream at everyone eating differently than you?
You’d be seen as inappropriate—an asshole, even. And if you crossed paths with someone as impassioned as yourself, it might not end well.
I have some questions for those who believe they’re right:
Are you, really?
Who gets to decide?
Even if you are right—how much does it actually matter?
Here’s a piece of ancient wisdom worth revisiting:
Actions speak louder than words.
And behavior matters more than belief.
Beliefs offer clues about what you’ve read, where you’ve been, or who you admire. But they change—sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically—as you live, grow, and learn. They’re not a fixed compass. They’re not a good measure of who you are.
Behavior, on the other hand, tells the truth. It shows how you manage emotions. How you treat others. How you show up when life gets hard.
In many ways, behavior is belief made visible.
Behavior is what holds us together—across differences, across ideologies. When we throw that out, all we’re left with is violence.
When beliefs are put first, fights start between individuals—and wars between nations. That line should only be crossed with great caution, but I see it crossed on social media dozens of times per day.
Okay, but why share all this now?
I used to believe that being silent was the mature choice. Having lived through that decision, I guess I've changed my mind.
I've learned that avoiding these conversations cost me something important—genuine connection. I withheld honesty in an attempt to avoid conflict, and in the process, I lost touch with my community.
What's the value of tens of thousands of followers if we can't have authentic conversations? That's not the kind of world I want to live in—it’s isolating, discouraging, and exhausting. And if that's how I feel, how many others do, too?
Choosing transparency over fear
I see a generation of young people who are afraid of honest expression. Their views seem meticulously checked and curated, vetted by following the "right" experts and influencers. It’s hardly surprising—straying from their ideological comfort zones seems to carry nuclear consequences.
At the risk of sounding dramatic, I'm sharing my experiences because I want people to know it's worth it to be yourself online. You don't have to apologize endlessly for something you didn't do wrong. You're allowed to hold nuanced views—even unpopular ones—and you have every right to approach sensitive topics in the way that feels most authentic to you.
But the idea that we should "fight back" against cancel culture doesn't sit right with me either. Meeting force with more force only deepens hostility, leaving no room for genuine understanding.
Instead, I believe the answer lies in transparency—which is why I've laid out all the messy details of my experiences here for you to see.
If we can remember that our behavior truly matters, and commit to being transparent with one another—even if clarity sometimes takes years—I believe we can help shift our cultural climate toward something more open, compassionate, and genuinely bearable online.
Dear friends,
I am extremely grateful to , , and for providing valuable feedback on various iterations of this piece. And for hosting many wonderful spaces for all of us to “work out” our ideas in!
With hugs and high fives,
Leslie Kim
!!!! thank you SO much for sharing all this--as me and cameron venture farther down the algorithmic world with our show ok banger we are learning to navigate outside the comfort and safety of friend bubbles.
Thanks for writing + sharing! Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum