Never Too Much: Still Learning From—and Loving—Luther Vandross

Source: David Corio, Michael Ochs Archives / Getty Images

This white girl studied every night, decades ago, while listening to Luther—an old school version of “focus beats.” Vandross serenades helped me relax, work, and feel seen in (and out) of love, pain, or contentment. I still melt at the sound of his voice.

And Dawn Porter’s new documentary, Luther: Never Too Much, stunned me with insights into Vandross and how far we’ve come as a culture—Black, white, and in between. Not far enough, definitely, but farther than we were.

Lifelong Struggles With Weight and Other Issues

A major thread of the documentary unearths hidden (and not so hidden) insights into Vandross’ lifelong struggles with weight and other issues. Intrusively and insensitively, we watch talk show host after talk show host grill him about his body—how he lost 125 lbs., gained it back, or lost and gained again.

It’s heartbreaking to watch footage of the singer’s transformation from overweight to near anorexic, then back. And to hear him insist, at his thinnest, that he “didn’t think about food anymore” when we know that’s not how eating disorders work; they don’t just disappear because we’ve lost weight; they require treatment, therapy, and care. Even the method Vandross used to lose weight (liquid diets) is completely discredited now as unhealthy and unsustainable. Much more prevalent is the Healthy at Every Size approach, promoting health rather than an obsession with weight.

A close, lifelong friend of Vandross featured in the film describes how Luther admitted he thought about food all day, every day, dawn to dusk (a known hallmark of eating disorders).

Different Approaches to Weight and Diabetes Today

Today, hopefully, this conversation about weight would be different, not hidden—with diagnosis and treatment for binge eating or other disorder(s)—including psychotherapy to help unpack whatever trauma or heartache or anxiety (or all of the above) that contribute to self-soothing via food or other unhealthy coping.

Along with weight struggles, Vandross had type II diabetes, which led to hypertension and, ultimately, a stroke and death in 2005.

We’ve learned so much more about managing diabetes treatment, too. Yet those who struggle with weight often avoid medical providers for fear of being size-shamed, and then, their treatment and health suffer. Tragically, Vandross’ death was preventable even then, but his diabetes was not well managed.

Media Prying Into His Love Life

Intensely private about his personal life, the film shows multiple interviewers prying gracelessly into his love life (an area he openly admitted was a longtime source of pain and longing). They demanded to know if he was gay or why he was single. He skirted these questions, at times chiding interviewers for barging into his privacy instead of respecting it as they should. Friends and associates in the biopic make it clear Vandross admitted (to his inner circle), he was gay, but he prided himself on the general public not knowing—as well as fearing repercussions if they did.

Today—even with a federal administration openly fighting inclusion and equity for LGBTQIA+, BIPOC, and other marginalized folks—being a queer entertainer, singer, musician, or what have you is not particularly remarkable. The vehemence and fear Vandross felt about being outed and preventing collateral damage to his career are heart-rending.

Remaining closeted must have exacted a steep toll on his mental health and coping strategies (including his relationship with food), in a toxic cycle of shame and worry.

Destigmatizing Mental Health

Vandross shows us we have progressed—yet still have far to go—toward destigmatizing mental health. His legacy and voice—unparalleled even today for its velvety range (and heard haunting the background in Kendrick Lamar and SZA’s new song, “Luther”), hopefully reminds us there is work for us still to do.

Every act of compassion or commitment toward mental health equity helps prevent more tragic losses. I’m grateful to Luther, still teaching lessons long after he’s gone.