Circa 2011, I was a reluctant Belieber. I made fun of Baby, mocked Justin’s hoodies and needed older, wiser friends to introduce me to the genius that was Never Say Never. (The movie, not the song – though that was good, too.)
But then I was hooked. On top of Stratford, Ontario, being just a quick drive from where I grew up, I admired the wee boy’s work ethic, enthusiasm and talent for penning serious jams. Upon their releases in 2011 and 2012, Under the Mistletoe and Believe were legitimate pop forces, so like the millions of other humans with working ears, I gladly (and unironically) championed the kid who’d conquered the game and the globe.
That is, until we all realized that a teen millionaire with no actual boundaries is a recipe for disaster. (Cue: montage of Justin’s rap sheet from 2012 and beyond.)
Which is what led us all to Justin Bieber’s Comedy Central roast last night. Comedian/genius Hannibal Buress may have cited it as a stunt to make the singer more likeable in the public eye (which it was), but it was also an atonement. Especially as Justin approached the mic at the end and delivered another emotional apology. Acknowledging his mistakes, what he became and who he hurt, he may as well have ended it by asking us if we all liked him again.
And he should be. Over the past few years, Justin Bieber has screwed up exponentially. From a sweet, disarming YouTube star (and busker on the streets of Stratford), he morphed into an entitled, spoiled brat who physically hurt people, disrespected his fans and had no idea how to conduct himself at the Anne Frank House. He lost control of his narrative and became a punchline, making himself fair game for our jokes and criticism, and then a cheap shot after his bad behaviour got increasingly out of control.
The kid was lost, but it was more disappointing than it was sad. After all, as a rich, young white man, he’d been given a free pass; he could do basically anything, consequence-free, which is exactly what he did – and without acknowledging his privilege in the process. And he made we fans look foolish because of it.
Now of course, his supporters have been (or will be) young idiots at some point. For most of us, it would be horrifying to have our worst coming-of-age moments projected for the world to see. However, unlike Bieber, we were given privacy and time. In the pop world, the window for a comeback is a small one, and considering the backlash over Bieber’s Calvin Klein ads was only in January, the Boy Wonder had only a few months to make himself more than joke fodder. Even us true Beliebers knew that.
So began his apology tour, ending with a roast that mocked everything from his hair to his love life to his affinity for vandalism. And he sat there, taking it, occasionally flinching but standing up every time to applaud the comedians, rappers and Martha Stewarts who were kind enough to participate in his publicised flogging. It was the real-life equivalent of when Cady breaks apart the prom crown at the end of Mean Girls; it was an acknowledgement of one’s sins and a plea to those who once claimed to unconditionally love him to please love him (even just a little bit) again.
As adults, we can see the roast for what it was: a way for Bieber to draw attention to the worst parts of himself in hopes that we can move on from focusing on them again. (Plus: it was a genius publicity move.) But as a fan, I could also see that it was a way for a kid from Small Town, Canada, to wield his determination again. Once upon a time, he threw up onstage and kept performing. This time, he let comics rip apart his life but sat there patiently. When it comes to work, Justin Bieber does what he has to do.
After all, the Bieber of years ago was determined to make it. And the Bieber of last night was determined to make us all proud Beliebers again.
