As a young girl singing into my hairbrush in the early 1990s, I lived for the holy trinity of pop divas: Celine Dion, Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston (clearly the greatest contemporary vocalists to ever walk the earth, so help me God). Their hair was big, their voices were even bigger and because it was the \u201890s, the fashion was unreal. Years before grunge stole my heart and boy bands sparked my sexual awakening, it was all about those pop divas with their epic power ballads and radio-friendly summer jams.<\/p>\n
You could love them all, but Whitney was clearly the queen. If you weren\u2019t obsessed with I Wanna Dance With Somebody<\/i>, you were lying. (Also, if you\u2019re like me, you\u2019re still obsessed.) I could sing all of the words to Whitney\u2019s self-titled album before I could read or write, and when The Bodyguard<\/i> came out, it didn\u2019t matter that my friends and I were in elementary school – we were watching it, sex and murders and all. It was a glorious time to be alive.<\/p>\n
Flash forward to 2020 and it\u2019s a different world. Celine Dion is on a world tour and still sounds incredible (you better believe I saw her in Toronto a few months ago). Mariah Carey, arguably the most diva of them all, is still hitting those high notes and probably takes a nightly bath in champagne with her much-younger dancer boyfriend. And Whitney – whose incredible ascent was followed by a very public, very tragic decline – is inexplicably on tour as a hologram<\/a>.<\/p>\n