Bella Hadid Got ‘Canceled’ for a Ad, So She’s Now Selling… Olive Oil? I’m Not Making This Up
Look, I know we’re all living through the timeline where the economy is held together by vibes and desperation, but even I have to do a double-take when I saw the news: Bella Hadid, the supermodel who got unceremoniously dumped by Adidas for that "1972 Olympics" sneaker ad that apparently hit too close to home for some people, has decided her next career move is… farming. Specifically, selling olive oil.
Yes, you read that right. The woman who walks runways for millions of dollars, dates cowboys, and has the bone structure of a Greek goddess is now your local artisanal olive oil merchant. And before you ask—no, this isn't a bit. She’s actually doing it.
Let me set the scene. A few months ago, Bella was the public face of a whole Adidas campaign. Then, the internet (my people) dug up that the ad referenced the 1972 Munich Olympics, a.k.a. the one where Palestinian terrorists murdered Israeli athletes. Bella, who is Palestinian-American, was accused of being "antisemitic" for being in the ad. She wasn't, obviously—she’s just a model who gets paid to stand in front of a camera—but the court of public opinion (again, my people) doesn't care about nuance. They just care about the smell of blood in the water. Adidas dropped her faster than a hot potato, she apologized, and we all moved on to the next drama.
But Bella didn't move on. She apparently took the hint that fashion was maybe a toxic workplace and decided to pivot to something that can't be canceled: food. Specifically, olive oil from her family's farm in Palestine.
Now, I’m all for a side hustle. But this is like if your ex-girlfriend who was a lawyer suddenly started selling homemade candles on Etsy. It’s… a choice.
The brand is called "Orebella," which is a name that sounds like a Game of Thrones character who runs a speakeasy. And the product is "extra virgin olive oil" from her family's land. She’s been posting videos of herself pressing olives, wearing flannel, and looking like she just stepped out of a Lululemon ad for "rustic farm life." It’s giving "Rich Girl Discovers Agriculture."
And the internet, predictably, is having a field day. The comments are a goldmine of skepticism. "So she got canceled for a shoe ad and now she’s selling oil? That’s a hell of a rebrand." "Bella Hadid is my new farmer. I love that for her." "This is the most Gen Z response to being canceled I’ve ever seen."
But let’s be real—is this actually a good idea? Let’s break it down.
First, the optics. Bella is Palestinian. She’s been very vocal about her heritage. Her family actually owns land in Palestine. So selling olive oil from that land is, on the surface, a way to reclaim a narrative. It’s a "fuck you" to the people who tried to cancel her. "You say I’m antisemitic? Here, have some olive oil from my ancestral home. Dip your bread in it." It’s a power move, but it’s also a risky one.
Because the second you start selling a product tied to a geopolitical conflict, you’re not just selling oil. You’re selling a statement. And the internet loves nothing more than to take a statement and set it on fire. Already, people are accusing her of "profiting off the conflict" or "being a settler" or whatever the current hot take is. You can’t win.
Second, is anyone actually going to buy this? I mean, sure, her stans will buy 50 bottles and use it to cook pasta while crying over her Instagram posts. But the average American? We’re struggling to afford eggs, Bella. We’re not spending $40 on a bottle of olive oil that comes with a side of political baggage. We’re buying the store brand at Walmart and pretending it’s from Tuscany.
Third, the quality. Look, I’m not saying Bella doesn’t know her olives. But there’s a difference between "my family has a farm" and "I am a legitimate olive oil producer." There are entire regions in Italy that have been doing this for centuries. You can’t just show up with a press and a dream and compete with that. It’s like me deciding to start a tech company because I know how to use a microwave.
But here’s the thing—I kind of respect it. No, really. She got canceled. She could have gone into hiding, done a Vogue interview crying about cancel culture, and then waited for the next scandal to blow over. Instead, she said, "Fine, I’ll go make olive oil." It’s the ultimate "I’m leaving the chat" move. She’s not playing the game anymore. She’s literally farming.
And let’s be honest, the olive oil market is ripe for disruption. (Pun intended.) Have you seen the prices of "artisanal" olive oil? It’s a racket. People are paying $50 for a bottle of stuff that was probably just regular olive oil with a fancy label. At least with Bella, you know the money is going to a family farm in Palestine, which is… something. It’s not like she’s selling NFTs or crypto. She’s selling food. That’s a tangible product. You can’t rug pull on a bottle of olive oil.
But the biggest question is: will this actually work? The celebrity product launch graveyard is full of failures. Remember when Gwyneth Paltrow sold that vagina-scented candle? Yeah, nobody does. And she’s still around. So maybe Bella will survive this too. Or maybe she’ll be the next "famous person who now sells pickles." Time will tell
Final Thoughts
Having long observed the relentless churn of celebrity culture, it’s striking how Bella Hadid has weaponized her own mental health struggles and family legacy not for passive sympathy, but as a form of professional resilience. Her narrative isn't just another model's confession; it’s a strategic dismantling of the industry’s superficial demands, proving that vulnerability, when wielded with agency, can become a more powerful currency than perfection. Ultimately, her career arc suggests that for the modern star, the most compelling brand is not a flawless image, but the raw, unfinished story of who you are beneath the makeup.