FAME IS NOT A FINISH LINE

For many artists, fame is sold as 'the prize'. A shining goal at the end of the road. A marker that says: You’ve made it. But behind the spotlights and social media metrics, there's a quieter reality; one rarely discussed publicly, but deeply felt by those who live it..

In this article, I explore the complex reality of fame, drawing from my personal experience working closely with artists, alongside psychological research and published sources, including:

• The illusion of fame as a goal
• The psychological highs and lows of being recognized
• The identity conflict and addiction-like quality of fame
• The grief that comes when fame fades
• And how even established artists aren’t immune to its mental health toll

I work with artists every day, and it’s not just my deep interest in their inner world that made me want to write this; it’s also because I sit with them in the real conversations. I hear about their struggles, their doubts, their experiences; the things that don’t always make it to the surface. I’m not a scientist, but I’ve spent years of learning, researching, and walking alongside artists in their highs and lows. What you’ll read here is a combination of psychological insights, published studies, and my own professional and personal experience. And while this article doesn’t apply to every artist, my goal is to raise awareness about where things can go wrong, and how we can better support those who create our culture.

Fame isn’t just a status. It’s a psychological state. It changes how you are seen, but also how you see yourself. And for those of us working closely with creatives in the music and entertainment world, the effects can be profound, often invisible at the start until they become unavoidable.

The desire for fame often begins in emotional vulnerability

The hunger for fame is rarely just about visibility — it's about validation.

A 2013 study by Hill et al. found that individuals with unstable self-esteem are significantly more likely to pursue fame. When your sense of self-worth fluctuates, external attention becomes a substitute for internal certainty. Fame promises what many deeply crave: to be loved, to be valued, to be seen. In the end; don't we all?

But what happens when that visibility is conditional? When the applause dies down? For many, the fame that once felt like healing begins to hurt.

Adverse childhood experiences: The hidden roots of fame-seeking

Behind the bright light of fame, many artists carry unseen burdens rooted in early life. Research has shown a significant correlation between Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) and the pursuit of fame, as well as the health risks that often accompany it.

A 2012 study published in BMJ Open (Bellis et al.) found that nearly half (47.2%) of rock and pop stars who died from substance-related or risk-related causes had experienced at least one ACE, and that number soared to 80% among those with two or more ACEs.

Other research, such as that by Thomson & Jaque, found that performing artists experience significantly higher rates of emotional abuse, neglect, and family dysfunction than the general population. And yet, these same individuals often channel pain into purpose. Performers with four or more ACEs reported stronger creative experiences, a greater sense of spiritual connection during the creative process, and a unique ability to transform suffering into powerful art. They were also more fantasy prone, shame-based, and anxious. Even though people with more difficult childhood experiences felt more negative effects, they also shared that performing creatively could feel positive and meaningful. For many, fame becomes both a way to escape their past and a place where old pain shows up again. As trauma expert Bessel van der Kolk explains in The Body Keeps the Score, individuals with unresolved trauma may seek stimulation or risk to match the intensity of their early emotional landscape; a pattern that is more intense in the demanding world of entertainment.

This isn’t a character flaw — it's a psychological pattern. Fame doesn't cause this, but it can both expose and intensify this.

It’s important to clarify: this doesn’t mean that all artists have experienced trauma, or that pain is a prerequisite for making meaningful art. While many creatives do channel early wounds into their work, art can also emerge from places of joy, love, gratitude, or being a vessel for something greater than ourselves — as beautifully expressed in a quote by Rick Rubin in his book The Creative Act: “The artist’s job is not to force ideas, but to be open and receptive. You are not the creator of inspiration — you are the vessel it moves through.”

By no means am I saying that every artist is wounded, nor that all those I work with are defined by trauma. Many have had healthy upbringings and never sought fame as a form of healing. Rather, I believe it’s time we stop idolizing artists as something “other,” and start recognizing them as full human beings. Not every artist is chasing fame. Many simply became well-known through the power of their talent or craft. But for those who are consciously or unconsciously driven by the pursuit of fame, one of the underlying motivators can often be a lack of recognition or emotional affirmation early in life.
And if we're honest, this drive for recognition isn't unique to artists. The same hunger plays out in everyday life. Just look at how many of us measure our worth through likes, followers, and digital applause. In a culture increasingly shaped by visibility, the need to be seen has become a universal pressure.

The brain on fame: Power literally changes you

Fame doesn’t just mean more fans, meetings and interviews— it rewires your psychology as it reshapes your entire sense of self.

In a study by MIchael Inzlicht is described how increased power can correlate with a decrease in empathy and a distorted sense of others’ emotions.

Findings from a study on social power and 'mirror neurons' (OVOE Study) show that those in 'high-status positions' show reduced activity in mirror neurons — the parts of the brain that allow us to feel and interpret others’ emotional states. So when people felt power, they did have more trouble getting inside another person's head. In other words, as fame grows, empathy may shrink. Not out of cruelty, but from psychological overload and constant self-focus.

As the tension between public image and private self becomes a daily reality, some artists can find themselves in what psychologist Millman (2003) refers to as Acquired Situational Narcissism — a state where the spotlight fuels an intense focus on the self. This isn't inherent narcissism, but rather something shaped by the environment: the media, the public, even the inner circle around the artist can unknowingly feed into this pattern. The challenge here is that healthy personal growth depends on real, honest reflection and feedback — something that often becomes scarce in the world of fame.

The four stages of fame

Fame changes a person’s life forever. As revealed by Dr. Rockwell and Dr. Giles, fame emerges as a four-phase progression, each stage marked by unique challenges and adaptations.

Love/Hate: At first, fame brings a rush. There’s excitement, but also confusion. Being seen and celebrated feels amazing — and at the same time, overwhelming. You’re trying to take it all in while figuring out who you are in the middle of it.

Addiction: Fame can be incredibly seductive — like a high you want to keep chasing. Some describe it as addictive, the constant need for recognition and affirmation. But over time, that rush fades, and what’s left is a kind of emotional dependency that can really shake your sense of self.

Acceptance: Over time, there’s often a quiet acceptance that fame is just part of life now — always there, whether you want it or not. Even with all the pressure and constant expectations, many come to terms with it, knowing it won’t last forever. There’s a kind of letting go, an understanding that fame is fleeting, no matter how big it feels in the moment.

Adaptation: In the end, adapting becomes essential. Fame changes how people move through the world, and many start developing new ways to cope. Some pull back from public life, others become more cautious about who they trust. It’s about learning how to protect yourself with resilience and self-preservation while finding a new kind of balance.

Fame is addictive and withdrawal is real

Fame is fleeting. Few talk about what happens after fame: when it fades, when someone newer arrives, when the algorithms change.

This study in BMJ Open found that artists and entertainers face disproportionately high risks of depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and even identity loss as a result of fame and its eventual decline.

The perks of fame — attention, access, influence — activate the brain’s reward systems, much like addictive substances. Once someone becomes used to that level of stimulation and external affirmation, losing it can feel like a psychological crash.

Many established artists struggle not just with staying relevant, but with a deeper fear: Who am I without the attention?

Visibility vs. Authenticity

Fame requires performance. Even off-stage.

In Being a Celebrity: A Phenomenology of Fame (source), researchers observed that celebrities begin to experience themselves as public objects rather than private individuals. Their identity becomes fragmented: part real, part a role.

This constant visibility erodes boundaries. It becomes harder to know which parts of yourself are genuine, and which are constructed for approval. Relationships shift. Trust gets harder. Intimacy is threatened.

Rockwell's work also points out the benefits of fame: Greater access to resources, opportunities to influence and contribute meaningfully, and even increased confidence and creativity (Rockwell & Giles, 2009).

Yet, along with these benefits come temptations, a loss of privacy, unrealistic expectations, and mistrust — leading many to develop a "celebrity self" that shields their authentic one.

Many celebrities develop a kind of dual identity to cope with the intense public attention. Psychologist Rockwell’s research describes this as a split between the “public self” — the image offered to the world — and the private, more authentic self, which often gets hidden away. This inner divide can become a form of emotional survival. The experience of fame can turn into an “existential juggling act,” as the individual tries to reconcile who they truly are with the persona that fame demands.

It’s not uncommon for those in the spotlight to feel a sense of depersonalization — even loneliness — in the midst of adoration.

Fame doesn’t just shape the life of the artist: It ripples through their home, their relationships, and the people they love most. I’ve seen how partners and family members quietly carry the weight of that reality. As mentioned earlier; when someone becomes well-known, they often develop two versions of themselves: the public figure and the private self. And for those closest to them, navigating that shift can be confusing and emotionally challenging. The partner may struggle to understand the demands and pace of the lifestyle, and time together becomes scarce. Kids might grow up with a parent who’s often away or emotionally unavailable, even when physically present.

It’s not always dramatic or chaotic, but it changes the atmosphere at home in ways that are hard to put into words. The attention, the expectations, the divided self.. it all comes with a cost.

So what now? Redefining success beyond attention

Fame isn't inherently bad. It’s powerful, and at times, beautiful. It allows artists to influence, to move people, to build lasting impact. But these upsides to fame (influence, opportunity, the ability to inspire) come with trade-offs: Private life becomes public. Relationships shift. And authenticity is often replaced with performance. Many of the artists I’ve worked with wrestle with the paradox: they want to be seen, but not consumed. But it should never be mistaken for healing, wholeness, or purpose.

The creative industries, especially music, need a new conversation about success. One that values mental health, community, and creative freedom just as much as metrics, press, and popularity.

One of the first questions I ask — whether I'm working with established or emerging talent — is: What is your definition of success? There’s no right or wrong answer, but it opens the door to explore what truly drives them beneath the surface.

For upcoming talent, understanding the psychological effects of fame before it arrives is essential. And for those already in the spotlight, the challenge is learning how to stay whole in a system that often demands fragmentation.

Healing beyond the spotlight: Fame alone doesn’t fill the wound

Whether you're just breaking through or have been on the world’s biggest stages for decades, one truth remains: fame doesn’t heal what fame didn’t cause.

The industry often rewards image, output, and performance, but behind every artist is a human being with a story.

This is where support goes beyond mental coaching or practical advice. It means holding space for the emotional undercurrents that shape decision-making, relationships, and well-being.

For some, that means addressing how a childhood of instability still echoes through adult dynamics. For others, it’s about making peace with the fear of irrelevance. And for many, it’s about rediscovering the Self; not the version the world applauds, but the one who can feel joy without performance.

Healing isn’t a threat to your art: It’s the foundation of a more sustainable, more honest version of it.

Final thought

Fame will amplify who you are, but it won’t fill what’s missing.

Artists deserve support systems that help them navigate not just the industry, but the inner shifts that come with being seen, praised, and pursued. Because visibility is not the same as being known, and success is not the same as peace. We need to stop treating it like the goal. Real success is internal. Artists, especially upcoming ones, deserve to build careers grounded in self-worth, creativity, and mental clarity — not just in visibility. This is also a big part of what I do in my work with both upcoming and established artists; helping them come back to themselves. To what really matters to them, what feels true. It’s about looking at the deeper layers, healing where needed, and reconnecting with their own sense of integrity — as a person and as an artist.

We’re also living in a time where fame has become more accessible, and more seductive, than ever before. In Western culture especially, the rise of social media has created an environment where being visible is often equated with being valuable. When children are asked what they want to be when they grow up, many now answer: “famous” or “an influencer.” That response alone says something about how the concept of success is evolving and not always in ways that offer real stability, meaning, or well-being. In a culture increasingly driven by image, likes, and algorithms, the hunger for fame is no longer limited to the entertainment industry — it’s become a wider social phenomenon. One that urgently needs more honest conversations.

A note to the reader

If any part of this resonates — even quietly, even uncomfortably — take a moment to pause.

Fame is powerful. So is the silence that often surrounds the parts of ourselves we’ve never shown an audience. You’re not weak for feeling the weight of it. You’re not broken for needing support. This isn’t about fixing you. It’s about making space for the parts of you that fame never asked about.

Whether you’re stepping into the spotlight for the first time or have been in it for decades, know this: your humanity is not something to hide, it’s your anchor.

You get to take care of it.

If this speaks to you, sit with it. If it keeps speaking, maybe it's time to talk.

Warmly,

Renske

_{Sources:
Being a Celebrity: A Phenomenology of Fame
NPR – "A Sense of Power Can Do a Number on Your Brain
OVEO paper on Power & the Brain
Self-Esteem Instability and the Desire for Fame
FAME: The Psychology of Celebrity (Greenwood)
BMJ Open – Mental Health in Entertainers
Childhood Adversity and the Creative Experience in Adult Professional Performing Artists}