Pussycat Dolls singer Ashley Roberts looks back: ‘It was my dream come true, but we were all burned out’
Roberts on refusing to take no from her dance teacher, moving to the US aged 18, and reuniting with Kimberly Wyatt and Nicole Scherzinger
Born in Phoenix, Arizona, in 1981, Ashley Roberts joined the Pussycat Dolls in 2002. Their debut single, Don’t Cha, spent three weeks at No 1 in the UK in 2005. The sextet sold more than 55m records worldwide before splitting in 2010. Roberts has since appeared on I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! and Strictly Come Dancing, and was a judge on Dancing on Ice. She hosts a show on Heart 00s every Saturday. The Pussycat Dolls – now a trio of Nicole Scherzinger, Roberts and Kimberly Wyatt – are currently on a 21-date tour.
This tutu picture was taken at my first ever dance recital, and I’m happy as can be. It was the 80s, so everything’s pink and fluffy, and I have big hair and a serious fringe. I love the way my feet and hands are angled a little bit abnormally. I thought I was posing for the gods.
I started dance lessons when I was three years old. My father was a drummer and percussionist, and I would not stop wiggling when he played his music. My parents knew they needed to channel that energy somewhere. Dance became my world, my best friend, my creativity. I didn’t really care about school. I just wanted to get to my dance class, listen to music and be surrounded by my community. It felt like I’d found my gift.
At home, it was me, my brother and Mum and Dad. Dad was always banging on something, whether it was the steering wheel, the sofa or his actual drum set. My mum was a pilates instructor, so she would wear her custom-made aerobics outfits every day – the belts, the thongs with the cycling shorts, the scrunchies that matched the belt. Dad would throw wild parties and his band would play at our house. There were a lot of eclectic, creative people coming in and out, and while it wasn’t necessarily an intellectual household, I was always free to express myself.
Dance gave me an enormous amount of discipline and bravery. When I was 12, my dance teachers told my mum I wasn’t going to be taken up a level as they didn’t think I was good enough. This deep, determined part of me wasn’t going to accept that. I sat my teachers down and told them that I worked hard and that I could deliver. I held my own and they ended up agreeing with me.
When I was 18, I wanted to move to LA to become a professional dancer, but I had to work three jobs in Phoenix before I could afford it. I was a hostess at a restaurant, I did shifts at the dance studio and I was an emcee at barmitzvahs – my job was to get everybody up on their feet dancing to the YMCA. As soon as I saved $1,000 cash, I packed up my things and left.
Initially, I was working as a backing dancer – mainly adverts and music videos, like Aaron Carter’s I Want Candy. Then my friend told me about this cool burlesque act called the Pussycat Dolls who were stationed at Johnny Depp’s Viper Room. All the best female dancers in LA were auditioning, and I wanted in. I was technically too young to be in the club, so I had to sneak in and out for my audition – but I made the final cut. I loved that it was girly, and sassy – just a bunch of women getting together and singing cover songs. Carmen Electra was in Baywatch at the time, and she was part of the original lineup, so there was a lot of buzz and we had celebrities turning up and getting involved, such as Brittany Murphy, Christina Aguilera and Gwen Stefani – who was the key to us getting signed. She brought Jimmy Iovine, the head of Interscope, along to a show. People kept telling me what a big deal it was – that Jimmy was like gold dust in the music business. I didn’t care – I was having so much fun and thought, “Whatever! As long I am getting paid to do what I love.” It wasn’t until I found out our first single Don’t Cha was written by CeeLo Green and featuring Busta Rhymes that the gravity of what we were embarking on hit me.
How well was I equipped for fame? Back in the 90s and 00s, nobody talked about coping skills or self-care. There wasn’t anyone looking after our health or wellbeing. Over time, I’ve learned to live with balance, doing breath work to help me relax, but back then I would get a pat on the back to remind me to sleep. We were hard workers, and growing up as dancers we were programmed to be resilient: if your toe breaks, you still go out and do the show. Plus, it was peak paparazzi era – cameras would be directed up our skirts, and they would make sure to shoot certain angles of our body so they could circle any flaws and point out our imperfections on the internet. It was all happening all so fast. We were travelling country to country every day. It was my dream come true, but I didn’t have time to digest it, process it, until I was on the other side.
In the end, my body started shutting down. I went to an acupuncturist and she said, “If you don’t scream, your body’s gonna scream for you.” The stress of working so relentlessly was making my body react. I was starting to get patches of eczema on my legs and shingles across my face and I had a stomach ulcer. We were all burned out. Kim was the first to mention that we should take a break. It was clear we all needed to take our own paths.
A few years ago, Nic got in touch. She’d just finished Sunset Boulevard on Broadway and the West End, and thought it was a good moment to start the Pussycat Dolls again. I wanted to make sure I could truly enjoy it this time, so the three of us sat down and had honest conversations about where we were at, to make sure we were in alignment. Now, even if we have a gruelling schedule, we can set boundaries, such as to eat lunch and to make sure sleep is scheduled.
I often think back to the 12-year-old who argued her worth to her dance teacher. When I was a young woman at the start of my career, I did lose some of that boldness. Being in a group that was manufactured in the noughties, it was a different time to be in the limelight and certain powerful people would tell you what you should look like or how to dress, and you would agree because you didn’t want to lose the opportunity. That took a toll on my self-esteem over the years, and I am still, in some ways, trying to get it back. I’ve realised that most days I might not feel confident, but it’s a matter of showing up, even though you are uncertain. I’m also reminded, as we do all of our rehearsals, that I’m not the same as I was back then physically. My back hurts – I didn’t realise how intense some of our routines were.
Aside from that, the little girl in the tutu is still my driving force. My heart and soul is music and performing, and I wish I could bottle up the feeling of being on stage. My boyfriend asked the other day: “How do you feel when you get up there?” I said: “Like I’m home.” My thoughts, my fears, everything just melts away.