The Lexi Love case has developed as a warning about the ways in which identity, art, and the law can converge in ways that are remarkably public yet intensely personal. Clair Barnes, the RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 17 finalist who wowed crowds with the stage name Lexi Love before that name became the focus of an unrelenting legal battle, is at the center of it all.
Table
Category | Details |
---|---|
Stage Name | Lexi Love (used by Drag Race Season 17 finalist Clair Barnes) |
Real Name | Clair Barnes |
Profession | Drag performer, RuPaul’s Drag Race finalist |
Trademark Dispute With | Selena Scola (former adult performer, AI artist, entrepreneur) |
Legal Issue | Trademark claim on the name “Lexi Love,” reactivated in 2024 |
Impact | Cancelled performances, social media takedowns, music removed |
Public Reaction | Overwhelming fan support for Barnes; backlash against Scola |
Broader Themes | Stage name ownership, LGBTQ+ identity, transphobia in legal disputes |
Reference | https://www.them.us/entertainment/rupauls-drag-race-lexi-love-lawsuit |

The case began in early 2024, as Barnes was beginning to gain national recognition, when Selena Scola, a former adult entertainer who is now an AI artist, reactivated an old trademark for “Lexi Love.” Citing Barnes’ use of the name as unapproved commercial infringement, Scola, who had originally used it twenty years prior, sent cease-and-desist letters. In addition to performances being canceled, Barnes’ social media accounts and music streaming services were taken down, depriving performers of a significant portion of the digital infrastructure that they now rely on to support their careers.
The argument has shifted in recent weeks from being about paperwork to being more about rhetoric. In an effort to disassociate herself from Barnes, Scola released a statement outlining the difficulties she had never encountered: she was not transgender, HIV-positive, homeless, or addicted. The wording, which was meant to provide legal clarification, seemed particularly explicit in its rejection of Barnes’ lived reality. Supporters characterized it as deeply disrespectful, stigmatizing, and transphobic.
The reaction was swift and incredibly powerful. Fans denounced what they perceived as a shrewd attempt to ruin a queer performer’s moment, and within days, hashtags of support for Barnes went viral on social media. Many found it eerily reminiscent of past entertainment disputes in which trademarks were used to silence rather than to defend. Blues singer Lady A was overshadowed by Lady Antebellum’s corporate rebrand, and Beyoncé once fought a wedding planner for her daughter’s name, Blue Ivy. The struggle for a name in each instance had cultural significance that went well beyond a legal registry line.
Before Drag Race, Barnes had been performing as Lexi Love for almost ten years, but all of a sudden, her bookings were disappearing. Venues canceled invitations out of concern for lawsuits. At a time when her career should have been taking off, platforms like Cameo and Spotify completely erased her presence, drastically lowering her visibility. She acknowledged the personal toll in interviews, describing the humiliation of having to use her legal deadname on social media accounts in order to maintain their activity.
Drag names have always been more than just entertainment branding, so the stakes are especially high. In many instances, they serve as lifelines—acts of self-invention that enable performers to recover their identity and prominence in marginalized societies. Many members of the queer community feel that losing a chosen name under legal duress is an act of erasure. The Lexi Love lawsuit was swiftly framed by fans as a purposeful attempt to silence queer artistry at its most vulnerable time rather than as a neutral trademark dispute.
Barnes, however, has reacted with fortitude. She admitted her mistakes while expressing a willingness to reinvent herself. She even suggested holding a “Name Me” competition for fans to help gather ideas for a possible rebrand. This response was especially creative because it transformed a vulnerable moment into a chance for group creativity. It emphasized the qualities that drag culture has always exhibited: humor, flexibility, and a refusal to give up under duress.
The emotionally charged nature of this conflict distinguishes it from other celebrity branding conflicts. It seemed opportunistic to observers that Scola’s trademark revival occurred at the same time as Barnes’ ascent. Audiences found her statements, which distanced her from problems like addiction or HIV, to be ruthlessly contemptuous of the hardships Barnes had courageously discussed on Drag Race. Supporters perceived a thinly veiled assault on queer resilience rather than a legal claim, a narrative that connected with current discussions about homophobia and transphobia in public settings.
Drag Race has given queens previously unheard-of visibility by transforming underground drag culture into popular entertainment through strategic alliances. However, fame also brings vulnerability, and the Lexi Love case demonstrates how artists may suddenly find themselves subject to the restrictions imposed by intellectual property laws. Once mainly used by corporations, trademark claims are now being repurposed in artistic communities and occasionally used as weapons against people who are easiest to target due to their prominence.
The effects on society have been especially apparent. Younger fans, many of whom are still figuring out who they are, see Barnes’ struggle as a mirror of their own anxieties: that their carefully constructed identities, chosen names, and hard-earned visibility could be taken away by uncontrollable forces. Beyond just drag fans, the outcry has sparked insightful panel discussions and op-eds about the boundaries of trademark law, the perils of transphobic rhetoric, and the significance of standing by queer performers who are being harassed.
The irony is that Scola might have unintentionally increased Barnes’ profile. The controversy, which sought to silence her, elevated Lexi Love to a cause célèbre, fostering fan loyalty and guaranteeing that her name, disputed as it is, will continue to be mentioned in popular culture. The situation is eerily reminiscent of earlier instances in which censorship efforts only strengthened public support for the targeted artist.
According to legal experts, Barnes might win in the end because Scola’s trademark had been inactive for almost ten years before it was reactivated. Given Barnes’ lengthy performances under the name and the harm caused by Scola’s abrupt enforcement, courts could take equitable use into account. However, the impact on revenue and bookings is instantaneous, and the legal process is slow and expensive. It serves as a reminder of how unfair these disputes can be, and how sometimes the filing process can be just as damaging as the final result.
The Lexi Love lawsuit will probably set a warning precedent in the years to come as drag continues to spread on television, streaming, and international tours. In order to guard against opportunistic claims, performers might feel pressured to register trademarks sooner. In order to prevent contestants from being caught off guard after their ascent to fame, it might also motivate entertainment companies to take a more proactive approach to protecting stage names.