It’s unusual for an artist to be making a comeback at only 32 years old. But then, very few artists have had as unusual a career trajectory as Justin Bieber – both in the record-breaking highs and achievements, as well as the harrowing and humiliating lows. Aside from his appearance at this year’s Grammys and two intimate warm-up shows prior to his Coachella headline set on Saturday, Bieber had not performed publicly since cancelling his 2022 Justice World tour. It’s only four years, sure, but that’s an eternity in both our accelerated culture cycle and the life of a pop star.

In that time, he cut ties with his longtime manager, Scooter Braun – the man who plucked him from his Ontario bedroom in 2007 and orchestrated his rise to household name status. He also sold his music catalog for $200 million, prompting reports that he had been on the verge of “financial collapse”, appeared in a slew of bizarre paparazzi videos, made headlines for his apparently declining mental health, and became a father. For a while, it seemed like he’d reached the career demise we’ve come to accept as inevitable for child stars. We’d collectively dismissed the once bright-eyed, snapback-wearing, breakdancing version of Bieber to a fond but distant reverie, and moved onto the next thing.

So, when he dropped the seductive, sonically liberated Swag albums with no promotion and then promptly announced he’d be headlining Coachella, it came as a genuine surprise – Bieber, apparently, wasn’t letting us give up on him just yet. But, with his career having undergone such a severe reinvention, it was hard to predict what a performance from him would actually look like in 2026. This weekend, he ended speculation when he crept out on stage wearing an oversized zip-up hoodie from his own brand SKYLRK – perhaps a quiet nod to the now infamous purple American Apparel one that he found fame in – and gave one of Coachella’s most bizarre headline sets to date.

From the outset, the entire affair was achingly minimalist – especially in contrast to the theatrics of Sabrina Carpenter’s stint on the same stage the night before. During its most debated segment, Bieber sat at a MacBook and scoured YouTube for brief clips of his old hits. Some have interpreted it as a financial decision, suggesting that he was trying to block the new owners of his catalog from cashing in on full-length performances. However, treating one of music’s biggest stages with such disregard can also be interpretated as a kick in the teeth to the female artists who have to break their backs to occupy the same space. As mentioned, Carpenter’s set featured meticulous choreography, four costume changes and a slew of celebrity guests to keep the crowd engaged. Bieber, reportedly the highest-paid Coachella headliner of all time, clearly didn’t have the same qualms when planning his own performance.

The jarring double standard also presents itself in Bieber’s ability to celebrate and monetise his confrontations with paparazzi or discomfort with fame. At one point, he laughed along at his viral “it’s not clocking to you” moment, which he also references in the Swag track “STANDING ON BUSINESS.” It’s funny, until you think about the vastly different treatment of Chappell Roan, who is ridiculed and vilified for her own run-ins with predatory photographers.

In 2024, Taylor Swift (whose own record-breaking ‘Eras’ tour famously spanned 3.5 hours of intense choreography) pointed out that female artists are under constant pressure to reinvent themselves, while their male peers are free to show up as they are – often in a stained t-shirt and crumpled jeans. Of course, it’s a compelling argument and a fair point. But, having come of age during the era of Bieber fever, I can’t help but feel that his low-effort rebrand is, in some ways, a rejection of the same systems that also harm female artists. 

As a pre-pubescent child, Bieber was moulded by greedy execs to be the most profitable product possible. Even his lyrics were part of the ploy to cash in, positioning him as the ideal dream boy for the highly lucrative market of pre-teen girls. Bieber, with his swoopy hair and dreamy falsetto, would provide for you, listen to you, take on your burdens. He played guitar in laundromats and serenaded you in bowling alleys. He was also the centre of a multi-million dollar business before he was old enough to watch the Saw films. He’s been a trusty punchline for uninspired comedians and cultural commentators since his childhood. In the earliest days of his career, his success and appeal were in constant question, and his mistakes were relentlessly pored over and mocked. His sexuality was speculated on, his privacy invaded, and his image exploited by those claiming to be closest to him.

During that time, Bieber did his fair share of high-octane, high-production-value performances. Between the ages of 18 and 19, he played 150 shows around the world on the Believe world tour – a show that enlisted 12 backup dancers, plenty of pyrotechnics and even saw him fly above the stage in a pair of mechanical wings. Could it be that, in eschewing these same tactics now, he is making a clever commentary on his newfound artistic independence? Or even reclaiming his autonomy from the industry which has stripped it from him since he uploaded his first cover in 2008?

It was hard not to be moved by the slew of nostalgic clips that flashed behind him on the screen this weekend. The ”Baby” video that would catapult him to international fame and ridicule alike. His earliest YouTube covers – the ones that would land him in a predatory record deal and allow adults to profit immensely from him – seem almost harrowing when shown alongside invasive paparazzi footage from the years that followed. Here is Justin Bieber, perhaps the first true star to emerge from the internet, painfully aware that every moment of his life has been clipped and immortalised online for our entertainment.

There is, of course, a conversation to be had about the hoops that female artists must jump through while their male peers are praised for doing the bare minimum. But perhaps Bieber is not the right example for this point. He’s spent the past few years painstakingly emancipating himself from his past. To see the hard-fought Bieber 2.0 do the robot in line with 15 identically dressed back-up dancers would surely feel like a cheap and inauthentic cop-out, not to mention a stale move for a 32-year-old father.

Instead, Bieber took to the most significant stage of his career and leaned not on the theatrics that have muddied his image both on and off stage, but on his voice – the same one that, through a tinny webcam microphone almost 20 years ago, kickstarted a pop culture phenomenon that has never quite been replicated since. He’s been the butt of the internet’s longest joke… isn’t it fair that he takes his turn to laugh?