How did Katy Perry fade from our memories so quickly?
-Sarah clemens, 10th grade
The year is 2021. Katy Perry is singing a decade-old song for President Biden. It is a lovely moment filled with primary colors and high notes. She is clad in an all-white outfit and stares at the camera with a certain intensity. Most performers carry a special energy on inauguration day—the gig, if nothing else, offers an aura of respectability. Yet, there is something in Perry’s eyes that was missing. It looks like there is a subtle sadness. She knows she’s out of the public consciousness. Despite her star status, her fame has decreased immensely in these past few years. How did Katy Perry fade from our memories so quickly?
The year is 2016. A bad year for everyone, but especially for Perry. She was coming off the heels of an album that, while being a blockbuster (2013’s Prism boasted two number one singles), was significantly less popular than it’s ubiquitous predecessor, Teenage Dream. It’s hard to overstate how unstoppable Teenage Dream seemed to make Perry. New York Magazine wrote of it’s second single: “we are..mentally preparing ourselves for its ubiquity.”
A pop star is that rarest of phenomena: they aren’t built on critics or awards, but by how many people are paying attention to them at any given time. Perry never had much critical acclaim—she was always too provocative for that. She thrived on antics and stunts. Whipped cream bras. Elaborate stages. By building her career on this, she sacrificed one key component: an identity. Every celebrity has a certain brand, a certain thing only they can provide. Taylor Swift is constantly in her feelings. Beyonce is strong, flawless. Billie Eilish revels in her loneliness. Katy Perry was everything: sad, sassy, partying, in love, breaking up, over it, not over it—skip to the next song and she’s a brand new person.
This began weighing on how she was perceived. Prism did well, but no non-katy fan I’ve talked to can remember it’s last two singles. Perry was losing the attention she sustained herself with, while also realizing how detrimental it was to her mental health. She attested to having suicidal thoughts during the creation of Prism: “I feel ashamed that I would have those thoughts, feel that low and that depressed. Because, of course, Katy Perry’s so strong.”
All of this culminated in the most important decision of her career: cutting off her signature black hair and dying it blonde. Well, not really. But kind of. 2017’s Witness came after a four-year music drought. In that time, Perry had decided she would rebrand herself as a woke, feminist icon. On paper, it sounded fairly strong. 2016 was the political awakening for many Americans, so an album that offered political statements wrapped in catchy pop music could definitely work.
The problem was that Witness’ interest in politics was ultimately only surface-level. She performed the lead single wearing a bright pink PERSIST armband, and the aforementioned hair. She portrayed an image of feminism, but not a feminist action. After taking so long to return to the spotlight, Perry returned with a brand of political, but it wasn’t full blown. It was too offensive for centrists, and too centrist for radicals. As Pitchfork said in their review of her latest album: “We were meant to connect the dots between parceled honesty and political stances, between an oddball “diss track” against Taylor Swift and a broad stance on female empowerment.”
What happened next has been endlessly documented by pop historians, tabloids, and the occasional Twitter thread. Witness debuted at number one on the Billboard 100. It sold a hundred thousand less copies than Prism, and fell to number thirteen the following week. The highest charting single, “Chained To The Rhythm”, debuted at number four. Good sales, for anyone who wasn’t named Katy Perry. Something had shifted.
Surely given her record of generally solid pop music and hits (five number one singles! from the same album!), the general public would forgive her, right? Absolutely not. The second it was fashionable to dislike Katy Perry, hatred was piled upon her. On one hand, jokes Perry made about stuff like Britney Spears’ meltdown didn’t help her. She was a millionaire who messed up in a big way, and there is some schadenfreude to be found in that. On the other hand, Perry’s previous struggles with depression and needing validation were suddenly magnified. After all the dust had settled, she would say in an Apple Music interview: “I was getting pretty high off my own supply for a long time, and then it just didn't work after Witness. And like I said, it just changed by a few degrees from the outside looking in, but it was seismic for me. And I realized, 'Oh my God. I have given so much power out for validation and acceptance and love, and now it's not coming back to me.’” Millionaire or not, that’s a tough realization.
The Apple Music interview was for her latest album, Smile. It debuted at number five on the Billboard 100, with fifty thousand less sales than Witness. Like every other Katy Perry album, it received mixed reviews. She released a few technicolor music videos, none of which entered the mainstream consciousness. Yet, I listened to it the other day and couldn’t help but nod along. It’s a bright, insistent pop album. Tracks like “Tucked” and “Cry About It Later” have a buoyancy to them that a lot of modern chart toppers have traded in for ennui. It’s not a creative pivot, and it’s not what the mainstream is doing anymore. But it’s unmistakable Katy Perry.
So here we are. The year is 2021, again. Teenage Dream remains a landmark of pop, one of those essential albums that defined a year. Songs like “I Kissed A Girl”, “Dark Horse” and “Roar” are solid karaoke hits. Katy Perry has a child now, a girl named Daisy Dove Bloom. It’s too messy an ending to be called one. And if it’s the middle, it’s almost impossible to predict the end. One thing is certain though. When Perry sang “Firework” at Biden’s Inauguration, she got America to love her all over again. Even if it only lasted for a few minutes. If she can manage to build off of that, who knows what the future holds?
The year is 2016. A bad year for everyone, but especially for Perry. She was coming off the heels of an album that, while being a blockbuster (2013’s Prism boasted two number one singles), was significantly less popular than it’s ubiquitous predecessor, Teenage Dream. It’s hard to overstate how unstoppable Teenage Dream seemed to make Perry. New York Magazine wrote of it’s second single: “we are..mentally preparing ourselves for its ubiquity.”
A pop star is that rarest of phenomena: they aren’t built on critics or awards, but by how many people are paying attention to them at any given time. Perry never had much critical acclaim—she was always too provocative for that. She thrived on antics and stunts. Whipped cream bras. Elaborate stages. By building her career on this, she sacrificed one key component: an identity. Every celebrity has a certain brand, a certain thing only they can provide. Taylor Swift is constantly in her feelings. Beyonce is strong, flawless. Billie Eilish revels in her loneliness. Katy Perry was everything: sad, sassy, partying, in love, breaking up, over it, not over it—skip to the next song and she’s a brand new person.
This began weighing on how she was perceived. Prism did well, but no non-katy fan I’ve talked to can remember it’s last two singles. Perry was losing the attention she sustained herself with, while also realizing how detrimental it was to her mental health. She attested to having suicidal thoughts during the creation of Prism: “I feel ashamed that I would have those thoughts, feel that low and that depressed. Because, of course, Katy Perry’s so strong.”
All of this culminated in the most important decision of her career: cutting off her signature black hair and dying it blonde. Well, not really. But kind of. 2017’s Witness came after a four-year music drought. In that time, Perry had decided she would rebrand herself as a woke, feminist icon. On paper, it sounded fairly strong. 2016 was the political awakening for many Americans, so an album that offered political statements wrapped in catchy pop music could definitely work.
The problem was that Witness’ interest in politics was ultimately only surface-level. She performed the lead single wearing a bright pink PERSIST armband, and the aforementioned hair. She portrayed an image of feminism, but not a feminist action. After taking so long to return to the spotlight, Perry returned with a brand of political, but it wasn’t full blown. It was too offensive for centrists, and too centrist for radicals. As Pitchfork said in their review of her latest album: “We were meant to connect the dots between parceled honesty and political stances, between an oddball “diss track” against Taylor Swift and a broad stance on female empowerment.”
What happened next has been endlessly documented by pop historians, tabloids, and the occasional Twitter thread. Witness debuted at number one on the Billboard 100. It sold a hundred thousand less copies than Prism, and fell to number thirteen the following week. The highest charting single, “Chained To The Rhythm”, debuted at number four. Good sales, for anyone who wasn’t named Katy Perry. Something had shifted.
Surely given her record of generally solid pop music and hits (five number one singles! from the same album!), the general public would forgive her, right? Absolutely not. The second it was fashionable to dislike Katy Perry, hatred was piled upon her. On one hand, jokes Perry made about stuff like Britney Spears’ meltdown didn’t help her. She was a millionaire who messed up in a big way, and there is some schadenfreude to be found in that. On the other hand, Perry’s previous struggles with depression and needing validation were suddenly magnified. After all the dust had settled, she would say in an Apple Music interview: “I was getting pretty high off my own supply for a long time, and then it just didn't work after Witness. And like I said, it just changed by a few degrees from the outside looking in, but it was seismic for me. And I realized, 'Oh my God. I have given so much power out for validation and acceptance and love, and now it's not coming back to me.’” Millionaire or not, that’s a tough realization.
The Apple Music interview was for her latest album, Smile. It debuted at number five on the Billboard 100, with fifty thousand less sales than Witness. Like every other Katy Perry album, it received mixed reviews. She released a few technicolor music videos, none of which entered the mainstream consciousness. Yet, I listened to it the other day and couldn’t help but nod along. It’s a bright, insistent pop album. Tracks like “Tucked” and “Cry About It Later” have a buoyancy to them that a lot of modern chart toppers have traded in for ennui. It’s not a creative pivot, and it’s not what the mainstream is doing anymore. But it’s unmistakable Katy Perry.
So here we are. The year is 2021, again. Teenage Dream remains a landmark of pop, one of those essential albums that defined a year. Songs like “I Kissed A Girl”, “Dark Horse” and “Roar” are solid karaoke hits. Katy Perry has a child now, a girl named Daisy Dove Bloom. It’s too messy an ending to be called one. And if it’s the middle, it’s almost impossible to predict the end. One thing is certain though. When Perry sang “Firework” at Biden’s Inauguration, she got America to love her all over again. Even if it only lasted for a few minutes. If she can manage to build off of that, who knows what the future holds?
