In 1982, George O’Dowd was twenty-one and the lead singer behind one of the year’s most successful pop tunes. With distinctly falsetto alto vocals, O’Dowd gained immediate recognition. Radio airplay of his moderately-produced recordings showcased accessible lyrics and infectious beats. Within a year following MTV’s debut, O’Dowd’s songs weren’t the only thing drawing the public’s attention.

American cable’s music television provided listeners a face with a name and images to coincide with mellow refrains and throbbing melodies. Although videos provided an additional layer to the music experience, an artist’s image would become as important as the music—sometimes eclipsing the relevance of performer’s artistry.

O’Dowd’s band, Culture Club, appeared with him in the music video for “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” Yet, it was O’Dowd’s alter-ego, Boy George, who was the primary object. (The use of the word object seems relevant here since this was the world’s introduction to “the Boy.”) Along with extras, who throughout the video seem perplexed by Boy George, television viewers also were trying to sort the man from the image.

At the video’s beginning, Boy George emerges into a public setting, shuffling, fingers snapping, aware, singing to his audience members. They are aghast.

He is fragile.

With skin pale contrasting with dark dreadlocks topped with a wide-brimmed hat tilted back, he is dressed all in white. Wearing an oversized tee shirt, he is fully made up—brows darkly penciled, eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick. He is not a beauty yet, there is a certain softness and purity which lends itself to a look that can be described as subtly pretty.

 

As front man, O’Dowd is a confident vocalist which may offer him allowances to experiment with his looks “understanding (that) identity (is) something that could always be reworked, improved upon, and even dramatically changed” (Ouellette 120).

Following success of their first singles, fame offered the band higher video production values and, for O’Dowd, public affirmation of his Boy George. A more refined image—glamorous, even virtuous—would emerge. Still shapeless in colorful caftans and muumuus, the fashion industry began to look at Culture Club’s lead as an incomparable source of insight of what was always a female-driven commerce.

O’Dowd’s Boy never seemed to take himself too seriously. Dolly Parton identified with the pop singer’s flamboyance, hinting of a possible future duet recording.

Writes educator Pamela Wilson, personas like Dolly Parton and Boy George are “a social parody, hyperbolic stereotype, a tongue-in-cheek charade that playfully and affectionately subverts the patriarchal iconography of female sexuality’” (Brown 85).

Later, O’Dowd’s personal life would unravel amid allegations of sexual promiscuity and habitual drug use. O’Dowd became overweight, looking haggard and out of shape. The persona of Boy George, once youthful and virtuous, was now a pop icon for the history books and fodder for media tabloids. Neither O’Dowd nor Culture Club would ever regain the success of their earlier years.

Still, remarkably, even the likes of George O’Dowd achieved the American Dream on some levels, although short-lived. Like his and many other well-documented celebrity cases in which dreams are shattered or irrevocably diminished, the real question is not about its achievement; rather, it is about sustainability, building upon dreams in a meaningful, hierarchical fashion.

Only in instances involving well-grounded individuals surrounded by higher-grounded support systems is there any chance for permanence beyond the dream’s achievement.

 

Brown, Jeffrey A. Class and Feminine Excess: The Strange Case of Anna Nicole Smith. London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005.

Ouellette, Laurie. Inventing the Cosmo Girl: Class Identification and Girl-style American Dreams. Thousand Oaks: Sage P, 2003.

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