Does Idealizing Artists Make Us Forget They’re Human?

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We often call them icons, legends, gods, yet they are people just like us. We see them as different because they write lyrics that move us and seem invincible under the stage lights. Fame is a strange kind of religion, and we are its most devoted believers.

We live in an era where artists don’t just create, they exist under constant exposure. Every movement, word, mistake, or tear becomes content. Talent alone is no longer enough; one must also maintain a flawless image under the endless gaze of fans that never stops watching.

But sadly, all this admiration leads us to see them in a distorted way. What I mean is, the more we look at them, the less we truly see them. We turn artists into symbols, mirrors of what we wish to be or feel. We want them to be vulnerable, but only if their vulnerability pleases us. We want them to be authentic, but not so much that they make us uncomfortable.

Fame doesn’t just illuminate; it reflects. It shows what society celebrates, but also what it demands, perfection, productivity, constant resilience. We ask artists to open up emotionally, but if they do it the “wrong” way, we decide they deserve punishment. Whenever an artist appears tired or broken, we analyze it as if it were part of a “performance” or a TV show.

And when one fades away “too soon”, like Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, or Whitney Houston, we say they “died for their art,” as if suffering were a requirement for being remembered. But the truth is, we loved them only when they were singing. We wanted their voice, not their silence.

Social media made us believe the distance between artist and audience disappeared. We think we see everything, their lives, their routines, their thoughts, making us feel like we truly know them. But that isn’t real.

This digital closeness creates the illusion of what psychologists call parasocial relationships. We feel emotionally connected to people who don’t even know we exist, and that can make our empathy selective.

For example, when an artist changes their style, we say “they’re not the same anymore.” When they take a break, we accuse them of “losing their touch.”
We expect them to be eternal, not realizing that even stars need darkness to keep from burning out.
Let’s remember: fame doesn’t just illuminate, it also burns.

Today’s audience holds real power. A single song can rise or die within hours, sometimes minutes, depending on what social media decides. And in the middle of those dynamics, we forget that behind every lyric, there’s a person, not a brand. Artists feel the same emotions we do. They suffer from anxiety, loneliness, and pressure, often more than we can imagine. The difference is that their pain becomes a spectacle, something the world turns into a trend.

We tend to admire those who project strength, forgetting that sometimes strength is just a way of surviving. Maybe we idealize them because they represent what we want to be: brave, free, heard, or maybe we simply compare our lives to theirs. But we must remember that they are as human as we are. And when we do, the myth fades and something more real appears, empathy.

Behind every microphone is someone filled with emotions, including fear.
Someone who once doubted their talent, their body, their voice… someone who just seeks acceptance, love, and peace. One of the greatest lessons music teaches us is that even stars need darkness to shine. Perhaps the truest act of love toward artists isn’t to idolize them, but to accept them without demanding perfection.

Music doesn’t ask us to worship the artist, it invites us to recognize the human being within their voice. So the next time your favorite singer talks about their exhaustion or anxiety, don’t look up from the pedestal, listen from the heart.

When the shows are over, all of us, artists and listeners, are still searching for the same thing: a little understanding, and a place where our own voices can be heard.