What can we learn from the public tragedy of Amy Winehouse?
Today, we can finally see Amy, the critically-acclaimed documentary that examines the life, times, and struggles of the artist we lost way too soon.
After dying of alcohol poisoning at age 27 in July of 2011, Amy Winehouse’s end seemed both shocking and also not. I mean, since the release of 2006’s “Back to Black,” we watched her struggle with addiction and the pressures of fame. We dressed up like her for Halloween. We sang the praises of her outspokenness and inability to fake niceties, but would then scrutinize her weight, looks and lifestyle, all knowing it was excessive at best (and dangerous at worst).
And then she died, and we all felt bad. Bad because her loss was big—she was young, she still had so much to give, and she’d been trying to get better—but also because we’d let it happen. We clicked on gossip sites, read magazines, and contributed to her mythology through our own thoughts and theories. And instead of acknowledging her addictions with empathy or as human beings, we overlooked their realities to fuel more gossip.
Which isn’t something new for us. In February 2007, we learned that after an increasing downhill life trajectory and rumoured mental health problems, Britney Spears shaved her head and hit the hood of a paparazzo’s car with an umbrella before being taken away by ambulance. That same year (and up until now), we glued ourselves to the Lindsay Lohan saga, analyzing her court appearances, her circle of friends, her relationships, any/all drug rumours, and even her makeup, all while ignoring the fact that she’s still very publicly battling a distressing reality (or at least from what we saw from last year’s series on OWN). Even in 2013, we laughed at Amanda Bynes’ tweets about Drake before biting our tongues once we learned she was schizophrenic and bipolar, and acting like we hadn’t made her a punchline. But we did, because at the time, it was easy. Just like it was easy to dismiss Amy Winehouse.
The thing is, no one is innocent of making jokes or downplaying scenarios. (Like, hello: some of us even cope that way.) The Internet makes it easy to watch and judge from a distance and collect RTs and favs for jokes that come easy. Especially when not everybody “seems like Amy.” After all, when Charlie Sheen started saying #winning, that, despite his alcoholism, drug addiction, and history of domestic violence, was funny. (For one afternoon.) How are we supposed to know when something isn’t going to be?
We don’t, and that’s the point. Addiction and mental health disorders may house certain symptoms, but every case is different just like the person with them. (Case in point: I got sober in May 2013, and despite the official “alcoholism” title, my reality was still nothing like Lindsay Lohan’s because I am not her.) Alcoholism and mental health situations are all unique. And if that’s true (which it is), that means we don’t know who will turn out to be having simply a moment, or who will go to a darker place. Which means self-destruction shouldn’t be gossip fodder, and it’s as simple as that.
And I know that’s hard. Just this week, a blind item was revealed about an actor allegedly struggling with drug addiction, which garnered guesses, judgements, and commentary (because we’re human and that’s what we do). But when we see or hear of somebody jeopardizing their own well-being in any capacity, that should be the first sign: something is wrong, this person is battling.
That’s really all we need to do, and it’s really that simple to figure out. Had we taken a step back at the first sign of Winehouse’s struggles and given her the space and privacy she obviously craved (and needed) maybe her story would’ve had a different outcome. Maybe if Britney Spears was alloted time to readjust in the wake of her divorce and her (then) new-found position of single mom, she wouldn’t have shaved her head late one night in response to a paparazzi chase. Maybe we could’ve avoided #winning. Maybe not, but why engage in tabloid culture and risk it? Why not just look away? Because they aren’t crashes, they’re people. And while they may be successful strangers, we can still afford them dignity by letting them sort out their issues without us staring.
.
And then she died, and we all felt bad. Bad because her loss was big---she was young, she still had so much to give, and she’d been trying to get better---but also because we’d let it happen. We clicked on gossip sites, read magazines, and contributed to her mythology through our own thoughts and theories. And instead of acknowledging her addictions with empathy or as human beings, we overlooked their realities to fuel more gossip.
Which isn’t something new for us. In February 2007, we learned that after an increasing downhill life trajectory and rumoured mental health problems, Britney Spears shaved her head and hit the hood of a paparazzo's car with an umbrella before being taken away by ambulance. That same year (and up until now), we glued ourselves to the Lindsay Lohan saga, analyzing her court appearances, her circle of friends, her relationships, any/all drug rumours, and even her makeup, all while ignoring the fact that she’s still very publicly battling a distressing reality (or at least from what we saw from last year’s series on OWN). Even in 2013, we laughed at Amanda Bynes’ tweets about Drake before biting our tongues once we learned she was schizophrenic and bipolar, and acting like we hadn’t made her a punchline. But we did, because at the time, it was easy. Just like it was easy to dismiss Amy Winehouse.
The thing is, no one is innocent of making jokes or downplaying scenarios. (Like, hello: some of us even cope that way.) The Internet makes it easy to watch and judge from a distance and collect RTs and favs for jokes that come easy. Especially when not everybody “seems like Amy.” After all, when Charlie Sheen started saying #winning, that, despite his alcoholism, drug addiction, and history of domestic violence, was funny. (For one afternoon.) How are we supposed to know when something isn’t going to be?
We don’t, and that’s the point. Addiction and mental health disorders may house certain symptoms, but every case is different just like the person with them. (Case in point: I got sober in May 2013, and despite the official “alcoholism” title, my reality was still nothing like Lindsay Lohan’s because I am not her.) Alcoholism and mental health situations are all unique. And if that’s true (which it is), that means we don’t know who will turn out to be having simply a moment, or who will go to a darker place. Which means self-destruction shouldn’t be gossip fodder, and it’s as simple as that.
And I know that’s hard. Just this week, a blind item was revealed about an actor allegedly struggling with drug addiction, which garnered guesses, judgements, and commentary (because we’re human and that’s what we do). But when we see or hear of somebody jeopardizing their own well-being in any capacity, that should be the first sign: something is wrong, this person is battling.
That’s really all we need to do, and it’s really that simple to figure out. Had we taken a step back at the first sign of Winehouse’s struggles and given her the space and privacy she obviously craved (and needed) maybe her story would’ve had a different outcome. Maybe if Britney Spears was alloted time to readjust in the wake of her divorce and her (then) new-found position of single mom, she wouldn’t have shaved her head late one night in response to a paparazzi chase. Maybe we could’ve avoided #winning. Maybe not, but why engage in tabloid culture and risk it? Why not just look away? Because they aren’t crashes, they’re people. And while they may be successful strangers, we can still afford them dignity by letting them sort out their issues without us staring.){kind=link}