Have you ever heard someone say “all publicity is good publicity” and just… nodded along? It’s one of those phrases that sounds so worldly, so knowing, like it contains some secret truth that only savvy people understand. But what if it’s completely wrong? What if this famous piece of conventional wisdom is not just inaccurate, but actively misleading — and the fact that we keep repeating it says something uncomfortable about how we process information?
Let’s bust the all publicity is good publicity myth wide open, because the real story is far more interesting — and far more cautionary — than the catchy slogan suggests.
First, a little history. The phrase is generally attributed to P.T. Barnum, the 19th-century showman and circus promoter, though there’s no solid evidence he actually said it. It was more likely popularized by Oscar Wilde, who wrote, “There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.” Wilde, of course, was being characteristically witty and provocative — not offering a business strategy. But somehow, the quip hardened into received wisdom, and for over a century, people have been repeating it as if it were an immutable law of fame.
The core idea is simple: any attention, positive or negative, increases your visibility, and visibility is valuable. If people are talking about you, you’re relevant. If you’re relevant, opportunities follow. It has a seductive internal logic. And to be fair, there are cases where it seems to hold up. Certain celebrities have weathered scandals and come out the other side with their careers intact — sometimes even enhanced. A well-timed controversy can generate headlines, drive streaming numbers, and keep someone in the cultural conversation.
But here’s the thing about survivorship bias — and this is where your critical thinking cap needs to go on. We notice and remember the celebrities who bounced back from bad publicity. We don’t notice the ones who didn’t, because they disappeared. And that disappearing act happens far more often than the comeback story.
Think about it. For every celebrity who turned a scandal into a career boost, how many can you name whose careers were permanently destroyed by negative publicity? Once you start looking, the list is long and sobering. Actors blacklisted from studios after allegations of misconduct. Musicians whose record deals evaporated after offensive remarks went viral. Athletes who lost every sponsorship deal overnight. Corporate executives forced to resign. Public figures who went from household names to cautionary tales in a matter of weeks.
The entertainment industry has gotten especially ruthless about this in the social media age. Before the internet, a scandal could blow over because the news cycle was slow and public memory was short. A story ran in the papers for a week, maybe two, and then something else took its place. Now? Everything is archived forever. Every misstep, every poorly worded tweet, every leaked photo lives on the internet in perpetuity, ready to be resurfaced at any moment. The internet doesn’t forget, and “cancel culture” — whatever you think of the term — is, at its core, a demonstration that bad publicity can be career-ending in ways that Barnum could never have imagined.
And the damage isn’t just about losing gigs. Research in marketing and consumer psychology has consistently shown that negative associations are stickier than positive ones. This is a well-documented cognitive phenomenon called negativity bias — our brains are wired to give more weight to negative information than to positive information. If you hear ten great things about someone and one terrible thing, guess which one you’ll remember most vividly? Guess which one will shape your perception?
For brands, this is devastating. Companies spend millions carefully cultivating a public image, and a single scandal involving a celebrity endorser can wipe out that investment overnight. There’s a reason brands drop spokespeople at the first hint of controversy — they know, based on hard data, that the negative association will transfer from the celebrity to the product. All publicity is good publicity? Tell that to the marketing executives watching their brand’s favorability ratings crater.
There’s also a crucial distinction between fame and reputation. This is where the myth really falls apart. Publicity — even negative publicity — can increase your fame, absolutely. More people might know your name. But fame without a positive reputation is practically worthless in most professional contexts. An actor that everyone has heard of but nobody wants to work with isn’t going to be in many movies. A musician whose name is synonymous with controversy might get clicks but not concert bookings. There’s a big difference between being known and being wanted.
Now, why does this myth persist despite being so demonstrably flawed? A few reasons. First, as I mentioned, survivorship bias. We only see the survivors, so we overestimate the success rate. Second, the phrase is catchy and memorable — and we tend to believe things that are well-phrased, regardless of whether they’re accurate. This is a cognitive bias in itself. If it sounds clever, we’re more inclined to accept it. Third, the myth serves the interests of certain people — publicists, agents, controversy merchants — who benefit from the idea that all attention is valuable. If your job is to generate buzz, “all publicity is good publicity” is a very convenient thing to believe.
But the most important reason the myth survives is that we want it to be true. There’s something comforting about the idea that no mistake is truly fatal, that any scandal can be spun into an advantage, that resilience is always possible. And sometimes it is. But building your strategy on the exception rather than the rule is how empires fall — Roman or otherwise.
The truth is messier and less satisfying than the myth. Positive publicity is almost always good. Negative publicity is sometimes survivable. And certain kinds of negative publicity — particularly those involving genuine harm to others — are career-ending, reputation-destroying, and irreversible. The idea that all attention is created equal is simply not supported by evidence.
So here’s my challenge for you: the next time you hear a piece of conventional wisdom that sounds clever and confident, pause. Ask who benefits from it being believed. Ask what evidence supports it. Ask whether the exceptions are being mistaken for the rule. Because if we can be this wrong about something this famous, what else are we getting wrong without questioning?
What do you think — can you think of a case where bad publicity genuinely helped someone, or one where it clearly destroyed them? Share your examples in the comments below. Let’s put this myth to the ultimate test together.
