Confession: I did not know who Robbie Williams was.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world: “You mean THE Robbie Williams??” Yes. That one. Pop megastar. International heartthrob. Somehow missed that memo.
(Sorry, Robbie. I must've been living under a rock -- or probably just buried in my graduate school studies in the ‘90s).
I stumbled upon the MOCO Museum while in London last month and left emotionally tangled in a sweater of mental health truth-telling and neon honesty.
The Robbie Williams x MOCO exhibit in London is a mental health gut-punch… in the best way. His work is funny, raw, and absolutely unfiltered. Tombstones that say “I’m dead now, please like & subscribe,” sweaters embroidered with words we usually hide, cassette tapes declaring “we are soul tied,” and introvert chairs that basically speak for us all.
What I found…
Humor in heartbreak
Art that says the quiet part out loud
Permission to be messy and magnificent
A museum giving a platform to the pain and the punchline
Robbie’s personal journey is baked into every piece. He’s been open about his battles with addiction, anxiety, and fame-induced disconnection.
In his own words, "It was either give up or die," describing how he hit rock bottom before finding his way into long-term recovery, a journey marked by multiple stints in rehab and a fierce commitment to healing.
It’s the kind of art that reaches into your chest and pokes around a bit. I found myself laughing, tearing up, and whispering, “same” more times than I care to admit. His artist statement talks about identity, addiction, and the tension between public image and private struggle, and you feel all of that in the work. It’s deeply personal, but universally recognizable.
I was looking at art, and I was being seen by it.
Credit to MOCO Museum, too. Their curatorial approach goes far beyond aesthetics. They put a spotlight on mental health, social justice, and cultural reckoning. They create space for disruption, reflection, and connection. My experience there was a conversation with the world we live in. They are curating catharsis.
See it if you’re in London. Or just scroll through the attached images and let them speak what words often can’t.
Okay, Robbie… I Get It. You’re Haunting Me.
On my flight home, I was just looking for something light to zone out to, so I randomly clicked on Better Man. Within minutes, I realized: Wait. This is Robbie again?!
I swear I didn’t plan it. I wasn’t searching for his name. I wasn’t deep-diving into the Robbie Williams cinematic universe. But there he was — again — in a full-blown docudrama, being portrayed by… a chimpanzee. Yes, really. A chimp in full pop star attire. (Because obviously.)
I was totally riveted, despite being half-delirious from a 10-hour, sun-chasing flight wedged between strangers. This raw, weirdly brilliant take on the messy crawl toward healing got me.
When it ended, I full-on ugly cried. Loud enough that my seatmate offered me a side-eyed concern.
And when I got home? I made my husband watch it with me again.
At this point, I had to ask: Is this a cosmic pop-star intervention? What lesson am I supposed to learn here?!
All I know is: I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. And maybe I’m not supposed to.
So, what did I take away from all this Robbie-ing? Besides a mild obsession and a sudden desire to buy embroidered sweaters that scream my feelings?
Honestly, the arts are a healing superpower we keep underestimating. His exhibit and film cracked me open in ways no white paper or wellness app ever could.
So, thank you, Robbie, for being wildly human. I’m grateful you crash-landed into my London trip and set up camp in my headspace. And yes, I’ve decided it’s perfectly acceptable for a 50-something woman to have a new heartthrob.
The arts do what our talking points can’t. They feel. They connect. They transform.
What’s your take? How are you using art, storytelling, music, or movement to open space for mental health in your world? Hit reply. I’d love to hear it.
Stay weird, stay real,
Sally