This article was originally published in the January 2025 print edition of Byline Times
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The launch of Pop Idol in 2001 was arguably a pivotal moment in modern pop history. The reality TV series, which turned ‘ordinary talent’ into household popstars, launched countless careers, led to a global TV franchise, and inspired hundreds of copycat talent shows keen to muscle in on the winning format.
One of those was The X Factor, which created pop sensations such as One Direction. But at some cost. In October, Liam Payne – who was made world-famous in the boyband alongside Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson, and Niall Horan – was found dead after falling from a hotel balcony in Buenos Aires. The 31-year-old had alcohol, cocaine, and a prescription antidepressant in his body at the time.
His death shocked younger generations across the world that had grown up with the band’s Beatles-like iconography, while others with experience of the reality TV entertainment industry said it was yet another example of how shows such as The X Factor care little for the toll such sudden fame, its rules, and its consequences, have on the mental wellbeing of those in its throes.
Singer Will Young was 23 when he beat Gareth Gates to win the first series of Pop Idol. A Byline Times supporter, the now 45-year-old reveals why rapid fame as a young gay man – which saw him transformed from an unknown singer into a TV star almost overnight – was a double-edged sword, and the stories that have still to come to light about the reality TV music world.
You became well-known at quite a young age. What was it like for you?
Being recognised by people isn’t normal, and there were extremes.
I remember once having to escape through the fire exit of a service station because I’d gone to use the loo and the paparazzi all came into the garage. It was right at the height of the madness.
I remember going to Marks and Spencer another time and they had to shut the doors as fans were trying to follow all of the Pop Idol cast there. It was right off the back of such a popular TV show and we were doing a tour. If you had more than a couple of us, it would go bonkers.
That level of fame is quite fun – it goes back to the kind of mania over pop stars in the 1960s, and maybe even the 1950s, that really started with Elvis, then the Beatles. I had a smattering of that, though never on the same level.
I remember having a meeting about doing international promotion. Someone said that, after working with me, he wouldn’t be able to walk down any street in the world without being recognised. I left the meeting because I said that was my idea of hell. So I didn’t do any international promotion. I was one of the only artists to turn it down.
The context of being famous over 20 years ago was the press, which is so different now.
You can’t discuss it without talking about phone-hacking and the lawlessness of photographers and celebrity magazines. This was before social media, and there was a shaming element that came with those magazines. It was typically very bad towards women – you’d see headlines like ‘look how awful she looks on the beach’ or they’d circle a roll of skin on some woman.
It affects other people too – my friends and family included, because the press would be doorstepping them.
Then there were people saying not very nice things in the papers, but you have a choice whether you want to read it or not.
Did you ever find it too much, and did you have support for coping with sudden fame?
I was pretty resilient, and I was very driven. I concentrated on why I was famous – I wanted a career as a singer and actor. I tried to have as normal a life as possible. The other option of blacked-out cars and posh restaurants seemed pretty grim. I probably became hardened to the attention.
It was enormous then – shops would let paparazzi in [to chase me]. Even smart restaurants would. Being followed was scary. What would you do if you were a normal person being followed by someone with a really big lens?
I used to ring the police and report that someone was following me. I enjoyed reporting it sometimes – I’d be in the park and tell the police ‘I’m in the park and there’s kids in the playground, and there’s a weird man in an anorak with a long lens taking pictures near the kids’. The police would come really quickly.
I had a pass to go through the embassy road by Kensington Palace, which was a lifesaver because I lived in Notting Hill. The photographers following me couldn’t get through quick enough – the police wouldn’t let them through. It was very scary.
There was a brilliant opera about [the late American model and actress] Anna Nicole Smith, Anna Nicole, in which they made the paparazzis’ faces into cameras – a clever take on how, when they’re following you, you don’t see a face, just a camera. The obvious example of that is Princess Diana, trying dangerously to escape them.
But it was pretty tricky. And it was hard being openly gay and having a relationship. When I look back on it, we just got photographed the whole time throughout my first relationship.
Is it correct that you came out when the Mail on Sunday threatened to out you?
Yes. We got a heads-up. I had this brilliant lawyer who was feared by Fleet Street. We quickly ran the story with another paper. But it felt unnecessary and boring. I was going to [come out] eventually anyway because I didn’t want to hide it – I was quite upfro