Plot Overview

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=of32sI9jw5Q

Selena Gomez: My Mind & Me traces the singer-actress’s journey from 2016 to 2022, a period marked by professional highs and profound personal lows. The documentary opens in 2016, with Gomez preparing for her Revival Tour—a pivotal moment after transitioning from Disney Channel stardom to a mature pop career. Behind the scenes, however, she’s unraveling. Early footage captures her rehearsing with visible anxiety, her voice trembling as she critiques her performance and frets over perfectionism. Weeks into the tour, Gomez cancels it, retreating from the spotlight after 55 shows due to overwhelming panic attacks and depression—later revealed to be tied to her 2017 lupus diagnosis and a subsequent kidney transplant.

The film shifts to a nonlinear narrative, weaving through key chapters of her life. In 2018, Gomez is hospitalized after a psychotic episode, leading to a bipolar disorder diagnosis—a revelation she grapples with on camera. Raw footage shows her in therapy, confronting suicidal thoughts and medication adjustments, her vulnerability laid bare as she admits to feeling “not enough.” The documentary doesn’t shy away from these dark moments; one haunting scene has Gomez breaking down in a car, questioning her worth amidst fame’s relentless scrutiny.

As the years progress, the focus shifts to her recovery and rediscovery. By 2019, Gomez is back in the public eye, promoting her album Rare and launching her Rare Beauty makeup line, with a mission to fund mental health initiatives. A poignant subplot follows her 2019 trip to Kenya with the WE Charity, where she visits schools and connects with students—her joy in these interactions contrasts starkly with earlier despair, signaling a turning point. The film captures her speaking candidly to teens about her struggles, a moment that underscores her desire to use her platform for good rather than glamour.

The narrative culminates in 2022, with Gomez healthier but still wrestling with anxiety as she promotes My Mind & Me itself and attends high-profile events like the premiere of Only Murders in the Building. Interspersed are home videos and voiceovers where Gomez reflects on fame’s toll—her childhood as a Texas dreamer, her rise via Wizards of Waverly Place, and the isolation that followed. The documentary ends on a hopeful yet unresolved note: Gomez, now 30, embraces her imperfections, finding peace in advocacy and creativity, though she acknowledges the journey isn’t over. Keshishian’s script, co-written with Gomez, avoids a tidy redemption arc, instead offering a mosaic of a woman navigating mental illness, identity, and purpose under a microscope.

Personal Dynamics and Presentation

Selena Gomez is the soul of My Mind & Me, her unguarded presence anchoring the film. Unlike typical celebrity docs, this isn’t a polished PR piece—Gomez appears without makeup in many scenes, her voice raw as she vents frustrations or sobs through breakdowns. Her authenticity shines in moments of self-doubt—like when she lashes out at her team during a 2016 press junket, only to apologize later—or in quiet confessions to friends about feeling like a “joke” post-hospitalization. These aren’t rehearsed soundbites; they’re the messy, human cries of someone battling to reclaim herself.

Her relationships provide the emotional scaffolding. Gomez’s bond with her mother, Mandy Teefey, and stepfather, Brian Teefey, offers tender glimpses of support—Mandy’s tearful recounting of Gomez’s transplant surgery reveals a family stretched thin yet steadfast. Friends like Raquelle Stevens and Ashley Cook appear as constants, their casual banter and late-night chats grounding Gomez amidst chaos. A standout scene has Raquelle comforting Gomez after a panic attack, their friendship a lifeline captured in real time. The absence of romantic partners—despite high-profile exes like Justin Bieber—is notable; the focus stays on Gomez’s internal world, not tabloid bait.

The documentary also showcases Gomez’s interactions with fans and strangers, highlighting her duality as a public figure and private person. In Kenya, she’s warm and engaged, laughing with schoolgirls who don’t know her fame—here, she’s not “Selena Gomez, the Star,” but a woman finding purpose. Contrast this with a tense red-carpet moment where she bristles at shallow questions, her discomfort palpable as she navigates the persona fame demands. Her bipolar diagnosis adds layers to these dynamics—she’s candid about medication side effects (shaky hands, fatigue) and therapy’s role, demystifying mental illness with a vulnerability that feels radical for a pop icon.

Gomez’s presentation isn’t flawless—she can come off petulant or self-absorbed in early scenes, a reminder of her youth (she was 24 in 2016)—but that imperfection is the point. The film doesn’t sanctify her; it humanizes her, showing a star who’s less a role model than a mirror for anyone who’s felt broken. Her evolution from despair to advocacy is the emotional throughline, carried not by grand speeches but by small, honest moments—laughing with friends, hugging a fan, or staring out a car window, lost in thought.

Direction and Visual Style

Alek Keshishian, known for Madonna: Truth or Dare, brings a vérité sensibility to My Mind & Me, favoring intimacy over gloss. The film’s visual style is unpolished by design—handheld cameras capture Gomez in tight close-ups, her tear-streaked face or trembling hands filling the frame. Early tour footage feels claustrophobic, with dim lighting and shaky shots mirroring her anxiety, while later scenes—like her Kenya trip—open up with warm, natural light, reflecting her healing. Keshishian avoids cinematic tricks; there’s no slo-mo or dramatic filters, just the raw texture of iPhone clips, home videos, and professional footage stitched together.

The editing, by Luke Lynch and Keshishian, is non-linear, jumping between years to mirror Gomez’s fragmented state of mind. A 2016 meltdown might cut to a 2020 therapy session, then back to a childhood clip of her singing in Texas—the effect is disorienting yet deliberate, echoing the chaos of mental illness. Voiceovers, drawn from Gomez’s journals, add a poetic layer—lines like “I’m scared of what I might say next” linger over shots of her staring blankly, bridging past and present. The pacing slows in reflective moments, like a long take of Gomez watching Kenyan kids play, letting the audience sit with her emotions.

The sound design enhances this intimacy—ambient noise (tour buses rumbling, paparazzi shouting) immerses us in Gomez’s world, while her music—“Lose You to Love Me,” “My Mind & Me”—underscores key beats without overwhelming them. Composer Siddharta Khosla’s minimalist score, with soft piano and strings, avoids melodrama, amplifying the film’s quiet power. Keshishian’s choice to let Gomez narrate her own story—rather than impose an outsider’s voice—keeps it personal, though some critics argue the lack of external perspectives (therapists, doctors) limits context.

Visually, the film prioritizes authenticity over spectacle—Gomez’s unglamorous breakdowns, her lupus scars visible during a hospital flashback, or her pacing barefoot in a friend’s apartment ground the narrative in reality. Keshishian resists Hollywood’s urge to prettify pain, making My Mind & Me a stark counterpoint to sanitized celebrity docs. It’s not always comfortable to watch, but that’s the intention—a window into a mind unfiltered.

Overall Impact and Reception

Selena Gomez: My Mind & Me landed as a cultural moment, debuting to strong streaming numbers on Apple TV+—Apple doesn’t release exact figures, but it trended globally, buoyed by Gomez’s 350 million-plus Instagram followers. Critically, it earned an 96% on Rotten Tomatoes, with praise for its unflinching honesty—Variety hailed it as “a brave portrait of fame’s toll,” though some, like The Guardian, found it “self-indulgent” at times, critiquing its narrow focus on Gomez without broader commentary on mental health systems. Audience reception was overwhelmingly positive, with fans flooding social media with support, many citing its relatability—hashtags like #MyMindAndMe trended for weeks.

The film’s impact lies in its vulnerability. At a time when celebrity documentaries (Taylor Swift: Miss Americana, Billie Eilish: The World’s a Little Blurry) were trending, Gomez’s stood out for its lack of polish—where others polished their struggles into triumphs, My Mind & Me lingered in the muck, showing recovery as messy, not miraculous. It sparked conversations about mental health in the spotlight, with Gomez’s bipolar revelation and suicidal ideation disclosures normalizing these struggles for millions. Her Rare Impact Fund, tied to the film, raised millions for youth mental health, amplifying its real-world reach.

For 2022 audiences, it was a raw counterpoint to the curated perfection of social media—a pop star admitting she’s not okay, and that’s okay. Its influence endures: Gomez’s openness inspired subsequent projects like her 2023 Wondermind summit, and the film remains a touchstone for mental health advocacy. Flaws exist—the runtime (95 minutes) can drag in repetitive moments, and the lack of outside voices leaves gaps (e.g., her medical team’s perspective). But these don’t dim its power.

My Mind & Me isn’t a victory lap; it’s a survival story—unvarnished, uneven, and deeply human. It’s Gomez at her most exposed, turning fame’s glare into a mirror for anyone who’s fought their own mind and lived to tell the tale.