Reflections after seeing Duff McKagan live in Paris

There's something quietly radical about seeing a rock star age gracefully. 

Almost one year ago to the day at Le Trianon, I watched Duff McKagan—of Guns N' Roses fame—sing songs filled with hope, vulnerability, and reflection in the Paris show of his 2024 Lighthouse Tour. The show was not what you might expect from someone once known for alcohol-fuelled chaos and the nihilistic swagger of the 90s rock scene.

At 60 years old, Duff spoke tenderly to kids in the audience, shared stories of fatherhood, and made self-deprecating jokes about his patchy French. He looked grounded, healthy, and open. And for someone who nearly died from alcoholism in his 30s, this version of Duff is nothing short of miraculous.

In case you missed it, Duff MacKagan has become a vocal advocate for mental health and has opened about his lifelong struggles, which include debilitating panic attacks.

It got me thinking about healing, masculinity, and what it takes to change the script of your life —especially when it's one you didn't write.

Growing Up With Broken Role Models

Like many people who grew up with unstable or unhappy home lives, I turned to music as a form of escape and identity. Guns N' Roses were a lifeline for me during my childhood. Their raw energy was a form of defiance, a way of saying, "I'm still here."

But looking back, it's impossible to ignore the self-destruction woven into the band's DNA. Behind the talent were men battling trauma, addiction, and the crushing expectations of toxic masculinity.

When you grow up idolising people who are barely surviving, it can take years to untangle admiration from concern. Some of our childhood heroes grow up with us. Some don't.

Masculinity in Transition

What struck me most about Duff McKagan's concert wasn't just the music — it was the message: You're allowed to change. You're allowed to grow. You're allowed to be soft.

That wasn't the message most of us got from 90s rock. For a long time, vulnerability and masculinity weren't allowed to mix. Crying, pausing, asking for help—those were signs of weakness. The performance of toughness came first. And for many men, it still does.

But what if healing is the real rebellion?

Reflection Prompts

Take some time to sit with the following questions, either through journaling or quiet contemplation:

1. Who were your childhood heroes?

1. What qualities did you admire in them?

2. Looking back, were those qualities healthy or harmful?

2. What messages did you receive about masculinity or femininity growing up?

1. Which ones have you outgrown?

2. Which ones are still shaping your behaviour?

3. Have you ever surprised yourself by changing in a way that once seemed impossible?

1. What supported that change?

2. What did it cost you?

4. What does healthy strength look like for you now?

Didn't talk much but my eyes were wide, just to young to take it in, 

I heard the yelling from the living room, hidden secrets hard to keep, 

I think I held my breath from the age of two, held by my sister as I sleep. 

Activity: Create a New Playlist

Make a playlist of songs that speak to the kind of person you are becoming—not the one you used to be. Include tracks that make you feel hopeful, tender, and resilient.

Then, if you're feeling brave, revisit one or two songs from your past that held a lot of emotional weight. Listen to them with fresh ears. What do they evoke now? Is there something you've outgrown—or reclaimed?

Final Thoughts

Seeing Duff McKagan live felt like a kind of permission. Permission to evolve, to admit the past was messy, and to keep showing up with love and intention anyway.

We don't often get to see public figures model that kind of reinvention, especially men. So when we do, it's worth celebrating.

And hopefully, in our own quieter ways, we're doing the same.