The faults in our stars: Lizzo and the flaws of celebrity worship
Harry Khachatrian
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There’s a certain allure to surprising celebrity news that sends us flocking to social media, ready either to pile onto the criticism or indignantly defend our favorite stars caught in their latest scandals. Take, for instance, the meteoric rise and the current unfurling of Lizzo.
Bursting on to the mainstream pop scene with her third studio album, Cuz I Love You, in 2019, Lizzo rode the wave of her viral hit “Truth Hurts” to global fame. Yet, it was more her charisma and confidence, despite her marked obesity, than her vocal prowess that elevated the rising rapper. Her success coincided with a cultural shift away from the size-zero norms of Victoria’s Secret models, molding her into a plus-sized media darling and the poster girl for body positivity.
THE DEI THREAT TO OUR MILITARY ACADEMIES
Crowned as Time magazine’s 2019 Entertainer of the Year, Lizzo basked in a fleeting period of media adoration. Some publications even lauded her as a classical musician. She played the flute through high school and part of college, but a Juilliard School virtuoso she is not.
As meteoric as Lizzo’s media-orchestrated rise to stardom and near-unanimous acclaim has been, so too is her current downfall. Her status as the poster girl for body positivity crumbled under the weight of a recent lawsuit filed by her backup dancers, alleging charges ranging from sexual harassment to weight and body-shaming (yes, you read that right).
Yet, it’s crucial to note that Lizzo’s public decline is not an isolated event but a symptom of the same cult of celebrity that fueled her rise. Our fascination with celebrities, amplified in the age of social media, often sets unrealistic expectations for these public figures we idolize. Channeling society’s collective ambitions — in this case, opposing unrealistic body weight standards — into a single singer is a precarious move; it’s akin to poor investing. You always have to hedge your bets. After all, we crave perfection and authenticity from them, conveniently forgetting that these individuals are just as fallible as the rest of us.
Ellen DeGeneres, the erstwhile queen of daytime television whose public relations team had cultivated her image as the nicest person in show business, was revealed to be a sham as a bevy of accusations of harboring a toxic workplace sank her ratings. Similar allegations have always peppered the press, from illustrious television stars such as Bill Cosby (rape) to stand-up comics such as Louis C.K. (lecherous indecency).
Our willingness to idolize celebrities often obscures the less glamorous aspects of their lives. This glamorization can evolve into blind worship, clouding our understanding of their human fallibility. The allure of their art and the seduction of their public personas often shroud the complex, frequently messy reality of their private lives.
It’s like gazing into a contemporary enactment of Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Gray, where the public image remains unblemished, but behind the scenes, a different picture emerges. The facade begins to crumble when those close to them, those without the spotlight or a public platform, start sharing their experiences. In the end, a person’s true character isn’t measured by their public image but by how they treat those in their lives who don’t share their fame or power.
Consider Taylor Swift, who, in stark contrast to Lizzo, has been making recent headlines for doling out six-figure bonuses to members of her record-breaking Eras Tour crew, notably the truck drivers. A gesture of indubitable generosity but also a reminder that, like her star-studded peers, Swift isn’t canonized into sainthood; that’s not to say her deed must be a PR front for money laundering, but rather that she’s as flawed as any of us.
The allegations against Lizzo present a sobering lesson about separating the art from the artist. There’s no reason to expunge her records from your library if her music is to your taste. After all, despite Richard Wagner’s detestable anti-Semitic views, his operas are still cherished and performed worldwide. Admittedly, Lizzo’s transgressions seem mild in comparison, but so is her art; “Good as Hell” is no “Tristan und Isolde.”
Celebrities are not gods or saints; they are as flawed as the rest of us. The true test of their character lies not in their ascension to fame but in how they navigate the tumultuous tides when their pedestals begin to crumble. As Lizzo is now learning, in the most public and painful way possible, the truth hurts.
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Harry Khachatrian (@Harry1T6) is a film critic for the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog and a computer engineer in Toronto, pursuing his MBA.