Fame was the best and worst thing to happen to Liam Payne-Emily Bashforth-Entertainment – Metro

For his whole adult life, Liam Payne was puppeted by music industry giants (Picture: Mike Marsland/Mike Marsland/WireImage)

‘Liam, I love you. You saved my life,’ I told Liam Payne when I met him at an album signing in 2019.

‘Oh, thanks, darling,’ he replied with a smile, seeming genuinely touched despite presumably hearing those words thousands of times. 

That meant a lot to me, and I never imagined that less than five years later I’d be mourning his death. 

On October 16, it was confirmed that the beloved One Direction star had died after a fall from a hotel balcony in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He was just 31.

Fans like me have flooded social media with fond memories and gut wrenching tributes for the man who in one way or another, shaped who we are today.

Upon hearing the news, it was as if my soul had left my body. I thought it couldn’t have been real, that it was a hoax.

In the hours that followed, I experienced a wave of emotions: shock, disbelief, devastation, bone-deep sadness… anger.

And when the anger settled in, it simmered until it boiled, as I grew increasingly furious that this boy from Wolverhampton, who turned up to his X Factor audition with nothing more than a dream, was turned into a commodity overnight and exploited for our entertainment.

Fans like me have flooded social media with fond memories (Picture: Emily Bashforth)

Zayn Malik, Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan in 2011 (Picture: Shirlaine Forrest/WireImage)

For his whole adult life, Liam Payne was puppeted by music industry giants without a sliver of consideration for his well-being, even as he struggled.

Prior to his death, Payne spoke in depth about his mental health woes and addiction battles, admitting he developed ‘agoraphobia’ due to 1D’s unprecedented level of fame that saw them mobbed by hysterical crowds each time they left a hotel.

Payne said he felt showing his face in public was like ‘wearing a costume’ to become a character everyone wanted a glimpse of.

He had no qualms about shattering the veneer of boyband perfection, revealing that even as he was smashing world records several times over and brushing shoulders with major Hollywood stars at the hottest events, beneath the façade was a broken man who ‘didn’t like [himself] very much,’ despite the overwhelming adoration his fans had for him.

Speaking on The Diary of a CEO podcast host Steven Bartlett in 2021, Payne, previously branded ‘Daddy Direction’ and having proudly taken on the role of Mr Sensible, confessed that his 1D heydays were filled with ‘pills and booze’ and ‘moments of suicidal ideation.’

Niall Horan, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne in 2015 in Los Angeles, California (Picture: Steve Granitz/WireImage)

‘It was really, really, really severe. It was a problem,’ he stated, adding that things got much worse when he and members Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan, and Zayn Malik were on world tours, shut away in their hotel rooms, complete with minibars, for days.

Payne continued to grapple with his demons when One Direction began their indefinite hiatus in 2016. Just last year, the Strip That Down pop star announced he was celebrating six months of sobriety after a lengthy stint at a rehab facility.

Inspiringly, he remained open about the peaks and troughs of fame, repeatedly thanking fans for their support in recovering, yet was never quite able to receive the level of help he so desperately required.

It’s ironic, and devastatingly so, that a person in whom I found such solace and comfort as a teenager was, at times, so profoundly unhappy within himself.

Now that he is gone – a sentence that will feel eternally alien to write – Payne’s death must act as a reminder that, while superstardom confers privileges – money, life experiences, and the ability to snap your fingers and have whatever you desire – the downside is perilous, especially after achieving a level of fame that only four other people in the world can relate to.

Even in the aftermath of his fatal fall, photographs of his body were published for the world to see. 

One Direction changed my life. Cliché? Yes. Hyperbolic? Maybe. But true? Definitely (Picture: Emily Bashforth)

He remained open about the peaks and troughs of fame (Picture: Dave Benett/Getty Images for evian)

Both in life and in death, Liam Payne was and is nothing more than a product to some.

But not to me. 

One Direction changed my life. Cliché? Yes. Hyperbolic? Maybe. But true? Definitely.

I have many tangible reminders of that period of my life, from the boxes of posters that decorated my bedroom, floor to ceiling, to duvet covers and dolls, toothbrushes and pencil cases.

But what I will cherish forever are the memories and friendships this band allowed me to make. 

Upon learning of Payne’s death, the only place I wanted to be was on the internet, wrapping virtual arms around the online pals I’ve acquired since joining Twitter far too young and in a space where I knew my complex grief would be validated. 

I know everyone else felt the same, as One Direction fan accounts who have been dormant for years resurrected and I received messages from people I haven’t spoken to in just as long.

That’s always been the beauty of the band, for me. 

His legacy and contribution to popular culture as we know can’t be understated (Picture: Gareth Cattermole/Getty Images)

Not necessarily the catchy tunes, the silly interviews, or their ability to make me scream at my television with a seconds-long appearance, but the sense of community, or rather family, that it provided at a time when I needed it most.

I was a horrendously depressed child. My anorexia began snowballing when I was 12 and I went on to struggle with suicidal thoughts.

My parents split, my grandma died, and I had to leave my childhood home, yet the constant throughout it all was the escape this band provided when my life felt devoid of purpose.

Everything I know about female friendships, and everything I admire regarding the strength and resilience of young women, I learnt from being part of that fanbase. 

While bullied heavily for my unashamed Directioner status, there was always something remarkable about our tenacity in expressing our love for something that made us feel alive.

It’s a tenacity that we have all been relying on now Payne has gone (even writing about him in the past tense feels wrong). 

Payne’s death is a sobering reminder of the fragility of life (Picture: Karwai Tang/WireImage)

That’s not to say the star’s death isn’t without convoluted and confronting emotions. In recent months, he had been accused of harassing behaviour by his ex Maya Henry; the details of the allegations are harrowing.

But grieving for him doesn’t mean ignoring Henry’s accusations, as fans like me are allowed to mourn the Liam we grew up with, and who grew up alongside us. 

Human sentiments aren’t black and white, especially where grief is concerned. Multiple feelings can coexist.

Ultimately, Payne’s death is a sobering reminder of the fragility of life, as a man who once seemingly had everything now leaves behind a seven-year-old boy who will never see his daddy again.

His legacy and contribution to popular culture as we know can’t be understated, as the impact of One Direction is somehow still unquantifiable. Only in recent years have we been able to scratch the surface of what those young men achieved. 

I suppose I can only hope that moving forward, we see changes in how the industry cares for its young stars, and that Liam Payne rests peacefully as the noise and overwhelming chaos of his astronomical fame quieten down. 

It’s the least he deserves. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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