Mean girls, mom Groups, and modern PR mistakes.
Mandy Menaker is founder of Mandy Menaker Communications.
As a communicator who has watched “High School Musical” more times than I can count, I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been captivated by the early-2000s-adjacent drama that erupted last week, courtesy of an essay Ashley Tisdale French published in The Cut about breaking up with her “toxic” mom group.
The essay set out to explore belonging and exclusion but has quickly unraveled into a public feud and tabloid spectacle. For PR and communications professionals, the fallout shows how quickly a personal narrative can spiral if it’s published without sufficient distance, framing, or strategic intent.
Let’s break down the drama.
What happened
It began with a personal blog post. In late 2025, Ashley Tisdale French published a reflective essay on her Substack while processing feelings of exclusion from a close-knit mom group and her decision to exit the group chat. The piece felt more like catharsis than commentary as she let go of a friend group that wasn’t providing the connection she craved.
A few weeks later, an expanded version of that story appeared in The Cut, reframed as a broader cultural critique of “mean girl” dynamics among moms. While Tisdale French avoided naming names, the anecdotes were pretty specific so it quickly sparked online speculation about which celebrity mothers might be involved.
What has followed is a messy, public escalation. Adjacent public figures have weighed in and attempts to clarify or shut down speculation have drawn more attention to the story.
So what can PR and communications professionals learn from this moment?
Vagueness invites speculation
In both her original blog post and the expanded essay, Tisdale French avoids naming the individuals she says excluded her and asks readers not to “do some investigating like they’re on CSI.” At the same time, she notes that these are well-known individuals “building brands” who are highly public on social media and frequently post group gatherings.
From a communications standpoint, that’s the equivalent of telling a toddler not to touch something and then placing it directly in front of them. Tisdale French gave her readers a treasure map. It took the internet all of three minutes to head to Instagram, revisit old photos, and start drawing conclusions about who was involved.
Takeaway: partial anonymity is a myth. If a story includes enough context for readers to identify real people, you should expect them to be identified. The attempt at anonymity can seem performative, and becomes counterproductive. Either protect identities fully or accept that the internet will do the rest.
Sometimes silence is best
As online speculation intensified, Tisdale French made a critical misstep: she attempted to shut it down through denial. Once celebrities Hilary Duff, Mandy Moore, and Meghan Trainor were all dragged into the spotlight, her publicist reached out to TMZ to refute claims about which public figures were involved.
Shortly after, Duff’s husband Matthew Koma publicly mocked the essay on social media. The contradiction didn’t just prolong the story. It introduced confusion about which version of events audiences should believe.
The takeaway: responding doesn’t always mean controlling the story. In some cases, it simply gives it a second wind, and puts even more visibility on the narrative.
Playing the victim Is risky
The essay frames Tisdale French’s experience in simple terms: she was excluded, therefore the group was toxic. That framing may be emotionally valid, but narratively, it’s thin.
What’s missing is the complexity that gives personal essays credibility. There’s little reflection on how misalignment, miscommunication or mutual responsibility might have contributed to the breakdown. Tisdale French never meaningfully interrogates her own role, or acknowledges how she may have shown up in ways that frustrated or alienated others. Without that self-awareness, the piece reads as self-centered rather than self-reflective.
The credibility gap widens when Ashley notes that another mom was frequently excluded in the early days of the group. She writes, “I’d picked up on hints of a weird dynamic, but at the time, I didn’t dwell on it too much. I was just so happy to have found these incredible, smart, funny women.” By her own admission, she recognized the pattern, and benefited from it, until she became its target. Even one line admitting she should have done more for that other mom would have helped elicit more sympathy from the reader.
The takeaway: vulnerability earns trust only when it’s paired with perspective. Without it, even honest emotion can alienate the very audience it’s meant to reach.
Not every story needs a platform
Timing, distance, and perspective matter, especially when publishing in a high-visibility outlet. This essay and its resulting fallout are a reminder that not every feeling needs a byline.
In this case, the focus remained squarely on the narrator’s hurt, without fully widening into a cultural insight that justified the scale of the platform. It worked as a Substack post but fell apart as a magazine thinkpiece. Just because a moment is emotionally loud doesn’t mean it’s editorially strong. This is a story that should have been processed privately, or shared with a bit more distance.
The takeaway: think twice before hitting publish. For executives, public figures, and anyone with a platform, deeply personal opinions rarely stay contained once they’re public.
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