Oh, the nights I have spent desperately back-combing, lipsticking and bra-lessly throwing my legging ed limbs around indie discos alongside other similarly gawkish, blunt-fringed Debbie Harry wannabes. Her look, her style and her attitude were everything I admired while growing up.
And even though I eventually (reluctantly) realized I would never quite achieve such illuminating finesse, I can thankfully say she shaped my life in a multitude of other ways. Her fusion of different genres has totally molded my music collection, and her iconic cool is visible on the covers of so many of my favoite albums – take PJ Harvey’s glampunk stance on the 4-Track Demos artwork, MIA’s Pop Art pout on the front of Kala, and Karen O’s defiant fist punch on Fever To Tell. Without Harry, my CD collection would be a grumpy selection of ashen angst, a box of brutish nothingness.
She was the face of the 70s, 80s, of pre-MTV music videos and of Warhol’s iconic prints, but, crucially, behind that classically beautiful face there was one hell of a character. Not one to rely on those Himalayan-proportioned cheekbones, it was Harry’s distortion of stereotypes, her costumes and confrontational use of sexuality, that really defined her as a true artist. At a time when female musicians were either stern and serious or sedate and submissive, Debbie Harry opened the floodgates for frontwomen who could be both extraordinarily sexy and credible.
In the 80s, you could see flecks of the Blondie frontwoman in Stevie Nicks, while Bananarama’s injection of feminism into the glossy mainstream was very Debbie-esque. Without Harry, 90s Britpop would have exclusively been a mass of floppy fringes, sun-shee-ine overbites and egotistic lad rock. There would have been no Sleeper, Elastica, Republica, Kenickie or Garbage: Shirley Manson, a huge fan and now friend/confidante of the star, once welcomed Harry onto the stage as “the most beautiful girl in any room, in any city, on any planet”.
The late 90s were ignited by the cartoon playfulness of the likes of Gwen Stefani, snatching the bleach blonde baton from Pammy Anderson and her troop of regressive Baywatch fembots. And who could forget PJ Harvey’s PVC/crimson-lipsticked era, using her fetishistic stylings as a declaration of empowerment and general shit-hottness. We can thank Debbie for that too. And the most blatant of all Harry homages were clear in the platinum glare of Courtney Love and Madonna.
In the noughts, we reaped the rewards of Debbie’s influence on female frontwomen. Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Karen O, who exclaimed to Harry during a face-to-face interview in Dazed & Confused, “You’re so fucking amazing!”, was easily one of the most enigmatic and important stars of that decade. Karen fuses punk attitude with a playful glint in her eye. She is confrontational yet adorable. She is breathtaking to see at the front of the stage, throughout all of her different musical incarnations and costumes. She is clearly indebted to Debbie’s very groundbreaking existence.
As I look through my record collection, it is smattered with artists who must have been cajoled by Debbie’s devilish defiance. The Scando section is littered with the surreal and veiled kookiness of Fever Ray and Björk, while the elegant swagger of The Cardigans’ Nina Persson is easily traceable.
The late 90s were ignited by the cartoon playfulness of the likes of Gwen Stefani, snatching the bleach blonde baton from Pammy Anderson and her troop of regressive Baywatch fembots. And who could forget PJ Harvey’s PVC/crimson-lipsticked era, using her fetishistic stylings as a declaration of empowerment and general shit-hottness. We can thank Debbie for that too. And the most blatant of all Harry homages were clear in the platinum glare of Courtney Love and Madonna.
In the noughts, we reaped the rewards of Debbie’s influence on female frontwomen. Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Karen O, who exclaimed to Harry during a face-to-face interview in Dazed & Confused, “You’re so fucking amazing!”, was easily one of the most enigmatic and important stars of that decade. Karen fuses punk attitude with a playful glint in her eye. She is confrontational yet adorable. She is breathtaking to see at the front of the stage, throughout all of her different musical incarnations and costumes. She is clearly indebted to Debbie’s very groundbreaking existence.
As I look through my record collection, it is smattered with artists who must have been cajoled by Debbie’s devilish defiance. The Scando section is littered with the surreal and veiled kookiness of Fever Ray and Björk, while the elegant swagger of The Cardigans’ Nina Persson is easily traceable.
There’s the sexual ambush and New York nastiness of Peaches, Beth Ditto’s molten-hot snarl, Crystal Castles’ Alice Glass with her smoky eyes and atomic punk attitude, MIA’s kaleidoscopic sounds, Róisín Murphy’s fashionista disco and theatrical costumes, Allison Mosshart’s rock‘n’ roll strut, Florence Welch’s ability to beguile and beseech in a satin gown.
Then you’ve got your pop heavyweights: Lady Gaga, her sultry raps and her dark roots peeking through a Marilyn bleach, Katy Perry and Nicky Minaj’s bubblegum pinup stylings, Lily Allen’s Ariel falsetto, not to mention the sass of Kylie at her very best. And they’re still coming: Hayley Williams, Sleigh Bells’ Alexis Krauss, Lykke Li, Uffie, Lovefoxxx, Marina & The Diamonds, Santigold, Sia, Charli XCX, Miley Cyrus, Halsey, St. Vincent…
Call me melodramatic, but I believe the music world would be a dried-up, tumbleweed-riddled desert if it weren’t for Debbie Harry. No Riot Grrrls! No gyrating Madonna hips! No Karen O pudding bowls! No butt-naked Beth Ditto! No dresses made out of meat! No Courtney Love Twitter outbursts! No Courtney Love! No fun.
She is the most iconic and influential frontwoman ever to have graced our paths. An artist who ensured all Hollywood-esque popstarlets, femmepunks and superstars sparkled in her comet’s tail. She is exhilarating to watch, to listen to, to admire.
Before Debbie Harry was launched into the mainstream, on one end of the scale, you were smothered by Olivia Newton-John’s tear-soaked pillow as she assured she was ‘hopelessly devoted to you!’, before Siouxsie Sioux’s mic stand would come hurtling past.
It wasn’t quite the eclectic pick ‘n’ mix we’re exposed to in 2026. You see, not only was Blondie’s trailblazing musical influence paramount to the way music sounds now, but Debbie Harry’s existence was integral in forming the place of the female in popular music as it stands today.
Whether Debbie Harry’s music is playing or not, she remains ubiquitous on every stage, pressed up against every railing at any venue and most importantly, inside every ecstatically grateful geek’s music collection.
