Rylan Clark: ‘I’m finding a new me’

by 24britishtvJan. 16, 2022, 4 p.m. 52
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At the end of 2021, Rylan had his teeth knocked out. During two operations under general anaesthetic, then a third under local, his teeth, £25,000 veneers which had become both a trademark and a punchline, were hammered, then chiselled away. “New teeth,” he smiles, his grin now modest, “New hair, new start,” and then he frowns, “New me.”

Neither of us were expecting the interview to go like this. Rylan (born Ross Clark in east London – his mother moved the family to Essex after homophobic bullies fractured his skull when he was in his early teens) was intending to talk about his charming new podcast, Ry-Union, his latest project in a series of jolly presenting gigs that began after his appearance on X Factor 10 years ago and really never stopped. “I started off as the joke,” he glitters, “and I’m still laughing.” We were expecting a hoot, is what I mean. We were expecting to chuckle through stories of his unlikely stardom, the cosy place he holds in the heart of the British public, the way he ascended from comedy figure to national treasure over the course of a decade, but he’s had a very bad, no-good year, and though he was not expecting to talk about it, having not yet explained its depths to most of his friends, suddenly there we are.

But first, an introduction, for readers unfamiliar with Big Brother or his Radio 2 show or Gogglebox, or his used-car adverts on telly that recently provoked an outraged stranger to tweet the car dealer, “I will never buy a car from you whilst that complete buck tooth ignoramus @Rylan is advertising your company! Illiterate, talentless, council nobody!” and Rylan to reply, “THEN WALK, MATE.” His early career plan was to “get famous”, and it’s almost despite this that Rylan, now 33, has become the star he is today. In 2012 he was a joke contestant on X Factor, destined surely for a life having beer thrown at him at club appearances just outside the M25 – at the end of that year he and Jimmy Savile were battling for bad press, with death threats leading to 24-hour security.

But the public grew to adore him, seeing a brightness, wit and authenticity beneath the tan. “The first six months of my career,” he says, explaining why he’s always got time for fans wielding cameras, “were a public vote.” In 2014, after winning Celebrity Big Brother, he appeared in Grayson Perry’s Channel 4 series on identity, and Perry tells me that he still has a “great affection” for Rylan. When they met, says Perry, “He was going through a rapid, very 21st-century transition to fame. I describe him as looking like a ‘computer-generated Tudor nobleman’ but in stark contrast his personality is a very warm Essex man of the people.” As they walked through a shopping centre together, mothers handed him their babies for photos. He’s easy and funny, Perry adds, and crucially, “aware of his own ridiculousness”.

It was this self-awareness that led to Ross creating Rylan, his professional persona – “which I think was the healthiest thing I ever chose to do,” he nods. He’s wearing a tracksuit so white it’s almost blue, and a black cap that he adjusts at times of unease. “It’s how I actually got through all the shit in the beginning, because I was like, it’s fine – they’re talking about Rylan. They’re not talking about Ross. Ross sits in tracksuits and watches reruns of Keeping Up Appearances.” And Rylan? “Rylan is always smiling.” And then our conversation shifts.

Last summer Rylan split up with Dan, his husband of six years, an ex-Big Brother contestant he met while interviewing him post-eviction. Soon after their split it was announced that Rylan would be taking some time off his presenting duties, and he went quiet for four months. “I’d got to the point where I didn’t know if I wanted to come back. Or whether I would be able to do this job again. I’d got… quite ill,” he says, cautiously. He stopped eating. “I went down to just over 9st and I’m 6ft 4in. It got bad. Like, very bad. And I didn’t think it would get better. I needed help.” He pauses.

Believe it or not, he says, “I’m very private, really, and I want to remain that way. But there were points then when it was like Where’s Wally, people flying drones over my house asking, ‘Where the fuck is he?’ They knew something was really wrong when I didn’t turn up to present Eurovision!” A dark laugh. He loves Eurovision. “Everyone feels like I’m their mate. I was probably talking to five million people a night. But last summer for the first time, I literally felt alone.” He leans in. “I’ve always been strong. I’ve always taken a lot of shit. And this is where Rylan and Ross come into play. Because when it’s Rylan I’m a brick wall. You can take the piss out of my teeth, call me a cunt, and I’ll just go, that’s fine. This is what I get paid for. But when it’s Ross, I don’t deal with that well. And when you find out something you always wanted isn’t what you thought it was…” He shakes his head as if confused. “I didn’t think I’d be here. I didn’t think I could continue.” Could continue to work, I ask, or to live? “Both. I didn’t think I’d actually come back. I was very… gone.”

He looks surprised to be sharing this, and a little embarrassed, too, because this is not the Rylan brand fans have come to know – the cheeky jokes, the laughing it off, the silver linings found at the bottom of a crisp packet. “I’m the last person that my friends would ever believe could feel as low as I did. Superficially, on paper, I can look after myself, but actually in that moment and for months after, none of the money or the fame mattered. I did not know myself at certain points. I was having thoughts and doing things that made me… fucked up, for want of a better word. I didn’t understand why I was doing that to myself. So, I went away for a bit.” To hospital? “Yes. For safety reasons.” He coughs gently. “It’s really strange talking about this, because I’ve not even spoken about it to my friends. I just never thought I could get that ill.”

The trigger was the divorce, but he’s realising now that there was more to his breakdown, that alongside his success, something else had been building. The space between his two lives had become swampish, hungry. His identity was wobbling. “It’s 10 years that I’ve been doing this job. And I think that whole decade slapped me around the arse and stabbed me in the stomach. Maybe I needed it to happen. I just wish it hadn’t happened as hard as it did.” He holds eye contact, and we sit for a second. “I think I’m finding a new ‘me’ now. I’m so good at being Rylan. I know my job – what’s right, what’s wrong, what works, what doesn’t – I do Rylan really well. But actually, I didn’t realise how much Ross I’d lost.”

What did he learn in hospital? “That I always say yes to everything and I nod and smile. But now if there’s something I really don’t want to do, I’m going to say no. I’ve learned to be more in control. I’ve not had control for so long, I feel like Britney!” Why hasn’t he had control? “Because my life was really my job. I feel like I lost a lot of me. I’ve learned that fame is something that I wanted, but not necessarily the thing I want still. And don’t get me wrong, it’s always lovely meeting people and being treated certain ways. But sometimes it’s important to stand in the queue. Sometimes you want to just fuck off over the garden centre to buy a plant.”

As somebody who has looked at fame from inside and out, reaching for it, respecting the parts other people sniff at, enjoying its frillier thrills, it’s fitting that he’s choosing to question it, too. An ex-reality TV star who still talks about Big Brother with affectionate reverence (“That show was like my baby. And as much as I love working on everything I’ve done since, I don’t think I’ll ever find that bubble again,”) he holds a unique position on primetime TV, a kind of expert witness. After the deaths of former Love Island contestants, “I was asked a lot about my views on aftercare in reality TV,” he says, “But I was the worst person to ask, because for me it never stopped. I was never in that position where I had to go back to work in a shop. But this year, all of my employers were brilliant. And when I say I disappeared, I literally disappeared. I think they knew how bad I was.” There were reports he’d been crying during songs while presenting his Radio 2 show. “There were a select few people that needed to know that I was a danger to myself.”

Behind him, shuffling through her bag, his makeup artist and best friend Bernice is trying not to cry. “Strange situations do very strange things to people. If it wasn’t for my mum, and my family and close friends I genuinely have no idea if I’d be here.” He is shocking himself with every sentence, his hat coming off and going back on, his cigarette smoking itself. “I learned I’m worth something. That I should be proud of myself, not embarrassed of Rylan. I should be proud that I can build my mum a house. I should be proud that I can employ my family. I learned that.” He hurries away the beginnings of a tear with his hand. “Oof, sorry. Anyway!”

A few weeks after he’d come off X Factor, Rylan was in Selfridges buying pants when he heard someone call his name. Turning round, he saw Barbara Windsor. They’d met in a green room a month earlier, and they greeted each other with appropriate delight. “Then she introduced me to her husband and I was like, ‘Hello, Scott. Lovely to meet you!’ She said, ‘No, darling. You said hello to him a few weeks back at X Factor’. I was so sorry. Like, all over the place. And she said, ‘Let me give you the best piece of advice you’ll ever need. Never say, “Nice to meet you.” It’s always, “Lovely to see you.”’ And for the past 10 years, Barbara Windsor has got me out of so many awkward scrapes. If she was still with us today I would give her the biggest kiss. Meeting Madonna, Britney, pah, they just pale in comparison.”

Jo Brand, though, he liked her. A few weeks before we speak she had presented Have I Got News For You, and it was Rylan’s first time as a panellist. He was a hit, inviting Brand to Ibiza, teasing Ian Hislop about hanging around Essex. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” tweeted radio presenter James O’Brien that night. “Rylan is a huge talent. A born storyteller with exceptional comic timing and a beautifully rare streak of self-awareness.” And someone, too, it was clear, who is deeply engaged with politics. “You know,” he cackles elegantly, “whenever I talk about politics publicly, you’ll get all the idiots going, ‘What the fuck does he know, X Factor reject?’ But it’s probably a lot more than they do.”

In the past he’s admitted his love of Prime Minister’s Questions and obsession with the horrors of Brexit. “I need to be careful because I work for the BBC and someone might shoot me,” he says, “but I feel our country needs to be run by people that live in this world. It’s very opinionated to say, but I think it’s time for party-less politics, don’t you? I think it’s time for one government to run this country and for politicians to start working together, rather than sitting there like children and having rows in the House of Commons. I just think it’s ridiculous.”

Could he see himself getting into politics? “If I weren’t Rylan, maybe!” Might Rylan stop at some point? Might he make way for Ross, and a slower life, and a still dimmer smile? “If I did, then yes – that’s something that I’d love to get into. Rylan for PM!” He grins. “But come on, really, would you vote for me?” In a heartbeat.

Listen to Ry-Union on all podcast platforms.

In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123 or email [email protected] or [email protected]. In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. Other international helplines can be found at www.befrienders.org.

You can contact the UK mental health charity Mind by calling 0300 123 3393 or visiting mind.org.uk

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