The entertainment industry has always had a dark side. Substance abuse isn’t new, but the way it’s handled has changed. Back in the day, artists denied everything, even when the world knew. It was hidden, whispered about, or only admitted once someone got clean.
We all remember Whitney Houston’s infamous “Crack Is Wack” interview. It became a meme, but really it was a woman fighting a public battle she couldn’t control. She denied the rumors with confidence, but the public saw right through it. Today, social media has taken that same dynamic and turned it into a spectacle. Instead of hearing about an artist’s downfall years later, we watch them unravel in real time.
The drugs are no longer hidden; they're almost flaunted, marketed, and sold as a lifestyle. Lil Wayne pushed lean culture in his music while his own health fell apart. In recent years he hasn’t promoted it as heavily, but the new generation had already picked up the torch. Artists like Dave Blunts still glorify it with tracks like “I Can’t Put Down the Cup.” These aren’t just songs. They are advertisements for addiction, selling a lifestyle that destroys the same people promoting it.
It’s not just rappers. The recent lawsuit against Sean “Diddy” Combs reminded the world that substance abuse and chaos don’t always look like a double cup in a music video. Sometimes they’re hidden behind boardrooms, billion-dollar empires, and polished images. Power doesn’t erase dysfunction, it just buries it deeper.
That same pattern shows up in media too. Wendy Williams went from exposing other people’s struggles to becoming a "Hot Topic" herself. Instead of empathy, she became a sideshow. Her downfall mirrors what’s happening in hip-hop: when vulnerability shows, the culture points, laughs, and calls it entertainment.
Kodak Black is living proof of that. His battles with addiction are broadcast in real time during; livestreams, concerts and random street clips. Fans shrug it off as “Kodak being Kodak.” But that’s not love, that’s complicity. We normalize the very thing that has the potential to kill, because it keeps us entertained.
Why do we support dysfunction as long as it entertains us? Why do we treat human beings like content?
This industry runs on “yes” people. Friends, family, and staff... all scared to lose their spot. They stay quiet while someone dies slowly. When the person is gone, so is the money, access, and clout. What’s left is guilt.
Let’s be real: labels and networks profit off destruction. They’ll fund the music videos with double cups and party scenes, then cash in when the same chaos makes headlines. Addiction and dysfunction sell just as much as talent, sometimes more. It’s a cycle the industry has no incentive to break, because the mess keeps money flowing.
Meanwhile, the justice system doesn’t treat everyone the same. Everyday people with addictions get locked up, judged, or shamed. Celebrities, on the other hand, get rehab in Malibu, private doctors, and PR clean-ups. Money and fame work like a shield, but they don’t stop the body from breaking down. No amount of fame can bring you back once you’re gone.
Real love speaks up. Real fans intervene. Real friends don’t sit back and watch destruction for clicks.
We’ve lost too many:
Michael Jackson, Prince, Whitney Houston, Amy Winehouse, Heath Ledger, DMX, DJ Screw, Juice WRLD, Mac Miller, Matthew Perry, Coolio, Michael K. Williams, Anna Nicole Smith, Chyna, Jimi Hendrix, Ike Turner.
The list goes on. Different names, similar stories.
We can’t save everyone. But we can stop turning pain into entertainment. Stop reposting viral clips of people clearly high. Stop normalizing the downfall. Hold our faves accountable. Love them enough to want better for them. Just maybe, someone sees the support, truth or concern and chooses help over another high.
Because one night in a bathtub. One pill too strong. One “last” high... Is all it takes.
