D o yu want to bedazzle my grinder? The crimson curls that usually fall to her lower back are pinned up, her face bare except for a swipe of black liner around her eyes.
The markings of her pop alter ego are all over the cozy, one-bedroom house she recently began renting in a quiet suburban nabe outside of Los Angeles. Here in the makeshift craft room, just opposite the armoire, is a mannequin that acts as a Chappell Roan stand-in. Roan is not fully settled in here; vintage lamps and half-unpacked boxes dot the floor. But there are also just enough touches to make it feel like a home, like the thrifted, jadeite salt and pepper shakers on the dining table or a couple of small, pastel-hued watercolor paintings on the wall.
Back in April, she wrapped a stretch of dates opening for her friend Olivia Rodrigo. Then came Coachella. After Coachella, the iconic moments kept coming. In June, at Gov Ball, Roan was rolled out in a big red apple, dressed as Lady Liberty while coolly smoking a very large joint; the photos and videos dominated social feeds.
Singles, including one released back in , have begun charting. This year, as pop music entered a moment when fans seemed particularly inclined to dance, party, and have fun, Roan was waiting for them.
She had been writing huge anthems and creating her own drag persona. And while Roan may seem like an overnight success to some, her career has been nearly a decade in the making, against innumerable odds. Four years ago, she had been dropped from her first label and left to pick up the pieces. But after a brief but crucial journey as an independent artist, Roan learned the value of trusting her own gut: She started to write songs that evoke queer joy and found a massive fandom along the way.
