In Pursuit of Pure Expression // The Pop Star Pain
Art by Valentina Salino
It’s just not fair. My eyes well with tears, my heart aches, it actually stings. I turn into a pouty baby whenever a pop star hits the stage. And then I remember my song is on and I am so fortunate to be here and I paid money for this. Right. Acknowledge the feeling, shake it off, enjoy the show. I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of being a pop star.
A lifelong fascination with Artistry, my mature way of saying celebrity and pop culture, is quintessential to who I am. It would be cool to say I am unmoored by “the media” and its exports but that would be a lie. I grew up on One Direction stan twitter and was molded brick by brick by every song, movie, and TV show that has moved me. Pop stardom is not a childhood dream that fades away like an astronaut or firefighter. The desire remains, unflinching in the face of reality. My occupation on dating apps always has and always will be: Pop Star. And no, I don’t have any musical ability (that I know of).
What I seek, what I envy, is pure expression. Freedom. I saw Charli xcx whip her hair and lick the stage at the Sweat tour. Seething with jealousy. When I watch Rosalia do quite literally anything but especially belt and cry. A pang in my chest. Most recently, I saw Nathy Peluso twirl her way across a stage with a shimmery curtain and a mic stand - she needed nothing else but her presence to captivate the room. Pure power. A great performance is guttural. When you watch Addison in the Fame is a Gun video, her hunger is palpable. Anyone can learn choreography, but you can tell when it is honest, essential, when it’s spilling out. I might cry now, swear.
At home, hours of interviews on Youtube. How did they do it, how did they make it, where did they find the time. I am obsessed with the process. I need to understand. I need it straight from the horse’s mouth. How. A pop star is gracious, grateful, thank you to the fans and the awards are ok but they are here for the art. True, I should write that down. I am too. I close my computer before bed, I feel unfulfilled. I want to make things too, you know. And yet, far too often, I consume rather than create. Lena Dunham pitching Girls to HBO at my age (23), the Safdie’s pumping out shorts while still in college, my friends in the biweekly writers group I am a part of but haven’t attended in months, they all cross my mind when I am lamenting how I’ve spent my day. All of this output, commitment, truth. And where am I? Online.
Sometimes, I will attempt to justify this time as research. I’m gathering clues, getting inspired, building references, of course. It’s all part of the process. There is truth to that, but it’s also a crutch. Like anyone else, I’m attached to my phone way more than I would like to admit. I’m not on TikTok but I’ve spent a decade on my perfectly tailored Twitter that feeds me my daily slop.
Why am I bookmarking Chappell Roan’s I don’t think so honey on Las Culturistas to watch later? I don’t even listen to her music. Bill Hader’s Mickey Mouse impression? Really? Harry Daniels singing at celebrities at Coachella? Girl. It goes without saying, none of this will do anything for me on a creative, practical, or personal level. While my fangirl tendencies have declined with age, I still feel so attached to celebrity. It’s annoying. I want to be a girl who, I don’t know, reads theory PDFs or spends hours painting or listens to informative podcasts. Alas, I can’t be bothered.
Live performance has always been the thing to drill in the fact I am not doing what I want, not yet anyway. I am not the product, I’m a measly consumer. What did Britney say? There’s only two types of people in the world… oh god. What am I, a mere observer? This is not limited to musicians. I spent the entire Alvin Ailey holiday show sobbing. A dancer whose mother once did their hair before the recital now receiving ravenous applause in New York City. Dreams do come true. How does that feel? My performer’s envy knows no bounds. As a teenager, during the peak Youtuber era, I went to Playlist Live three years in a row. At this convention, massive crowds formed to watch people with no traditional talent sing, dance, and talk shit on stage. I wanted that so bad. Cheers and squeals for being your authentic self. Or your curated, public self. Still, it’s an expression, an extension of who you are. This isn’t necessarily about success, but recognition. Being seen. Isn’t that all anyone wants? To be seen? Or is it to be understood?
Obviously, I do not know any of these people. I know enough about fame and celebrity to get that it’s not all roses. Far from it. Pressure to perform, critics in one ear, your “team” in another, misconceptions, stupid questions, compromised visions, and so much more I could never imagine without being in their position. A blessing and a curse. My blessing and a curse is that my job is really easy but I have to be there at 8AM everyday. Not glamorous at all. I have to remind myself, no one starts at the top of the world. Every artist I’ve ever loved has had to claw their way to where they are. We forget about the come up. Playing music in empty rooms with people who couldn’t care less, making cringy films that will never see the light of day, the no’s before the yes, the other 99 people in a room. Am I in that? Is scrolling part of the journey? Doubtful. Yearning? Possibly. The common thread between all of these people is audacity. Balls, if I may. Willingness to make a fool of yourself, slip on a banana peel, face the truth and let it spill out before doubt sets in.
If I were to embody the intellectual perhaps I’d be more sophisticated and refined. I might scoff at the thought of my wildest dreams, deem them preposterous, childish, foolish. I would redirect my focus from feeling to the practical. Do something more sensible and realistic. I could charm a room of thinkers parroting the ideas of those who came before them, making little quips between crudités. Then of course, I would not be me. My artists have shown me how to be free. Desire lies beneath every ache of envy I have for the pop star. I let them serve as a reminder to be bold, be ridiculous, chase it, dance like a freak, and be so honest whenever possible. What I want is attainable. Keep going.