No one wants to be alone, and few professions are as isolating as being a pop star. Lady Gaga knows this all too well.
Her meteoric rise to fame in 2009-10 was unlike anything seen before, fueled by the internet’s relentless hunger for content.
With paparazzi trailing her every move, gossip blogs speculating wildly, and an ever-evolving aesthetic that had critics claiming she was “speed-running Madonna’s career,” she became a global phenomenon.
The fascination with Gaga bordered on obsession. Rumors swirled about her staging satanic rituals, being a hermaphrodite, or even planning to amputate her leg for the sake of fashion.
When she arrived at the 2010 MTV Awards in a dress made entirely of meat, the metaphor went unnoticed—she was offering herself up as tabloid fodder, to be consumed as eagerly as the stories written about her.
On stage, she was an icon worshipped by millions of “Little Monsters.” Yet behind the scenes, the adulation was hollow.
In the 2017 documentary Five Foot Two, Gaga confessed, “I go from everyone touching me all day and talking at me all day to total silence.”
The solitude terrified her. Now 38, she acknowledges that fear, reflecting on how her greatest joy has come from finding love with tech entrepreneur Michael Polansky.
The couple, together since 2020, announced their engagement at the Venice Film Festival last year, where Gaga debuted her dazzling million-dollar ring.
But the ring she treasures most is simpler—a band made of blades of grass, honoring a promise she made to Polansky years before.
His proposal held profound significance, as it took place in the same backyard where Gaga had once witnessed the wedding of her close friend, Sonja Durham, before Durham’s tragic passing.
The emotional weight of that moment inspired her song Blade of Grass from her new album, Mayhem. The track speaks to love blossoming in darkness, a theme woven throughout the album.
Mayhem marks Gaga’s triumphant return to pop music after years spent exploring jazz, film, and the American songbook.
Encouraged by Polansky, who reminded her of her love for pop, she embraced the electrifying energy of her early hits.
The album revisits the signature sound of Poker Face and Just Dance, with tracks like Abracadabra even echoing the infectious gibberish of Bad Romance.
The record also serves as a reckoning with her past. The artwork features her face in a shattered mirror, while music videos depict her confronting past versions of herself.
The track Perfect Celebrity lays bare the emotional toll of fame, with Gaga declaring, “I became a notorious being.”
She admits it’s her angriest song about stardom, reflecting on how she once struggled to distinguish herself from the persona she created.
Rather than drawing a line between Lady Gaga and Stefani Germanotta, she has now embraced both as part of a singular identity.
Owning her artistry, she dismisses past attempts to credit others for her sound and image. Mayhem is her reclaiming what she built, on her terms.
Gaga’s renewed enthusiasm for music was evident when she surprised fans in Paris last summer, playing demos of her new songs outside her hotel.
The spontaneous act was a nod to her early days, a time when she’d invite fans backstage to preview her music.
Despite 20 years in the industry, she was humbled that people still showed up, still cared, and still wanted to listen.
Looking back at the 16 years since Just Dance first topped the charts, Gaga has evolved—not just as an artist but as a person.
No longer consumed by the need to maintain a larger-than-life persona, she has found fulfillment in relationships, family, and love.
With Mayhem, she closes a chapter of chaos and emerges whole.
“I wanted the chaos to stop,” she says. “I stepped away from the icon. It ends with love.”
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