Lorde tore away the veil on her artistic and personal life, discussing how cannabis and psychedelic therapy have become essential to her well-being and creative process. A global superstar celebrated for her introspective lyrics and genre-bending music, 28-year-old singer Ella Marija Lani Yelich-O’Connor opened up about employing these tools to deal with mental health issues and inspire her forthcoming album, Virgin, out June 27. Her statements have set off a firestorm of responses, fueling discussion about vulnerability, healing, and the place of psychedelics in contemporary culture.
Lorde called psychedelic therapy
“a giant cornerstone to my well-being and practice,”
stating it keeps her
“alive to what’s out there and what’s possible.”
She went back to her teenage years to trace her history, remembering when she first smoked weed:
“I remember seeing what my brain was. Had I not smoked weed, I don’t think I would be an artist.”
The experience, she has said, opened her creative potential and shaped her sense of self-identity as a musician. Beyond cannabis use, psychedelic therapy has helped her work through issues such as body image and disordered eating. Lorde openly admitted to restricting food to become “smaller” and “serious,” a strategy that put her in a weakened state and disconnected her. With therapy and self-love, she’s learned to nourish her body, sensing her strength in embodiment and regaining a sense of self.
These experiences have profoundly influenced her artistic growth. Lorde’s earlier albums each carried the imprint of a substance: Pure Heroine (2013) was steeped in the haze of alcohol, Melodrama (2017) pulsed with the intensity of MDMA, and Solar Power (2021) leaned into the mellow vibes of cannabis. Virgin, however, feels different—a
“byproduct of fully coming into my body and feeling the fullness of my power,”
she told Document Journal. The album, coproduced with Jim-E Stack and featuring collaborators such as Dan Nigro and Devonté Hynes, will be raw and unsentimental in aesthetic and substance, reflecting themes of self-acceptance and creative autonomy. Lorde’s listing of its “clear” imagery—bathwater, windows, ice, spit—implies a transparent and unmuffled investigation of her changing self.
A post from X.
Public responses to Lorde’s candor have run hot and cold. On sites such as X, admirers have praised her transparency, with one user declaring her dialogue about psychedelics and creativity “raw and real” for its self-reflexivity. Others have reacted forcefully, complaining she is glamorizing drug use. Some critics questioned her assertion she didn’t have
“the genes of an addictive personality,”
saying it belittled the dangers of drug use, particularly in view of repeated references to drugs throughout her career. The polarized reaction reflects a tension: whereas Lorde’s candor is relatable to those who view psychedelics therapeutically, other people fear her influence may normalize dangerous behavior in younger listeners.
Lorde’s comments arrive amid a broader cultural shift. In countries like the U.S., U.K., and Australia, psychedelics like psilocybin and MDMA are gaining traction as tools for mental health treatment, with clinical trials showing promise for conditions like depression and PTSD.
Cities like Denver and Oakland have decriminalized certain psychedelics, and public figures, from athletes to comedians, are increasingly vocal about their benefits. Lorde’s New Zealand roots, where cannabis is relatively normalized but psychedelic therapy remains niche, add another layer to her perspective. Her willingness to speak openly aligns with a growing trend among artists who treat mental health and non-traditional therapies as part of their public narrative, challenging old stigmas.
