BETTER MAN
ROBBIE WILLIAMS is sitting alone in a sprawling hotel suite at Crown Towers, almost 40 stories above the Melbourne skyline. “It’s as if Scrooge McDuck in the ’80s had a hotel suite of his own,” says Williams, admiring the stunning view and the sheer size of the blank TV that reflects his silhouette. It’s 8.30 on a Thursday night. A half-eaten plate of sushi sits in front of him, alongside a giant platter of oranges.
Williams is two days out from cancelling a concert and going into self-isolation due to COVID-19. Just like the rest of us, he’ll try his best to shield himself and loved ones from an invisible, indiscriminate menace. It’s unchartered territory for everybody but it’s perhaps a particularly novel experience for Williams, a man more used to grappling with a formidable collection of internal demons – depression, anxiety, alcoholism, drugs, body dysmorphia, sex addiction and agoraphobia – that have haunted him throughout his iconic 30-year career. “I’m addicted to anything that changes the way I feel,” he says plainly. “You know, I haven’t had a drink for 20 years. I haven’t done cocaine for a long, long, long time. But I will always drift towards self-sabotage. There’s a magnetic North. And in that magnetic North is just self-destruction.”
And yet here he is, as irrepressible and irreverent as ever. One of the most successful British solo artists of all time with 12 No.1 albums and over 75 million records sold globally, Williams has either beaten or brokered a truce with most of his vices. The one exception and, indeed, the hardest one to combat, is food. But with the help of WW (formerly Weight Watchers), he’s well on the way to reaching a détente with that one, too. “I probably have to live a life that
