All year, the bizarre collection of affected mannerisms that is Iggy Azalea has been slowly gaining in momentum—first dropping the single “Fancy,” featuring Charli XCX, that became the song of the summer, sort of, as well as contributing rhymes to Ariana Grande’s “Problem” and teaming up with Rita Ora on “Black Widow.” Her fame has come hand-in-hand with notoriety; rumors fly that Azalea does not write her own lyrics, her live performances have been less than dazzling, and last but not least, her entire career seems to be built on shameless cultural appropriation.

Azalea, born Amethyst Amelia Kelly, is a white blonde girl from Australia, who illegally immigrated to America at 16 and worked as a hotel maid while trying to establish a music career for herself. The pathway she found was rap—and not just any rap, but as Brittany Cooper explains, Southern, ATL-style hip-hop. While black female rappers are marginalized or ignored, Azalea’s image has proved to be lucrative, and that has nothing to do with her talent. As numerous critics have observed, including Chris Molanphy at Slate and Molly Lambert at Grantland, Azalea is a mediocre artist using the toehold of her novelty for success. (This is what her voice actually sounds like, by the way; even her off-air persona is a carefully pruned minstrel show.)

Iggy Azalea’s persona would be less frustrating if she seemed even slightly aware of it. The relationship white musicians have with black musicians is in and of itself a significant subgenre of American race relations; musical cultural appropriation is rock ‘n’ roll, after all. Within the genres of rap and hip-hop—musical forms where black musicians finally got some credit for their creation—it’s even more important for white musicians to justify their existence. Eminem is a dick to everyone, but especially following “8 Mile,” it’s hard to think of him as anything but a champion for the lives of the disenfranchised working-class Detroiters he grew up with. Macklemore’s stance on inclusiveness has more to do with him, most of the time, than it does for the marginalized groups he’s advocating for—his eagerness to be seen as progressive speaks of ego more than altruism. On the other hand, though, at least he has a stance—and when he marched for Mike Brown in Seattle, he did his best to blend in. Even up-and-comers like the charmingly named Machine Gun Kelly have a finger on the pulse of the conversation; that rapper played the part of a white, racist asshole in “Beyond the Lights,” demonstrating a willingness to confront his own complicity in the problems with hip-hop.

Wednesday night, one of the female black rappers Azalea feuds with, Azealia Banks, called out “Igloo Australia” for not speaking out on the Eric Garner case, as she herself was doing. Banks’ twitter is all kinds of profanity and calling-out, and there are dozens upon dozens of artists, black and white, who didn’t bother making a statement about New York’s decision to not indict the cop that killed Garner. Azalea’s silence wasn’t necessarily remarkable, just in-character. But her responses to Banks’ shade were uncomfortably clueless: The first noted that “all hell broke loose” while she was offline; the second urged an unnamed person to “find a new game plan.” Tellingly, the second could literally be directed at anyone, about anything—Banks, for calling her out on Twitter, continuing the feud; the police, for getting in hot water again over another unexplained black death; the protestors, even, for taking to the streets with the same cry for justice.