It’s 7.30 on a dark Monday evening during lockdown and Boy George is regaling GQ with one of his favourite anecdotes over Zoom. The pop star, twinkly eyed and with typical acerbic charm, is talking about the time last year when he popped into Charlotte Tilbury to buy some eyeshadow, and an assistant assured him that “make-up for men is very trendy now”. “I was like, ‘Wow, really?’ as she took me through the entire history of make-up and told me all about drag. Bless her,” he grins. “She had no clue at all. It was hilarious.” It was only after half an hour of upselling that the assistant in question asked, “Are you famous? Do you wear make-up?” George’s reply: “It’s a long story.”
He was, of course, wearing what he calls his “civvies”, devoid of the flamboyance that has made 59-year-old George O'Dowd one of the most recognisable figures in British cultural life for almost 40 years. His outfit for our Zoom interview is much the same, with a bare face, black long-sleeved T-shirt and librarian spectacles. The only nod to his stage-self is the hat – at first glance a black beanie, which, on closer inspection, is printed with George's own "Scarman" sketch design.
George is dialling in from his rental flat in London, the place he’s spent both lockdowns, alone, while his gothic Hampstead Heath home is being renovated. Despite a well-documented rocky decade at the start of the century, of late, George has been enjoying a career renaissance, with lucrative gigs as a DJ and TV talent-show judge, not to mention a guest role on reality show Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills. (“My claim to fame. I’ll go out and some 16-year-old kid goes, ‘I’ve seen you on The Housewives.’”)
As one of the original gender-fluid pop stars, George has also become an androgynous icon for a new generation of fans raised on a diet of TikTok and Harry Styles. “I attract a certain type of person, even the younger ones; they are a bit gothy, a bit punky. They wear make-up. I still get photos of kids dressed up in really old looks of mine and I love that,” he says.
Then there is the Culture Club comeback. Since 2014, the Grammy-award-winning band who, since forming in 1981, have shifted more than 150 million records, have sold out stadiums across the world, ensuring the perennial popularity of songs like “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” and “Karma Chameleon”. George has been working on his solo output, too, with “mad” collaborations with artists from Pete Murphy to Kim Wilde. Now, Culture Club are gearing up for a show at Wembley SSE Arena, Rainbow In The Dark, which will see 1,000 socially distanced audience members attend in person, with thousands more live-streaming from across the world (first responders get free tickets).
Ahead of this landmark show, George goes back to Culture Club’s beginnings by answering 12 questions all starting with "the first", from their earliest shows and his stage outfits, to the piece of advice he lives by and the personal growth he’s experienced since.
The first time you realised you wanted to be a musician...
I was obsessed with music as a little kid, that was where I escaped to. I shared a room with my four brothers and most of the time I didn’t have the room to myself, so whenever I could I would have the record player on. I’d listen to everything from Irish show tunes to early Bowie, T. Rex and disco. Discovering Bowie was the “Whoa, that’s what I want to be” moment. I was 11 and somehow my dad got me a ticket to see Ziggy Stardust. I had no bus fare to get there or back, I walked, but seeing Bowie for the first time, at that age, made me realise I wanted to be a singer and I wanted to be famous. I remember being very taken by that world of creativity. I wanted to be around what I perceived as a bohemian existence. I hated where I came from, I always felt repressed and out of sorts. I thought that their world was one where no one told you what to do.
The first time you played in front of a live audience…
We did some grotty pubs in the early days because Jon had been in punk bands so he knew the circuit. I remember getting a lot of abuse, because what we were doing, at the time, hadn’t quite become fashionable yet. There would be lots of “What the hell do you think you look like?!” The first proper Culture Club gig was at Crocs in Rayleigh, this New Romantic club in Southend on a Sunday night. Depeche Mode were there. I spent the whole gig with my back to the audience. I was pretending to be hostile, but actually I was singing turned around because I was super nervous. Afterwards the band were like, “Yeah, you can’t do that again, you need to be facing the front.”
The first time you made money out of being a musician...
When we signed our first publishing contract. Everything that happened to us at the beginning was almost a bit accidental. We were hoping for a record deal, but we got a publishing deal for three songs at first. Nobody really knew what to do with us. They couldn’t quite work me out, whether I’d be a marketable commodity, especially at that point, when I was in full drag. I was watching all my friends getting record deals and we were scraping by, we felt as though we were always on borrowed time. By the time we got to the third single, I was ready to leave and give up. I thought I was never going to be successful, even though I’d only been doing it for about six months. I was like Meghan Markle: “I’ve had enough of this princess crap, I’m going!” It was Jon who pushed me to stay and said I should believe in myself, he was such a positive force in those days.
The first time you blew your pay cheque frivolously…
Buying expensive make-up and clothes after we were signed. Up until we became successful, my make-up was just random pots I’d had for years, all applied with the fingers, so being able to go to the posh counters was great. In those days you’d get a lot of gyp as a man at the make-up counters. Clothing-wise, I loved androgynous Japanese designers like Yohji Yamamoto and Comme des Garçons, which were stocked at this boutique called Joseph, along with the likes of Jean Paul Gaultier. The high street copies things so quickly now, there’s no incubation period these days. If punk was to happen now, it would be in a Starbucks advert within a week.
The first record you ever bought…
“Yellow River” by Christie. It's an old folky, ’70s hippie track. I used to love Harry Nilsson and Andy Williams – I liked jazz a lot when I was a child. My dad was a builder and he'd clear out the houses of people who had done a moonlight flit leaving all their belongings, so he'd bring back piles of records which no one but me and my older brother really had any interest in. I still have records that I found by just sitting there and going through them. That’s how I discovered the likes of Pearl Bailey or Bessie Smith.
The first time you put together a stage outfit…
My mum was a seamstress and my collaborator. I once got her to make me a bat-winged top from these horrible old rose-print synthetic chair covers, which I used to wear to Blitz Club. At all those clubs I’d go to before I was famous, it was all about the look you had and being the most outrageous. They basically were stage outfits, although I didn't think of it like that at the time. I was very influenced by Bowie, rock, punk and disco, and was into any and all clothing, even religious clothing – it didn’t need to be designer fashion.
Anything that sparkled and was bright fascinated me. This is terrible – I’m so sorry, Krishna – but I used to nick some of the Indian trousers off of the washing lines in Woolwich, where I lived, to wear to a disco. It was all about creating things, cutting them up, sewing them together, dyeing, safety pinning and doing something that nobody else had done. My mum would create a lot of designer looks for me. Once, I was wearing these Vivienne Westwood bondage trousers and Vivienne came up to me and said, “Who made those? They’re not mine.” I told her my mum and she said, “Tell her she did a really good job.” My mother’s response was, “And for half the price.”
The first time you had a diva moment…
Long before I was famous. When I was about six, I was a page boy at my aunt’s wedding and I was given this gorgeous Victorian-style outfit with a cummerbund, trousers with bows on the sides and these amazing court shoes. After the wedding I wanted to keep the shoes, because they were fabulous, but I wasn’t allowed to wear them again; apparently you’re only supposed to be as camp as tits at a wedding. They were passed on to my cousin for another wedding and I had the biggest meltdown about it. I couldn’t believe it… nowadays I look back on my reactions to certain things and I think what happened is, when you become famous, you lose control of your life. You’re being pushed around from pillar to post and you’re kind of loving it, but then you start to resent it. Kicking off is a way to try and maintain some kind of control. You make yourself look completely stupid and always end up cracking over the tiniest thing after it all builds up.
The first time you won at anything…
I won swimming competitions at school, which is amazing to think now. The first big thing, though, was when we got our Brit Award in 1984. I made that evening thoroughly unpleasant for myself, because I got it into my head that the BPI had chosen the gay comedian Frankie Howerd to give us our award to take the piss. I felt like they weren’t taking us seriously, choosing a comedian. Actually, I loved Frankie Howerd, and afterwards I really regretted not being very nice to him – I was very sarcastic. I was so defensive at that point, you see, then later on when I met Howerd I got the chance to apologise and tell him I was a massive fan. I watched it recently and I was really shocked at my behaviour. In those days, some of the things people used to say were outrageous, so I always had my guard up.
The first time you realised you were actually any good…
It’s only been in the last ten years that I’ve realised that this is what I’m born to do. In my life I’ve always had one foot in and one foot ready to run, that's been my survival mechanism. As I’ve got older I’ve learned to slow down a lot when I perform, to trust the process, which I know sounds really hippie. I’ve been working with an acting coach for the past two years because, after doing one particular gig when I felt really nervous, I decided to work on some self-empowerment stuff. It’s been really helpful for me to focus on everything else going on, rather than myself, and having an expansive view point, which you see a lot in theatre. When I was younger I used to think it was about being in control, whereas now I understand that it’s the opposite of that, it’s about being completely uninhibited and just really enjoying it. I always enjoy rehearsing more than I do the gig.
The first time you were given any really excellent advice…
I did this insane empowerment course in the ’90s. It was called “Point of Mastery” and you’d go to this series of courses where you challenge ideas about yourself. Some of it was powerful, some of it ridiculous, but I definitely got a lot out of it. During one group session I was asking loads of questions and kept putting my hand up, so the teacher took me to one side and said, “You might learn more if you just stopped asking questions.” I was furious. I remember being like, "How dare you? I’ve paid money to come here.” He said, “So has everybody else.” That was a really interesting moment for me. I’m quite good at looking at myself and it was very powerful for me to have someone say, “You know that you can be quiet for ten minutes.” I’ve met a lot of spiritual people over the years and they generally all say to me that my biggest challenge is listening to what people are saying to me. I’ve learned that not having to be the centre of attention is actually a relief.
The first thing you'd do if you became prime minister…
The thing I’d want to deal with immediately is homelessness. We should not have people sleeping on the streets in this country. I also love this idea of universal basic income, I believe that people should get paid even if they don’t work. If they’ve got money, they’ll put it back into the economy anyway, so it’s a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy that would get rid of poverty.
The first karaoke you always want to sing…
“Free Money” by Patti Smith, not that they ever have anything good like that.
Culture Club: Rainbow in the Dark is livestreaming from the SSE Arena, Wembley, on 19 December. Buy tickets here.
Head to GQ’s Vero channel to see Boy George’s TV, book, music and restaurant recommendations. Follow GQ on Vero for exclusive music content and commentary, all the latest music lifestyle news and insider access into the GQ world, from behind-the-scenes insight to recommendations from our editors and high-profile talent.
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