How it felt to look down on a planet where you’re musically irrelevant, by Katy Perry

BEING in space, looking down at that swirled blue marble that is the Earth? It really gives you perspective. From up there, it’s so profoundly obvious my music career is over. 

Space travel is a blessed thing, a miracle. A rare privilege reserved only for elite astronauts and those with no hits but a world tour to promote. And let me tell you, to realise that in space nobody has heard your 2013 hit Roar is truly humbling.

I’m far from the only person to feel this. Astronauts talk of the Overview Effect – a mental shift which makes them feel more connected to the world and everyone on it. And all I could think was that I haven’t won a Teen Choice award in 12 years.

The fragility of our biosphere, the landmasses freed from the arbitrary boundaries we’ve imposed on them, and the sheer beauty of our planet really brought home to me that I was once considered a serious rival to Taylor Swift, a reality now as distant as another star.

Watching the rays of the sun illuminate the curvature of the Earth, I remembered that my album 143 was universally panned by critics. That my last hit, Never Really Over, topped out at 15 in the Billboard charts. I’m not afraid to say I shed a zero-gravity tear.

The clouds skidding across the sky seemed a galactic taunt, as if the Earth was telling me I peaked with Teenage Dream and that today’s Sabrina Carpenter fans weren’t even born then.

‘You’re right,’ I whispered. ‘My distinct brand of bubblegum pop has had its day. Wearing a bra that sprays whipped cream is passé in the era of Chappell Roan.’

Touching down on Earth, I was forever changed. I was suffused with a new understanding of how fleeting a pop career is. I know now the Sunday legends slot at Glastonbury is where I belong.