When I was about six years old, I knew I was gay and everyone else knew it too. Even though I was bullied for being feminine and pretty, I never really desired to be straight.
Of course I knew I had to keep it a secret. The worst thing you could be in school was a weakling.
Even the teachers were homophobic. My gym teacher, Mr. McIntyre, would always yell, “Lift your legs up, girl.”
This was the 1970s and I felt like I should carry on with my gay business over there in the corner and not talk about it. That would never work for me. As a child, I went to Sunday school wearing one of Mom’s hats. One of her friends called and said, “Do you know what he’s wearing?”
“I do,” she said defiantly.
BOY GEORGE: When I was about six years old, I knew I was gay and everyone else knew it too. Even though I was bullied for being feminine and pretty, I never really desired to be straight
Boy George at Limelight Nightclub in 1966
On the set of The Graham Norton Show at BBC Television Centre
I used to be always confused and not in control of anything. I now tell myself, “I’m going to be great,” before I go on stage
When I left the house, Mom would say to Dad, “Look at him, Jerry, look at what he’s wearing.” Dad lowered his newspaper and said, “It’s up to him if he wants to be spanked.”
However, being the queer middle child of a London Irish family was less important than you might think. My father announced my “homosexuality” to my brothers David and Richard in his Bedford van. He turned down the radio and said, “You know your brother is a little funny.”
David chimed in: “Weird, strange or funny, ha-ha?”
Richard corrected Dad: “You mean he’s a weakling.”
I think Dad turned the radio up again at this point. He could be brutal, but he was also charismatic. He treated my mother very badly, but in a strange way they loved each other.
Mom was definitely committed to the idea of marriage and family. She was a bit of a martyr to the cause and tried so hard to make the house beautiful to make it work, but my father’s jealousy made it impossible.
If mom put on a nice dress, she was having an affair. Every time dad hit my mom, his mom would ask her, ‘Why are you making him angry?’ Why do you have to answer him?’
Some days I would come home from school and almost feel the pain through the front door. Mom would be wearing her dressing gown and the milk would still be at the door.
I would say to her, ‘Why do you let him treat you like that?’ Why don’t we go?’
But the few times Mom left and went to her mother in Birmingham, she was sent back the next day with Grandma’s words ringing in her ears: “You can’t keep a father away from his children.”
Violence in marriage was apparently accepted at the time and never discussed. I’ve seen some terrible things. One day I came home from school and mom was lying under the table screaming at dad who was holding a knife.
I became so crazy that it even scared him and he backed out.
He insisted he make a sandwich; He didn’t point the knife at Mom. But why was she under the table? It has stayed with me all these years.
Mom once overdosed and I kept her awake, which was the scariest thing I went through as a child. Unfortunately, even this incident did not change my father.
I don’t want to portray him as a horrible, disgusting person, because he wasn’t. He was handsome and intelligent and could sing a great version of Danny Boy. He was neither racist nor bigoted and did not allow stolen goods into the house.
One thing I got from my dad is the ability to let things go. He threw the table in the air, then said, “Put the kettle on,” and hugged you. Once he got over it, you had to get over it.
I was guilty of this myself. Because I am resilient and forgiving, I expect other people to be the same. And I also know that no one has to accept your apology. What you do with your own pain is your business. However, the pain doesn’t have to remain.
I used to be always confused and not in control of anything. I now tell myself, “I’m going to be great,” before I go on stage.
Not that I’m great. . . even though it’s me. And so are you.
Prison taught me the greatest life lessons I have ever had to learn. One must be extremely alert at all times without showing fear. They try to match you with people who are compatible, but who is compatible with me?
I arrived in Pentonville in January 2009 after being convicted of the false imprisonment of a man whose name I will not mention here.
The walk from the court cells to the van was like something out of a 1970s movie. I had seen it hundreds of times and now it was happening to me.
Within 30 minutes of arriving in Pentonville I was being offered every drug on the planet. Thank God I rejected them all.
On my second day, a prison guard illegally took a photo of me and sold it to a newspaper. I was tricked by an inmate who asked me for an autograph while the police officer took a photo. It was disgusting, but the upside was that they removed me from my shared cell.
Mom was definitely committed to the idea of marriage and family. She was a bit of a martyr to the cause and tried so hard to make the house beautiful to make it work, but my father’s jealousy made it impossible
However, being the queer middle child of a London Irish family was less important than you might think. My father announced my “homosexuality” to my brothers David and Richard in his Bedford van.
I was happy to be alone. I like my own company and there was no one I could distrust. The prison guards were generally nice to me. But the food smelled like feet. I was allowed to go to the prison yard once a day.
After six days that felt like a year, I was taken in a prison van to Edmunds Hill Prison in Suffolk. We were in the middle of the country, but I had to endure other inmates constantly singing “Karma Chameleon” to me and calling me a “crazy boy.”
At this point I felt like I was in someone else’s life. My cell door kept shaking and the inmates wondered if I had drugs, but also wanted to meet Boy George.
Across the hall was a tall, muscular black man who was finishing a very long sentence. He was friendly and told me directly: “If anyone bothers you, come to me.”
Occasionally the guards will turn the cells over to see if anything unusual is going on. I had an early morning raid. It was embarrassing when I had to pull down my pants to prove I had nothing on me, but nothing was found and life went on.
You shouldn’t exchange food or have extra pillows or blankets, but if you keep your mouth shut and behave, nothing will be said.
One of the prisoners was fucking a prison guard. They were in the huge fridge and outside where we went to smoke. It must have been exciting to get away with it.
My first day in the prison kitchen was hot and tense. I was in the pot room using a large jet washer to wash pots and pans.
It was good for me to do physical work and I like being busy.
After about a week, I was promoted to vegetarian chef. One of my quiches received great praise. A man in the kitchen asked, “Who made this quiche?”
I told him I was. “Batty, man, make a nice quiche, you know,” he said. It’s hard to be offended when someone is so poetic.
In retrospect, prison is strangely exciting to write about. I was sentenced to 15 months but was released after four months. I don’t remember it being particularly exciting at the time; it was even more numbing.
When football or boxing was going on, all the inmates screamed and slammed the doors. There was no gay sex, whatever people think. Nobody was particularly homophobic, but there was an undercurrent. I’ve been gay long enough to read the room.
When people were aggressive towards me, I was aggressive too. You need to send the message “leave me alone” while also being kind.
But I remember the funny moments and the music. A prison favorite was “Are We Human?” by The Killers. – I can still see my buddy Terry singing, “Are we people or are we gangsters?” and jumping around my cell like Bez from Happy Mondays.
It’s sweet but naive to assume that being gay and being in the same company is a reason to be friends.
Sam Smith and I lived next door to each other in Hampstead for a few years but never really spoke to each other.
Sam hosted parties in his garden that I was never invited to, but we are at opposite ends of our life and fame experiences.
On the other hand, when I visited Adele in Vegas, she sent me a beautifully signed tour program that said, “I can’t believe you’re here,” but she didn’t come out to meet me. I found it very strange. How other artists treat you at their concerts is super important.
I’m the biggest Mick Jagger fan on the planet. I only met him once, at Mandy Smith’s wedding to Bill Wyman in 1989. Jagger came up to me, shook my hand and said, “I like your shoes.” Apparently he’s an avid shoe freak.
The first time I met one of the Stones was in Paris, on the way to a party with my friend Marilyn (if you remember, he had a hit with Calling Your Name). When I discovered Keith Richards, Charlie Watts and Ronnie Wood, I said to Marilyn, ‘Let’s have a drink.’ I’ve got to meet them.’
Marilyn rolled her eyes. ‘Then hurry up.’
In retrospect, prison is strangely exciting to write about. I was sentenced to 15 months but was released after four months. I don’t remember it being particularly exciting at the time; it was even more numbing
I shook hands with Princess Margaret at the Sony Music Radio Awards at the London Hilton. Afterwards she was heard saying: “Who is this Boy George?” He looks like an overly made-up tart.
Later, Marilyn and I spent a day in Jamaica with Keith and lots of cocaine. But I didn’t see Charlie again until I met him at WH Smith in Heathrow many years later. I swear the first thing he said was, “How is that miserable idiot, Marilyn?”
I laughed, “Still a miserable idiot, but he’ll love it if you remember him.”
I was eleven and a half years old when I saw David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust at the Lewisham Odeon on May 24, 1973, and I went to that gig alone. Even having no one to go with didn’t deter me. I borrowed my older brother Richard’s clothes: split-knee loons and a scoop-neck T-shirt covered in psychedelic mushrooms, topped off with an embroidered Native American jacket. I thought I had looked at the bee’s knees.
When I was ten years old, I was sitting outside Bowie’s house in Beckenham, south-east London, on a beautiful Sunday morning [his then wife] Angie opened the window and said, “Would you all just leave?” We were thrilled. Back then, the fans knew their place.
When I had dinner with Bowie and Iman in New York a few decades later, he said, “Tell the story about how Angie told you to fuck off.”
I probably filled it in at some length, and when I was done, David said, “That’s probably the most interesting thing Angie has ever said.” Spiteful.
I shook hands with Princess Margaret at the Sony Music Radio Awards at the London Hilton. Afterwards she was heard saying: ‘Who is this Boy George?’ He looks like an over-made-up tart.’
I went back through the press and had t-shirts made with Princess Margaret’s face wearing my hat and ribbons, saying, “I’m not a slut.”
Long after that I met her son, Lord Linley [now Earl Snowdon]in a restaurant.
‘Can we talk for a moment?’ he said. “I just wanted to say that my mother never called you a slut.” “She had lots of gay friends and knew exactly who you were.” “It must have been Carol Decker from T’Pau,” I told him. “Although I don’t think she wears as much makeup as I do.”
I really loved Princess Margaret. She was my kind of royal – very glamorous. She did all the things the queen could never do.
I met Princess Diana twice. The first took place at the Hippodrome at a charity event. I had just overcome a very public heroin addiction and my reputation was ruined.
I wasn’t on the official guest list, but nightclub owner Peter Stringfellow whispered in my ear, “Princess Diana wants to meet you.”
Karma: My Autobiography by Boy George is out November 9th. To order a copy for £19.80, go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937
I was with mom and she said, “Go ahead, meet her.” I went upstairs and lined up with the other guests, but a palace official shooed me away: “You’re not on the list.” Step aside.’
So I went to the bar and ordered a drink. After shaking everyone’s hand, the princess broke protocol and came towards me. She was very sweet and complimented my outfit, which consisted of a Judy Blame coat and hat covered in silver safety pins.
“Wow, that must have taken forever,” she said.
“I didn’t do it myself, love,” I told her.
I asked her if she was meeting mom and she said, “Where is she?” They talked for ten minutes.
I met Diana again at a Capital Radio charity dinner and she sat across from me and had the vegetarian option because I was vegetarian. Wayne Sleep was lively and kept falling on her shoulder. She looked at me, smiled and shrugged her shoulders. I believe Wayne was taken away later.
- Adapted from Karma: My Autobiography by Boy George (Bonnier Books Ltd, £22), published on November 9th. © Boy George 2023. Order a copy for £19.80 (offer valid until 11/19/2023; free UK delivery on orders). over £25) go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.