Why I won’t shut up about Lily Allen & codependency
I can’t get Lily Allen out of my head. I just devoured her book, and I have so much to say, I’m about to spew it all over my shiny new Macbook Air. Did you know this razor-thin gadget set me back like $2500.00; the fuck?
Anyway, I need to talk to you about Lily Allen in general and more so, her depiction of codependency because she jugular punched me so hard, I’ve been winded ever since.
I’ve always been besotted with the dropout girls, the lost girls, the downtown disasters, the unhinged uptown queens who don’t just draw outside of the lines; they blow them up. I love reading about the comedown almost as much as I love reading about the high. I don’t give three shits about reading another “How to heal your life in 12 steps” journal by the latest hyped-up mediation superstar. I want to read about the glamour, the devastation, I want to read about how every single fucking thing went wrong and how maybe, just maybe, when they lost themselves entirely; they found the person they were always supposed to be.
Lily did that for me.
Lily spun me around and let me fall all by myself; her way with words is next to none. She’s disturbingly eloquent. It’s weird reading a book that’s written by someone famous beyond comprehension. Do you ever feel like you’re reading it in their voice? As if they’re sitting next to you chirping out their horrors. I’ve had Lily on my shoulder for the last week, and I think I’ve swallowed her; I can’t seem to get her out of my head.
I’ve never done a book review before. Why? Because truthfully, I don’t read an awful lot of books. I’d be lucky if I polished more than six a year. I like bite-size content — the sort of content you would find on Sauce or Medium. I like finishing something in ten minutes and then mentally patting myself on the back, and for a brief moment, I feel like I’m the smartest person on the planet. “Like damn, Liam! Did you just finish that entire article in one sitting without getting distracted? You’re a weapon!.” You know the vibe. I’m the worst! I am easily distracted, and it takes a sensational author to get me from start to finish.
So, I guess I don’t know the review rules. How much do I give away? How much do I hold back? Let me touch on topics in a top-tier way that only I know how to fuck up. I’m sorry in advance if I say too little, too much or if I just disappoint you, but I’ll be damned if you don’t let me at least try to ruin it for you.
The book touches on everything you’d think someone of Lily’s persona should touch on. You read about the lost night at Karl Lagerfeld’s party, the fame, oh so much fame, you read about the paparazzi, the witch hunt, the media’s day-light robbery of her soul. She goes into the destructive relationships she’s blissfully formed with drugs, her passion for getting pissed, the abuse she put herself through oh so willingly and aware. She lets you in on her fortunes and failures, her rather humble beginnings but also somewhat abnormal upbringing. The book follows a non-linear structure, although she has a photographic memory, parts of her memory seem to be blocked out. You’re forever jumping between the different stages of her life, but she does it seamlessly, and as a reader, you’re unaware.
You read about the loss that changed her forever, maybe it’s just me, but reading about her loss changed me too.
I feel like we sensationalise celebrities, like Lily, and often forget they have ten toes and fingers, two feet and a brain between two ears. We forget they feel abstract concepts just as much as you or me. We assume that once you surpass a particular sort of social status, you’re immune to everyday problems – she makes it abruptly clear, you’re not.
She digs deep into toxic past relationships with her family, her dad in particular. She’s openly selfish, honest, she contradicts herself (a lot!), she’s at times spoilt, and quite often I felt like she was intentionally painting herself in the worst light possible – because maybe it’s what she’s become accustomed to.
Unbeknownst to me, Lily was the British media’s washed up rag that never seemed to get entirely worn out; she always had another cycle left in her.
I love the way she dissects sex and masturbation. I can relate to feeling unsatisfied, fucking men. She goes into detail about who she has slept with, the famous blokes and the average joes. You get a sense that although, at times, she’s been immature in relationships (and who hasn’t); she’s never been vapid.
She speaks openly about her previous stalker dilemma, which she faced at the hands of a seriously twisted, but sadly mentally unwell human. You can’t help but feel like he would have killed her. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about her drink and drug escapades. I almost felt out of my mind reading along with her. As if I was going to hop into a taxi with her to visit one of her many plugs to split a big, fat bag.
There are many reoccurring themes sprinkled throughout the book that deserves your undivided attention; however, one I want to touch on explicitly is her thoughts on codependent relationships. Something that hit a soft spot in me. Codependent relationships are beautifully toxic. Throughout her life, Lily had always found herself situated within codependent relationships; as if they were slowly sinking lifeboats that she’d oh so willingly jump ship from one to another before the life had been completely sucked out.
Codependent relationships keep you cosy; it’s nice having someone to look at when you turn the lights off at night or to come home to. It’s nice making pasta for someone other than yourself. But codependent relationships can become stagnant, when you live off one another you lose yourself somewhere in the process, quite often you can’t even pinpoint where you lost yourself altogether.
When you rely on someone else for your independence, you lose your autonomy. It’s so easy to let relationships, be that sexual or platonic, consume you. It’s so easy to allow someone to fill a crevice you’ve been so eager to overflow. Unfortunately, as Lily reports, you can’t overflow a relationship that has holes for handles, you’ll never be happy with someone else until you’re happy with yourself.
It’s easy to forget how enormously successful Lily is. She’s amassed close to 500,000,000 (that’s 500 fucking million) hits on Spotify alone, who knows how many records she’s sold. She’s sold-out world tours; she’s been adored, she’s hosted the Brit Awards with Sir Elton John, she’s won GQ’s Woman Of The Year and been robbed of a Grammy – if to mention only a few of her accolades. But I still don’t feel like that was her purpose or sense of being, even after reading her book, I still can’t figure out exactly what she wants.
She knows she’s an exceptionally talented pop star, but she also knows the brutal truth that she’s not the best pop star in the world, and she likely never will be. She’s hyperaware about this. This is what I love the most.
To her, it was never about being the best at something; you don’t have to be the best at something to leave an impact or irreversible mark – you just have to make someone or something feel different.
If I could have just a pinch of Lily’s honesty I’d be happy. Her outlook on life is intoxicating and borderline addicting. It’s almost as if she’s a human, just like you and me.
Lily Allen – My Thoughts Exactly is available online here.
Words — Liam Sharma
