In 2014 someone intentionally vomited on Lady Gaga. It was part of the singer's set at that year's South by Southwest festival: Midway through her song "Swine," a "vomit artist" named Millie Brown stuck two fingers down her throat and puked green slime on Gaga's head. The moment polarized audiences—chiefly for its casual presentation of bulimic behavior—but Brown defended it as performance art. It didn't seem possible, but Gaga had out-Gaga-ed herself, leading fans to wonder what wild thing she'd do next.
The answer was shocking—but not in the way we thought. When Gaga released "Perfect Illusion" in September 2016, her first solo single in nearly three years, fans were puzzled. They wanted "Bad Romance": bizarre costumes, head-scratching social commentary, and a killer chorus. Instead, they got bluegrass: Gaga toned down her look, her sound, everything. In lieu of a glossy RedOne beat, Gaga opted for loud (and, occasionally, unpleasant) garage-band instrumentals. For the music video she wore a loose ponytail, jean cutoffs, and a gray T-shirt. Her album that dropped a month later (Joanne) boasts this aesthetic too: It has exactly zero true-blue pop songs; she delivers raw vocals and soft acoustics throughout it. She wears a cowboy hat on the cover.
It's easy to write Joanne off as just another pop-music transformation; pop stars have been reinventing themselves for years (hell, Madonna made a career out of it). But Gaga isn't the only mega-star to recently swap shock for sentiment. Katy Perry ushered in her "purposeful pop" era with "Chained to the Rhythm," an undeniably catchy song with an undeniably political message. (Compare this to "Teenage Dream" and "California Gurls," two stylish jams with essentially no substance.) She's toned down sonically as well: Both "Bon Appétit" and "Swish Swish" lack the energetic hooks Perry trademarked seven years ago. (She's also low-key in the video for "Bon Appétit," replacing her standard jungle vines and ice-cream bras with a nude bodysuit.) Oh, and her hair is now remarkably shorter.
And then there's Miley Cyrus, whose recent transformation has been the most surprising—and controversial. The former Disney star is practically a shell of her former, twerking self. She ditched the foam fingers and electro-R&B for sunny rock-pop and tied-up shirts. She's wearing pants again. Her hair is long, blond, and messy. Some people are citing Cyrus' new, un-glam look as proof she absolutely appropriated black culture with her Bangerz and Dead Petz years. Cyrus didn't help her case when she told Billboard magazine she abandoned hip-hop after she started disagreeing with its message. (Saying an entire genre talks about just one thing is pretty much the textbook definition of appropriation.) In some critics' eyes, Cyrus dropped blackness after it was no longer beneficial for her. That's certainly a very valid argument.
However, it doesn't explain why all her peers are stripping down too. Selena Gomez's new song, "Bad Liar," sounds like an Alanis Morissette deep cut, a far cry from the splashy, Max Martin-produced "Hands to Myself" from 2015. The lyrics are also raw, as is the single cover art—to the naked eye, at least. And get this: In March Sia made a rare public appearance without her face-covering wig. For the first time ever, it seems like we're seeing female pop stars for exactly who they are.
But why is this happening now? Why are so many female singers taking off their latex outfits and AutoTune and substituting them with, well, nothing?
The answer lies in your Instagram filters. In the early 2010s, social media existed as a vehicle to present the best (and, sometimes, fakest) versions of ourselves. It was normal (if not popular) to cover your photos with a hot-pink overlay, remove "blemishes," and slap on a caption that made it seem like you had the best time ever in that moment. (Patriarchal expectations made this pressure even greater for women.) Obviously, this still happens now, and there's nothing inherently wrong with it—you do you!—but the culture at large has shifted. It's the reason "[Insert Celebrity] Posts Makeup-Free Selfie and/or Cellulite Photo" stories almost always go viral. Magazines are publicly shamed for photoshopping stars on their covers. People want things unfiltered now.
So pop music changed—as it always does. It made sense in 2010, a time when fantasy outweighed reality, for Gaga and Perry to rock Halloween costumes on the street. There was still a barrier between celebrities and the public back then, so we could reasonably indulge in their theatrics. But that barrier is gone now. Fans can tweet at their favorite celebrities whenever they want. They can ask for help with their college tuition—and get it. Celebrities aren't unapproachable deities anymore. They're our friends, so we want them to look like our friends.
That isn't to say super-glam appearances can't be authentic. Gaga routinely preached during her Fame Monster years that she wasn't putting on an act. But the public is now craving a very specific type of dive-bar authenticity. And that doesn't include meat dresses.
Perhaps our culture is finally giving pop stars permission to fully reveal themselves. (Remember, they're people who are influenced by the media, just like us.) The "perfection" narrative still dominated the zeitgeist five years ago, especially for women, so it's understandable why several pop queens turned to surreality and made themselves immune to criticism. Tabloids were simply unable to write mean things about Gaga back then because they literally couldn't see her. However, now that complete exposure is both normal and encouraged, Gaga might be more comfortable letting her "Joanne" out. Exhibit A: Practically the entire world had Gaga's back when body-shaming trolls attacked her Super Bowl performance. Compare this to Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction in 2004, where virtually no one was in her corner. (Of course, that was a result of both sexism and racism.)
This is certainly the case for Gomez, who said in 2014 that she succumbed to intense media pressure during the early stages of her career. It's also probably the case for Perry, who recently posted this video asking us if we could "see" her:
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Beyoncé and Rihanna never gave into this pressure, which is why they're not a part of this trend and continue to reign as music's true titans. Beyoncé's look, sound, and performance style have pretty much been constant since 2003's Dangerously in Love. She's known exactly who she is since day one and hasn't been afraid to show it. The same goes for Rihanna: She's been doing what she wants since 2007's Good Girl Gone Bad. Their ability to rebuke trends is precisely why they set them.
And here's hoping this "trend" stays around for a while. Admittedly, it feels weird to call authenticity a "trend" because it always should've existed in pop culture—but it didn't. Now that celebrities are finally keeping it real, though, we don't want them to stop. After all, the truth is always stranger (and more exciting) than fiction.
