A tribute to Liam Payne
Child stars have been exploited by the industry far too many times
Liam Payne rose to fame as a member of the boy band One Direction. (Wikimedia Commons/Kurt Kulac)
“Bro.” “WTF.” “Liam?” “Dead.” “Hello? Answer me!”
Messages flooded my phone before I could process them. It was supposed to be a good day — my favourite sports teams had just won their Women’s Champions League games. But instead, I was left grappling with the news that Liam Payne had died at just 31 years old.
One Direction had me in a chokehold like no other, so I’ve been a fangirl for as long as I can remember. I was an 11-year-old kid, bullied for wearing my One Direction T-shirt and collecting every piece of merchandise I could get my hands on. My first concert? One Direction in 2015. It felt like a dream to finally see them live after watching their rise from a random group of boys on The X Factor to one of the greatest bands in the world.
Payne, with his deep voice and steady presence, had been part of that journey from the start. But his struggles were something far too common for young stars, and his painful admission in The Diary of a CEO podcast still echoes in my mind — “I was worried how far my rock bottom was going to be. Where’s rock bottom for me? And you would never have seen it. I’m very good at hiding it.”
He was good at hiding it, the toll that fame had taken on him. What was once a dream had turned into a heavy burden. His solo career, launched after One Direction disbanded, never really found its footing. His 2019 album LP1 was criticized for being directionless, but I always believed he’d bounce back, find his way, rebuild, and return stronger.
But this is a story we’ve seen too many times before. Britney Spears, Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato, and Payne all started out as child stars — shaped by an industry that chews them up and spits them out. The pressures of early fame rarely leave them whole. Payne’s story is just another heartbreaking example of a young star who never received the support he so desperately needed.
Yes, Payne made mistakes in his final years. He was abusive, and we can’t ignore the harm he caused. His death doesn’t absolve him of that. The real tragedy lies in the fact that he never got the chance to get help, face accountability, or make amends.
His story speaks to the toxic masculinity and untreated mental health struggles that so many men, especially those thrust into the spotlight, deal with. It seemed easier for him to avoid facing the person he had become, likely because he was never taught how to confront it.
Do we blame him entirely for that? Not really. But it doesn’t excuse his actions either. What Payne needed was a strong support system — something the industry rarely provides for the young stars it exploits.
It’s hard to fully process that someone who played such a big role in shaping my adolescence is gone. Despite the fame, the screaming fans, and the chart-topping albums, there was something about Payne that always felt grounded. Losing him feels like losing a piece of my own history, a connection to that time in my life when his music and presence were so significant.
But beyond the pop star, there’s the reality of his impact on others. My heart goes out to all the women he hurt, to his family, to his bandmates, and especially to his young son, Bear. I just hope that wherever Payne is now, he’s free from the demons that haunted him.
I hope he’s at peace.
