“Star! Star! Star!” the audience begins to chant. My heart is racing, but it’s not because of nerves. I never get nervous anymore. It’s from the pure adrenaline, the pulse-pounding excitement of having twenty thousand fans screaming my name, singing the words to my songs, waving banners that read I LOVE YOU STAR! and wearing T-shirts with my face printed on them.

“You ready?” asks Ben, my spiky-haired guitar player, nudging me playfully in the shoulder with the neck of his Les Paul as we wait in the wings.

At 24, Ben is the only one of my band members who’s even remotely close to my age (one of the guys is so old he could be my grandfather). He’s like the big brother I never had.

Out in the arena, the roar of the crowd has reaching a deafening decibel. The opening band—the girl group Sistahs Three—has come and gone, and the audience is getting restless.

Ben winks at me as the guys all nod at each other and head out to their positions onstage. There’s another roar from the crowd, more high-pitched screams. I wait thirty seconds for Dave to get his bass hooked up; Ben to adjust his guitar; Jay to settle in behind the keyboard; Casey, Michael and Al to get their horns tuned and Cash (the old guy) to slide in behind his immense drum kit. Then another thirty seconds for them to play the opening riffs. I close my eyes for a moment and let the roar of the crowd course through me. Then I begin my own trot out, smiling my big stage smile and waving my big stage wave before I even emerge from behind the curtains.

The roars and screams go up an octave as soon as I appear. I’m wearing a midriff-baring white tee, skintight gold, shimmery hot pants and gold, sparkly knee-high stiletto boots. Like every other night, I manage to dance in this because I’ve trained for years. (I could probably dance in a big clown suit if I had to—although I really hope my career never comes to that.)

Every time I bring my onstage wardrobe up with Mom, she instantly dismisses me. “You’re crazy,” she says, which seems to be her favorite word for me lately. “That’s what your fans want to see you wear.”

Okay, so maybe they do. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with it.

I have a body that I’m pretty confident about, thanks to my personal trainer, my dietician and two hours of dancing onstage each night. I just don’t see why I’m expected to flaunt it quite this much.