Let’s be real—memoirs can either be snooze-fests or page-turners, and Cher’s Part One? Absolutely the latter. From the first chapter, it’s clear this isn’t some glossy, sanitized celebrity tell-all. Cher—alongside Stephanie J. Block, whose narration is eerily similar—dives deep into her chaotic upbringing, stripping away the sequins to reveal the grit beneath.

The vulnerability here shocked me. For someone known for her larger-than-life persona, Cher recounts her early years with startling honesty: poverty, addiction, and a mother who believed a man was a woman’s ticket to stability. Her reflections on Sonny Bono are especially nuanced—she doesn’t shy away from his controlling behavior or infidelity, yet there’s an unexpected tenderness in how she speaks of him. It’s messy, complicated, and deeply human.

What I loved most? The anecdotes feel like you’re sitting across from Cher at a diner at 2 AM. She’s witty (that sarcasm!), warm, and unflinchingly real. The details about her iconic Bob Mackie costumes and home designs are a treat for fans, but it’s the emotional rawness—like her struggle to break family cycles—that sticks with you.

That said, the ghostwritten prose occasionally lacks polish. Some passages meander, and I wished for sharper editing. But the material is so compelling (trauma bonding? gaslighting? Cher’s resilience?) that it hardly matters.

Trigger warnings apply (domestic violence, addiction), but if you want a memoir that balances glitter with guts, this delivers. Now bring on Part Two—because if anyone deserves a sequel, it’s Cher.