When I was 10, I really wanted to be famous. I first sang in my parents’ rockabilly band, then, aged 19, I packed my bags and left my homeland, Australia, with a round-the-world plane ticket. I settled in London, and by 22 I’d recorded my first solo album. I’ve made three solo albums since, as well as three with Zero7, and I’ve collaborated with Natasha Bedingfield, Christina Aguilera and Beck. I went from being a nobody, to having one or two fans outside the stage door, to maybe 60, screaming and drunk, all wanting autographs, photos of us together and hugs. Some people crave this sort of attention, but for a sensitive person, fame is a recipe for disaster. I love making and performing music, but the social contract around it can be so unhealthy.It was at the beginning of 2009, after the release of my last album, that it started to become a problem, and I’m only famous to a specific demographic. I know what it is to be a fan — I’ve approached my idols feeling excited, with my heart racing, then you walk away, leaving your manic energy with the artist. Some celebrities have strong boundaries — they’re friendly, but they keep their distance. I can’t help getting into conversations — I don’t want the fans to feel bad, because then I’ll feel bad. Early on, I used to give out hugs randomly, and it felt good to share the moment, but it’s different with crowds. Nowadays, people have access to so much information, so fans think they’re your friend. I was stalked by a guy who used to write to me and sneak backstage to give me presents. He wasn’t dangerous, he just made me feel unsafe. That overfamiliarity is unsettling.
Gradually, more and more people started coming up to me in the street, and now it can be 15 times a day, and often at inappropriate moments: I was in a cafe with an old friend, who was telling me she had breast cancer, when some fans asked for a photo. And I’ve been manipulated into promoting a dodgy brand: some girls accosted me to give me some sunglasses, and I took them because I didn’t want to insult them, then suddenly they were taking a photo. Sometimes I wish I had an invisibility cloak.
When I started going out with JD Samson (of Le Tigre), I was outed by Perez Hilton as bisexual. I suddenly started being asked a lot of personal questions, which was really difficult. I’d had a relationship with a woman when I was 20, but nobody cared then. As it came at the same time as my fame, it made me withdraw, and I started to have panic attacks. It was then that I was prescribed antidepressants — fame made me develop a panic disorder. When I stop doing this job, I know I won’t need them.
I met Chrissie Hynde once, and she advised me never to read anything about myself: “If you believe the good, you’ll believe the bad, and it will destroy you.” I’ve stuck to that (though I once googled myself and read a review that said, “If you like the sound of a cat being strangled, you’ll like Sia” — it felt like I was being stabbed in the heart), but having to promote yourself constantly is not good for you. You’re expected to be this charismatic character, yet people ask the same questions over and over again, and I have to answer as if I’ve never heard them before. The repetition makes me sick of myself. I feel like a fraud, an actor reading from a script. After a promo stint, I can’t do anything; I’m emotionally exhausted.
Having become friends with Christina Aguilera, I can see she deals with it amazingly well. She has made a little world for herself at home with everything you could possibly need (a cinema, even), because she can’t leave without zillions of paparazzi pursuing her; when she does, she has security the whole time. For her, the pluses outweigh the minuses. I could develop more boundaries, but the fact is, I don’t need to be the star any more. I don’t need to sing in front of thousands, as I can sing in the shower. The accolades don’t nourish me — being with loved ones and my dogs does.
Sure, there are advantages: I can tweet someone famous and they’ll usually tweet back; I get given free stuff, but I can afford to buy it myself. The money has been useful, but I really haven’t made that much — only those in Coldplay’s league make big money from record sales. Maybe I’ll get so successful that I can afford security and private planes, but I just want a simple life. It’s wrong that we mystify fame like it’s the apex of life, when the truth is that it can ruin you. With so many paps hounding her, it’s no wonder Britney Spears was diagnosed as bipolar. Amy Winehouse wasn’t doing crack and heroin until she became successful. And then there’s Heath Ledger and Brittany Murphy — I can understand how they got to that place. People aren’t honest about the horrors of fame. The downsides are so overwhelming that, for me, there is no payoff. I’m a 34-year-old woman living a 10-year-old’s dream. Now my dream is to write songs for others, to have a baby, to have a routine. The absence of routine is destructive, and the constant highs and lows so unhealthy — that’s why I want a normal job. I want to be who I was before all this. After this record, I’m going to retrain as a dog masseuse.Sia’s single Clap Your Hands is out on May 31, the album We Are Born on June 7, and she is playing at the Roundhouse, NW1, on May 27
Source: TimesOnline
Credits: Mo-Xtina
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