In the collective imagination of modern society, stardom is draped in glamour, wealth, influence, and access. It is often seen as the apex of personal achievement—a life where one’s voice echoes beyond borders and one’s image becomes larger than life. But behind the façade lies a sobering truth, particularly in the context of Ghanaian society: stardom, for many, is an illusion. It is a mirage that seduces the artist, the footballer, the dancer, only to abandon them in a desert of obscurity, isolation, and unmet expectations.
The recent death of Ghanaian highlife musician Dada KD invites us into a deeper reflection. His passing, like those of many others before him, forces a confrontation with a painful reality: that many Ghanaian celebrities are celebrated in word but not in substance. They shine briefly in the limelight, but often without the material foundation or societal support to sustain the stature we project onto them.
Stardom, as experienced in Ghana, is largely performative. It is a theatre of public perception, manufactured by the media, fans, and the celebrities themselves. An artist may be catapulted into fame by a hit song, a viral video, or media hype, and suddenly, they are no longer ordinary—they are “stars.” But this stardom is rarely backed by systemic or institutional structures that would secure their wellbeing. In contrast to the West, where “celebrity” often comes with access to wealth, professional networks, royalties, and mental health support, the Ghanaian context offers symbolic reverence but little material reward.
This disconnect creates a dangerous illusion. The public assumes the artist has “arrived,” while the artists themselves must often perform wealth, joy, and success—when in truth, they may be struggling with rent, medical bills, or emotional breakdowns. Stardom thus becomes a mask that conceals suffering, while demanding continued performance.
Once in the limelight, the artist loses the privilege of normalcy. The price of fame is perpetual performance. A celebrity cannot mourn in peace, cannot be poor in peace, and cannot age in peace. To exist outside the image society has created for them is to risk ridicule or irrelevance.
Yet many Ghanaian celebrities do not have the financial means to live up to this public expectation. Without royalties, social security, or industry protection, they are left to self-finance their celebrity. They must appear on TV dressed glamorously, even if they are hungry. They must post inspirational content online, even if they are battling depression. Over time, this performative double life creates deep internal fractures. This is the story of many Ghanaian celebrities.
It is no surprise, then, that many artists quietly descend into depression (examples abound). The very people who once chanted their names grow silent when they fall on hard times. Society, having consumed the image of the star, discards the real human being behind it. With little access to mental health care and cultural stigmas surrounding psychological suffering, many celebrities spiral in isolation. For some, like Dada KD and others before him, the end is tragic. Depression, addiction, social withdrawal, and even death become the hidden costs of stardom in a society that loves its stars only at their peak. We celebrate talent, but we do not sustain it. We hail genius, but we do not pay for its survival.
What then is to be done?
First, we must deconstruct the illusion of stardom. We must reject the fantasy that visibility equals value, that fame equals fortune, and that applause equals wellbeing. Ghana must begin to build real structures that support artists—through policy, royalties, mental health care, and pensions. The creative economy must be seen not as entertainment, but as labour that deserves social protections.Second, we must foster a cultural shift. Fans must learn to humanize their idols. Media must move away from sensationalism and towards advocacy. And artists must be supported in living authentically, even if that authenticity does not conform to public fantasies.
Stardom, when grounded in reality, can inspire. But stardom built on illusion destroys. The life and death of artists like Dada KD call us to interrogate our collective complicity in constructing a culture that glorifies fame but ignores the human cost. We owe our stars more than applause. We owe them care, dignity, and the right to be human.
Let Dada KD’s legacy not be another song faded into memory, but a solemn call to dismantle the illusion—and build something real in its place.
