By most measures, Selena Gomez and
Taylor Swift are remarkable women. Intelligent and capable, they have succeeded
through innate talent, hard and sustained work, ambition, and vision. Both are
the kind of mega pop stars who inspire convulsions of adulation and tears.
Crowds surge and part in their presence. They are graced with a radiance that
seems almost exclusive to celebrities, with skin so incandescent it needs no
filter.
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But they are not perfect. Nor, importantly, do they
pretend to be. A recent Apple TV+ documentary, “Selena Gomez: My Mind &
Me”, offers an unsparing portrait of Gomez, now 30, and her experiences with
bipolar disorder, lupus, anxiety, and psychosis.
On her latest album, “Midnights”, Swift, 32, sings
about her depression working the graveyard shift, about ending up in crisis.
This combination of external flawlessness and
emotional vulnerability feels like a feature particular to contemporary female
pop stardom. On one screen we see impeccable glam, expertly choreographed and costumed
performances, and startling displays of luxury. On the other screen, admissions
of anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, panic attacks, and sleeplessness.
What does it mean that many of today’s female pop
stars, not only Gomez and Swift, but also Adele,
Lady Gaga, and Ariana Grande,
openly express their struggles with anxiety, depression, and panic attacks?
Megan Thee Stallion has written a song called “Anxiety” and created a website
dedicated to mental health. Even Rihanna, paragon of cool confidence, has
admitted to the occasional bout of anxiety. Many stars admit in posts and
interviews that the rapacious public scrutiny — the followers, the backlashes,
the manufactured outrage, the criticisms, the haters — gets to them.
Some may criticize celebrities for oversharing their
woes, but the impulse is certainly in line with a noted increase in mental
health issues — and a heightened awareness and openness about those challenges.
Nor is this exclusive to pop music or to women; in competitive sports, athletes
like Simone Biles and
Naomi Osaka — and among men, Olympic swimmer Michael
Phelps and the NBA’s Kevin Love — have been similarly candid about the
pressures of performance.
For Gomez, the effects have been brutal. The
fragility on display in Alek Keshishian’s documentary is at times difficult to
watch, despite — or perhaps because of — the tremendous appeal of the young
woman at its center. With humility and self-deprecation, Gomez describes
physical and emotional pain that can overwhelm her. “I get the voice that comes
in my head that says that you missed this. That sucked; that sucked,” Gomez
tells her team after an onstage rehearsal. “The pressure is just overwhelming
because I want to do the best I can, and I’m not.”
Imagine that
same relentless scrutiny — if not in quite the same proportions — and
self-doubt without the benefits of fame, success, wealth, and beauty to offset
the burden. In the recent book “Behind Their Screens: What Teens Are Facing
(And Adults are Missing)”,
Emily Weinstein and Carrie James document what they
call “Comparison Quicksand”. They quote girls saying things such as, “On social
media everyone seems like they are far better and far ahead than me, which is
stressful and makes me feel behind, unwanted and stupid.” And: “I scroll
through my Instagram and see models with perfect bodies, and I feel horrible
about myself.” For teenagers who are susceptible to insecurity (and one wonders
which ones are not), Weinstein and James write, “going on social media can
activate the ‘dark spiral’”.
“Somebody made a comment, and it involved me, and
then for two days I felt bad about myself.” That sounds like any young woman
talking about social media, but in this case, it is Selena Gomez in a recent
interview with Rolling Stone, evidently referring to a comment by the wife of
former beau Justin Bieber.
A similar random online post can have the same
effect on anyone — just without the celebrity ex-boyfriend. The scale may be
smaller, but it is still the entire world to the average teenager. Weinstein
and James point out that on social media, “hostility is also enacted in front
of — even for — an audience.” “When you go home you can’t get a break from
drama or bullying,” a 12-year-old told Weinstein and James.
One chapter in another recent book, “Girls on the
Brink: Helping Our Daughters Thrive in an Era of Increased Anxiety, Depression,
and Social Media” by Donna Jackson Nakazawa, asks, “Is This a Toxic Era for
Girls?” and offers an immediate answer, “Yes, and it’s worse than you thought.”
It is hard even on the toughest and most determined,
and Gomez is both those things. Born to teenage parents, she started working at
a young age and never stopped. In the film, Gomez comes across as both
admirable and sympathetic. When she hugs someone on screen, whether weeping fan
or old family friend, she wraps her arms fully around them and holds close. You
feel her embrace from the other side of the screen.
This may be precisely what fans today respond to.
It is worth noting that back in 1991, Keshishian
directed the documentary “Truth or Dare” about another very different pop star,
Madonna. Under the headline “No One Ever Called Her Shy”, The New York Times’
critic noted its subject’s “inexhaustible bravado”. At that time, pop singers
like Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, and Janet Jackson tended to project toughness over
vulnerability, a position of not caring what other people think versus caring
possibly too much. Perhaps they felt the need to project a strength only
recently won. The resulting image could be inspirational, if daunting and
unrealistic in its own ways.
It may be that each generation gets a slate of pop
stars attuned to its own aspirations and insecurities. Young women may be able
to better relate to today’s pop stars — for better and for worse.
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