Why did people throw Cabbage Patch Dolls at the unfortunate Phil Collins?
When you become a famous rock star, people stop knowing you as a human being because the essence of a rock star is somewhat superhuman. As such, people give their favourite musicians names, playing into the image that they have made of themselves. Often, this is a good thing; who wouldn’t want to be called The Boss? However, in some instances, it has negative connotations, as Phil Collins found out the hard way.
There is no denying the genius of Phil Collins. He is the epitome of a classic drummer: experimental in the sounds he uses and able to look past his instrument and see the song as a whole. He understands the necessity of building tension in a track and knows when percussion is needed and not needed.
You can complement Collins’ instrumentation as much as you like, but the musical world has always been fickle. People often look beyond what a musician is doing and pick apart their appearance. It’s not a nice thing to do, but it’s just a default setting for some people, and it was a common go-to for publications in the 1980s and ‘90s.
Because he was slightly overweight, balding and average height, tabloids latched onto his look and described him as the “Cabbage Patch Kid for the pop audience”. The name stuck, so his fans would bring Cabbage Patch Kids to his gigs and throw them on stage. It all seemed like a bit of fun, but Collins wasn’t happy at all, and when it was brought up in an interview, he let everyone know what he thought.
“Listen, I’m gonna clear a few things up here,” he said, “One, I’m not short. People keep saying I am short. I’m 5’8”, which in England is the average height, OK? In America, ok, so I’m not Abdul Kamal, or whatever his name is, but I’m not short.”
Collins then went on to pick holes in the other factors that led to his Cabbage Patch nickname, defending his hairline. “Two, I’m not bald. They all talk about the balding rock star. I have had this hairline since I was a kid, right? Of course, I am losing it gradually, but I started off with less than everybody else.”
Finally, Collins addressed his weight. “Three, I’m only a little bit overweight, and that’s because I have lived in the studio for the past six months and studio work is tedious. There is a lot of sitting around,” he said. “I get fit on the road. I lose a lot of excess pounds when I’m on stage. On this tour with Genesis, since I’m playing drums more than when I tour myself, I really burn a lot of calories.”
While nicknames and playing with image can sometimes be fun, it’s sad to see Collins have to defend himself so violently in this interview, especially given how much there was to talk about with his music alone. This is the issue with being in the public eye: it’s impossible to escape scrutiny, resulting in having to defend the fact you’ve put on weight. Granted, Collins could have conducted himself slightly better, but it’s a conversation that shouldn’t happen in the first place.
Realistically, with someone like Collins, who has made such strides as a musician, the conversation surrounding him should be one about his music as opposed to being about his looks. This is something he highlighted in a separate interview when he said, “I mean, I was called the ugliest man since George Orwell. What’s that got to do with the music? And, by the way, how ugly was George Orwell?”
