Hayden Panettiere, who died at the age of 36, publicly shared her struggles with postpartum depression, addiction and recovery. She was also vocal about how she paid a professional price for it: Panettiere said Neutrogena sought to end its 10-year relationship with her under the morality clause in her contract after she publicly revealed she was suffering from postpartum depression; her agent intervened, but the company did not renew her contract when it expired.

Her story sparked a conversation that the entertainment industry has been slow to have: morality clauses, which are standard in celebrity and influencer brand deals, have not evolved to reflect how public life has changed.

A morality clause gives a brand the right to terminate a contract if a talent engages in conduct that reflects poorly on the brand. The concept has existed in entertainment contracts for over 100 years . Studios used them to protect against actors who committed crimes, made inflammatory public statements or behaved in ways that could damage the company’s reputation by association.

A Brief History Of Morality Clauses

Universal Studios implemented morality clauses in its talent contracts in 1921. It covered “anything tending to degrade [the talent] in society or bring [them] into public hatred, contempt, scorn or ridicule, or tending to shock, insult or offend the community or outrage public morals or decency[.]” Universal implemented the clause after their comedian Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle was arrested for charges of rape and murder.

More than a century later, similar sweeping language–written for a world without social media or mental health awareness campaigns–remains the template for morality clauses in celebrity and influencer contracts today.

Applied to Hayden Panettiere’s situation, language designed to protect brands from criminal scandal apparently became the basis for contemplating ending a relationship with a woman who simply told the truth about her experience. Kenvue / Neutrogena was contacted for comment, but I received no immediate response.

When Openness Becomes A Liability

The underlying logic of a morality clause is straightforward: a company pays for the association with a talent’s public image. If that image becomes a liability due to genuine misconduct, criminal behavior or public controversy, the brand should have an exit. That’s reasonable commercial protection.

The problem starts with the language of morality clauses. Most brands draft morality clauses broadly, often prohibiting conduct that “brings the talent into public disrepute, contempt, scandal or ridicule” or that “offends the community or any group thereof.” That era’s drafters wrote for a different world.

In the social media age, celebrities and influencers routinely share their mental health journeys, addiction recoveries, postpartum struggles and personal crises with their audiences.

In fact, some creators have built entire platforms documenting their experience with mental health. Elyse Myers built her following around openly sharing her mental health journey. And author and digital creator Millie Gooch built an entire platform documenting her choice to get sober. They do it for many reasons: because it’s their truth, to connect with their audience and to help others.

Hayden Panettiere said that when she publicly revealed her diagnosis for the first time, she “had no intention of or plan to talk about postpartum depression.” “It just came up, and I was being honest,” she explained , “and never for a second did I think that anyone, or care that anyone, would have a bad reaction to it. It was my truth.”

That gap between what morality clauses were designed to do and what they are now capable of doing is the problem Hayden Panettiere’s story makes visible.

The line between misconduct and misfortune has always existed in contract law. What’s changed is where that line sits in practice.

A talent who commits a crime has engaged in misconduct. A talent who publicly shares a mental health diagnosis has disclosed a personal medical experience. The morality clause sits uncomfortably between those two poles, and most existing language doesn’t distinguish between them.

Morality clauses were in the news earlier this year when ABC pulled Taylor Frankie Paul’s Season 22 of The Bachelorette in response to a video that appeared to show alleged domestic violence involving the lead.

Brands generally have broad discretion in how they interpret and invoke morality clauses. That discretion makes sense when morality clauses are invoked for genuine misconduct. It sits less comfortably when the triggering conduct is a mental health disclosure that the talent’s own audience responded to with support rather than outrage.

The Fix Is Precision, Not Elimination

The fix isn’t eliminating morality clauses. Brands have legitimate interests in protecting their commercial associations, and morality clauses serve a real purpose.

The fix is precision. A well-drafted morality clause in 2026 and beyond could distinguish between conduct that reflects actual misconduct—criminal behavior, discriminatory statements and genuine ethical violations—and personal disclosures that carry no moral culpability.

It could account for the reality that mental health disclosure, addiction recovery and personal crisis are no longer private matters for public figures. They are often the most important thing a talent shares with their audience.

As the creator economy grows and more people embrace authentic personal disclosure, the gap between morality clause language and the realities of public life will only widen. The brands that navigate this best will be the ones that update their agreements to reflect who their talent actually is, not who entertainment contracts assumed talent would be decades ago.

The clause was built for scandals. Mental health is not a scandal. The language should say so.