The year was 2010 and I’d been sent to Orlando, Florida by the Mail to interview teen sensation of the moment, Justin Bieber. He was then just 16 years old, but already had a string of hits to his name and an army of young female fans, known as ‘Beliebers’.
He had been discovered aged 13 after posting videos of himself on YouTube singing Justin Timberlake’s Cry me a River in his bedroom. The son of a single teenage mother, Pattie, he grew up in a low-income family in Canada. His voice, his talent, was their ticket out of the poverty trap.
But in the years that followed, Bieber became bigger than anyone could have anticipated – and found himself confined in a gilded cage.
I met him before he embarked on a gruelling, all-singing and dancing performance that night at Orlando’s giant Amway Arena. I watched as his management made him do a ‘meet and greet’ with fans, who lined up in their hundreds to have their photo taken with him. On the sidelines, I watched as he wilted, exhausted and dismayed at the length of the queue. Bodyguards beside him gestured for him to ‘smile!’. One mouthed, ‘Look animated! Sign her T-shirt!’
The year was 2010 and I’d been sent to Orlando, Florida by the Mail to interview teen sensation of the moment, Justin Bieber, writes LIZ JONES
Finally, several hours later, I was ushered into the dressing room of a boy who had been described by New York magazine as a ‘small woodland creature’ to conduct my interview. I was among another long line of journalists from all over the world, so hadn’t been granted very long wih Bieber. I counted 37 people in the small room.
Justin seemed bored, his shiny, feathered mop top (since cruelly shaved, as if to purge himself of any lingering cuteness) bowed and nodding sleepily. He gave rambling answers to my questions. As my time with him was limited, I had to cut him short several times. ‘Why do you keep interrupting me?’ he snapped angrily, sinking lower in his seat, like a typically moody teenager. I was shocked by his rudeness, but had a great deal of sympathy for such a young workhorse who clearly was only interested in zooming around backstage on his Segway scooter.
I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt but his manager, Scooter Braun, sat in on our meeting and was furious. He made his young charge hand over his mobile phone, telling him it would not be returned until he had learned some manners. ‘He has to apologise,’ Scooter snapped. Braun, of course, has since been involved in his own controversies. In 2019, Taylor Swift accused him of ‘bullying’ after Braun bought most of her life’s work, thanks to his acquisition of her former record label Big Machine for $300million (£237million). Before my interview, Scooter had told me arrogantly, ‘I’d be wealthy without Justin Bieber’.
I realised then that, like every child star I can think of, from Judy Garland to Michael Jackson, Bieber was used and abused, with no control over his schedule, let alone his life. He was a cash calf, with no normal childhood to speak of. He was surrounded by adults. Every second of his time was accounted for. So it is no wonder that, now, he has regrettably ended up the way he has: chaotic and seemingly out of control.
Four days ago, the now 31-year-old singer shared a post online in which he revealed he feels like a ‘fraud’, ‘unqualified most days’ while also pictured smoking a marijuana bong seated on an electric bike. He wrote: ‘People told me my whole life “wow Justin you deserve that”. I personally have always felt unworthy, like I was a fraud, like when people told me I deserve something.
Four days ago, the now 31-year-old singer shared a post online in which he revealed he feels like a ‘fraud’, ‘unqualified most days’
‘It made me feel sneaky like, damn if they only knew my thoughts… how judgemental I am… how selfish I really am. If you feel sneaky, welcome to the club. I definitely feel unequipped and unqualified most days.’
His outfits have become increasingly bizarre and dishevelled, culminating in a video of him rapping on board a private plane – ‘I like a fly guy, I fly high like a magpie, I go high like I’m that guy’ – bare-chested save for his numerous tattoos. Fans are concerned for his welfare and, understandably, for the wellbeing of his seven-month-old son, Jack, with wife Hailey; a model and socialite, she’s the daughter of actor Stephen Baldwin. She’s a level-headed woman used to fame but, boy, not at this crazy, all-consuming level.
It is easy to ask, well, why should anyone feel sorry for a multi-millionaire who has a beautiful wife and child? Not only does Bieber travel by private jet, staying in five-star hotels, he has several beautiful homes; he was given a Range Rover on his 16th birthday.
The general consensus seems to be that being rich and famous comes with an entourage of yes men: that minions smooth your path, as though you are on ice, playing a game of curling.
But the truth is, particularly for those who find fame very young, that ice is very thin indeed. Bieber’s schooling was rudely interrupted. He was unable to form relationships with his peers. He had no privacy, meaning every adolescent pimple was magnified. None of this is conducive to becoming a rounded adult.
His outfits have become increasingly bizarre and dishevelled
On the one hand, he can demand whatever he wants. On the other, every second of every day is mapped out for him. He is bombarded daily with figures: how many times a song has been streamed and ticket sales. He must, when he wakes in the dead of night, wonder: Am I over, have kids moved on to the next big thing? Am I too old to still be doing this? Do the people who work for me genuinely like me, or are they gossiping behind my back? What secrets are about to be sold? Does anyone really love me? Who can I trust?
I’ve interviewed countless celebrities over the years, and I don’t think I’ve met one who is genuinely happy, or who doesn’t feel imposter syndrome over their jets and houses and their hired help. When I interviewed girl band All Saints, the young stars showed me their schedule for the next year, each square on the calendar filled in. Most notably they showed me their ‘diet sheets’, as two of them were deemed too chunky. Any spare hour meant they were frogmarched to the gym. Every pop star I’ve met has been paranoid and jumpy, from David Cassidy to Prince. They fear betrayal and loneliness. They realise perhaps too late that the love of fans doesn’t keep them warm at night. That money and fame can be a prison. No wonder so many become dependent on alcohol and drugs.
When I left the stadium that night, I asked Scooter how he was planning to ensure his charge’s trajectory would not become another of these tragic, sordid tales.
‘I won’t let that happen,’ he assured me. Fifteen years later, and it seems that is precisely what he has done.
