It’s been 25 years since the world first heard “Genie in a Bottle” and a culture-shifting pop star was born. A lot has happened in the quarter century since, and Aguilera is opening up about it all: fame, the ruthless ’00s tabloids, bucking convention, the power of saying no, and—her proudest accomplishment—motherhood.
It’s summer 1999 and things are bright. The color pink is unironically everywhere, from spaghetti-strap tank tops to low-slung track pants. Julia Roberts is dominating the box office with two fizzy rom-coms. The laugh track is in its imperial phase, as Friends, Will & Grace, and Frasier gear up for new seasons. We haven’t yet reached full-on Y2K hysteria, and in the air, an optimism about what a new millennium might bring. And on every Top 40 station worldwide, a 3-minute 36-second confection blares, “You gotta rub me the right way.” The song, of course, is “Genie in a Bottle.” The singer? An 18-year-old rising star named Christina Aguilera, who would go on to become one of the most important pop stars of the 21st century.
That formative song—and the subsequent self-titled album it appeared on—turns 25 this year, which is why I found myself on a recent Friday in Aguilera’s Los Angeles home. Or more specifically, inside her private recording studio. At first glance you wouldn’t be wrong for thinking the space was a meditation room or some sort of me-time oasis. You’d notice the warm mood lighting, the abundance of rose-scented candles (her favorite), and the plush white couch. But then your eyes would drift over to the seven Grammy Awards, two MTV VMA statuettes, the mixing board, the framed record-sale certifications, and a series of Russian nesting dolls styled after her various album eras, the largest being 2010’s Bionic.
In a way the room is symbolic of Christina Aguilera’s POV these days: Home comes first; everything else will fit in. She seems peaceful, content, happy. Three words that aren’t always applicable to people who became global superstars before they were barely old enough to vote. But Aguilera has nothing but appreciation for those early years of her career, when she found herself blindingly at the epicenter of pop music.
“I think the biggest word that sums up that first record for me is grateful,” she says, curled up on the aforementioned couch wearing a light-pink hoodie and yoga pants, her signature blonde hair in a ponytail. “Being thankful because it got my foot in the door. After 25 years I’m so proud of it. I think to sustain anything for a lengthy amount of time takes a lot of work and dedication and passion. There are many elements that go into being able to build something.”
Her sentiments seem genuine: A “Genie”-inspired lamp sits on her studio shelf, and she still performs the song live—albeit remixed from its original, highly familiar arrangement.
“I have a lot of fun re-creating ‘Genie in a Bottle,’” she says. “I interpret it differently, depending on which show or which tour or which genre we’re going for, what audience I’m playing for, what country. It’s really fun to be able to creatively do different things with those songs from the first album.”
Born in the New York City borough of Staten Island, in the winter of 1980, Aguilera moved around often growing up—Texas one year, New Jersey another, even Japan. Her father was an Army man and, Aguilera has alleged, abusive. To cope, she says, she’d look out windows and sing songs from The Sound of Music, envisioning a calmer, better life for herself and her mother. Even though she was young, it was obvious she had the voice—soulful, virtuosic, and undeniably powerful—to create circumstantial change.
“I don’t know if I would be the singer or performer I am, or have the success I do, had I not been through my childhood,” Aguilera says. “It gave me a real purpose of, I’m going to fight my way through these feelings. I’m going to fight my way past someone that has wronged me.”
This fighting spirit helped a nine-year-old Aguilera land a spot on the massively popular talent competition show Star Search, losing to a 12-year-old boy. Three years later it was off to Florida when she landed a gig singing and dancing on The Mickey Mouse Club alongside fellow burgeoning stars Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, and Ryan Gosling. By age 15 she was in New York City with one goal: landing a record deal.
Most millennials remember hearing “Genie in a Bottle” incessantly during the summer of ’99, and the song hit number one in a slew of countries, went double platinum, and scored Aguilera her first Grammy nomination. On the heels of the megahit, she churned out two more chart-toppers in quick succession: “What a Girl Wants” and “Come on Over Baby (All I Want Is You).” In a matter of months, her position as teen-pop royalty was solidified.
Coincidentally, this royal court also included Aguilera’s Mouseketeer pals Spears and Timberlake (as one-fifth of the boy band ’NSync). They arrived at a pivotal time in pop, when candy-coated, seemingly factory-made acts reigned supreme. For many in this genre–which also included Jessica Simpson and Mandy Moore—success didn’t necessarily seem to hinge on unique artistic vision, palpable authenticity, or even once-in-a-generation talent.
‘I didn’t love the bubblegum thing, where you had to play a virgin but not act like one.’
To reach the stratosphere, all you needed was objective good looks, a headset mic (turned on or not), TRL-ready moves, and songs engineered for maximum catchiness (they didn’t even have to make sense).
But it was clear Aguilera had something a little different. Mainly that voice, which undeniably had more range and grit than her direct peers’. Early critics were quick to note Aguilera’s “powerhouse pipes” in a way that set her apart from the herd. She tried to show this as much as possible on her first record but ultimately felt “boxed in” by the moment.
“I didn’t love the bubblegum thing, where you had to play a virgin but not act like one,” she says. “When I was performing ‘Genie’ and ‘What a Girl Wants’ and ‘Come on Over,’ I got bored easily. Creatively, it was one-dimensional.”
She also barely had time to breathe. “Literally every second [of my life then] was accounted for in a schedule,” she says. “You can’t just live your life for work where it’s unenjoyable. You get burnt out.”
By 2000 Aguilera became exactly that. She was opening for R&B girl group TLC, planning her first headlining show, and recording both a Spanish and a Christmas album. “Power through” became her mantra; there were no mental-health check-ins, no meaningful time off. “I was navigating it all by myself,” Aguilera says.
So she set out to find a new team who put artist before industry—people who weren’t afraid to say, “She needs a beat. She needs a minute to really work on her thing creatively.” The result was her second major pop album, which not only put her voice center stage but definitively helped her shed the dime-a-dozen teenybopper persona for good.
How to talk about 2002’s Stripped? The video for the album’s lead single, “Dirrty,” saw Aguilera greased up and grimy, with black streaks in her hair and kohl-rimmed eyes. Clad in now-iconic assless chaps, she gyrated wildly in a boxing ring and snarled, “[I’m] sweatin’ ’til my clothes come off.” It shocked everyone, it was all we could talk about, we’re still talking about it. (While speaking to Aguilera in 2019, Andy Cohen recalled watching “Dirrty” for the first time with his good friend Sarah Jessica Parker: “Our mouths were on the floor.”) It was during this era that Xtina, her defiant alter ego, was born.
With “Dirrty,” Aguilera got our attention, then wisely used this reintroduction to assert her artistry in a way we hadn’t seen from her or anyone like her. “Dirrty” was perfectly aggressive and defiant—key characteristics for the new Xtina—but it was the album’s next single, “Beautiful” that felt truly provocative. At face value, it’s a soaring ballad about embracing your individuality. But the music video—which depicts two men kissing and a transgender woman dressing—was a true act of radicalism in the face of America’s puritanical, conservative Bush years. Aguilera dedicated “Beautiful” to the LGBTQ+ community, and it earned her a special-recognition honor at the 2003 GLAAD Media Awards.
The backlash to Stripped was immediate and inevitable. One critic quipped that Aguilera looked as if she’d arrived on the set of the “Dirrty” video direct from “an intergalactic hooker convention.” Another called her the “world’s skeeziest reptile woman.” But Aguilera had never felt more sure about her art.
“I think it was just a matter of believing so wholeheartedly in my vision, which was to fight for sexuality,” she tells me—fittingly, with her topless January 2003 Maxim cover in a frame on the wall next to us.
Bucking convention catapulted Aguilera to idol status. Stripped cemented her fan base and became a soundtrack for the outcasts, foreshadowing pride anthems such as Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” and Kesha’s “We R Who We R.” Many consider it her magnum opus.
“It’s easy to say that Christina’s legacy is her vocals, but for me it’s been more than that,” Demi Lovato—who appeared on Aguilera’s 2018 song “Fall in Line” from her Liberation album—tells me over email. “She’s taught me to never dim my light and to always be myself, whether that’s with my sexuality or my confidence. Her legacy is teaching people to stay true to who they are.”
The acclaimed podcast Pop Pantheon recently dedicated an episode to Aguilera’s impact, and its creator and host, DJ Louie XIV, tells me there are people in his life who still say how massively affected they were by Stripped. “The fact that the ‘Beautiful’ video showed same-sex relationships and Christina’s own presentation was going against certain beauty standards of that period had a large impact on endearing people to her long-term,” he says. “She realized there were people feeling othered by how ‘prom king and queen’ pop had become at that moment.”
‘Other people’s opinions of me are not my business.’
Aguilera could ignore jabs about Stripped, but other things aren’t as easy to shake off when you’re literally at the nexus of the notoriously ruthless ’00s tabloid culture and its hyperfixation on young women. Jessica Simpson, you’ll recall, was globally lambasted for wearing mom jeans as a size 27. Every inch of Nicole Richie’s and Lindsay Lohan’s bodies were chronicled in tabloids as if they were matters of national importance. Aguilera inevitably fell victim to the body-policing vultures. The noise was so loud that she stopped watching late-night shows for a while because of the incessant jokes aimed at her and others in her cohort.
Aguilera says the media’s obsession with her weight was particularly painful and that much of her self-esteem then was based on “how skinny I was.” “When you’re a teenager, you have a very different body than when you’re in your 20s,” she says. “I started to fill out, and then that was unacceptable because it was like, ‘Oh, she’s getting thicker.’ Then I had industry people: ‘They liked your body and how you were as a skinny teenager.’”
Age and time have helped Aguilera be less affected by the world’s judgments—about her body, her work, her sexuality, everything. “I have a maturity now where I just don’t give a fuck about your opinion. I’m not going to take it on,” she says. “It must be your responsibility to take up your space. Other people’s opinions of me are not my business.”
Aguilera hopes to instill this mindset in her children. (She has a daughter, Summer Rain, with fiancé Matt Rutler and a son, Max, from a previous marriage.) “Your kids trigger things in you that you don’t want them to go through,” she says. “And it’s almost like you’re reliving this whole thing again.”
‘It’s such a layered, interesting thing to be a parent and watch these people, these humans, grow up.’
As we start to discuss motherhood, Aguilera tears up and tells me I’m catching her at a “weird moment.” Max recently turned 16, Summer is 10, and more than ever she’s feeling the pressure of parenting. She finds herself “lecturing” and “overtalking” to her children, hoping the advice will keep certain hardships—like the ones she experienced growing up—at bay. “I’ve seen so much so young,” Aguilera says. “You just want the best for your kids.”
It’s clear from our conversation that a big concern for Aguilera right now is figuring out how to give Summer and Max safety but also freedom. Attempting to strike that balance has been difficult and emotional, she shares as she reaches for the tissue box in front of us.
“I love my son and my daughter so much, and you do want to shield and protect them from the world,” she says, her tears intensifying. (I offer her another tissue.) “But they have to learn their own lessons.”
One lesson Aguilera is learning as a mom in real time is how to let go. She’s wistful talking about years gone by, how she’ll look at old pictures of her kids and think, “I’ll never see that person again.” She adds, “They’re going to make their own choices and mistakes that define how they want to be. It’s such a layered, interesting thing to be a parent and watch these people, these humans, grow up.”
When Summer pops in the room unexpectedly, Aguilera warms even more. “Are you coming to check on me?” Aguilera asks her daughter. “She’s like, ‘Why do you have cry-face?’ We’re just talking about how much I love you.”
“Is [my tutor] coming?” Summer asks.
“Oh, that’s a good question,” Aguilera says softly. “She had to cancel at the last, last minute.”
“Why?” Summer says.
“She said she’s coming Monday or Tuesday,” Aguilera answers. “I don’t know. That’s her personal business, but she had to cancel, my love.”
As Summer leaves, I notice a pair of mini guitars in Aguilera’s studio—one brown, another white with florals—and wonder if her family ever plays music here together. It’s not a far-fetched idea: Aguilera says her children are interested in the inner workings of her successful Las Vegas residency. Summer in particular loves hanging with the band and often joins her mom on stage for her final number. At the moment, Aguilera says, a proper tour isn’t on her agenda: “I don’t want to say that out loud because my fans would be very sad. But I truly do enjoy being home base and accessible to my kids.”
‘I’m not here to be a programmed robot. I’m here as a human being first before being a celebrity.’
This decision reflects a larger shift in Aguilera’s mind since the “Genie” and Stripped years. Back then Aguilera was driven by ambition: “It really was about this massive dream I was so dedicated to accomplishing.” But now she’s keenly aware how all of this—her talent, fame, and success—serves a larger purpose. “When you’re a mom, it’s not about narcissism. It’s not just about you.”
Still, this doesn’t mean she’s lost her drive to keep creating. “You have to make sure you’re not sleeping on yourself and still doing things that make you feel good,” Aguilera says.
Like making music. Fans will be thrilled to learn a new English-language album is coming. “I’ve been accumulating [songs],” she says, not sharing details. “I’m actually dying to get it out. I just haven’t fully had time.” (Her last three projects were in Spanish, including a full-length album, 2022’s Aguilera, which won a Latin Grammy Award.)
The new record will drop when Aguilera is ready—and not at the expense of the other joys in her life she’s fought tirelessly for, no matter how simple. When Aguilera is off-duty, she’s probably organizing her house as Schitt’s Creek plays in the background. She’s also watching The Reluctant Traveler on Apple TV+, which chronicles actor Eugene Levy’s trips around the world. “There’s something so cozy about travel shows,” she says.
Aguilera doesn’t have much of an interest in going out these days, either. “I just love my space at home,” she says. “I worked really hard to create my own sanctuary, and I want to be in it and invite people in who I love and want to just laugh with.” Unwinding sometimes means wine—“dry, cold, white”—and her pool. “I love a night swim,” she says.
As our 80-minute conversation winds down, I can’t resist sharing with Aguilera my favorite songs of hers. There’s “Bobblehead” from 2010’s Bionic, a strange, warbly electro track that makes Charli XCX’s Brat sound tame. And “Prima Donna” (also on Bionic), a thunderous relic of 2010s recession pop at its most decadent. “I love that,” Aguilera says about my choices. “I love how people have these random takes sometimes.”
Random? Maybe in the larger sense of her chart-topping hits, but die-hard Fighters—as Aguilera’s fan base names itself—have these deep cuts on rotation. A lyric from “Prima Donna” feels especially resonant to her life today: “Yes, I’m grown, and I don’t need no judgment on me.” Sitting beside me in her home studio, Aguilera fully embodies that word: grown. Because after two decades of challenging pop’s rigid infrastructure—and changing it for good—what she wants now is clearly on her terms.
“This time in my life is about super-awareness,” she says. “I know where I’ve been. I know what I’ve loved. I know what I haven’t loved. And now, more than ever, I just feel more wide-awake and more aware and more understanding. I’m not here to be a programmed robot. I’m here as a human being first before being a celebrity.”
https://x.com/xtina/status/1824231723254829190
