When someone — particularly a woman — is described as “too much,” more often than not it has a negative connotation. Phrases like “She’s too much to handle,” “She’s just too much for some people,” or “Her love is too much” are thrown around carelessly and casually, slowly breaking down whoever is on the receiving end of those comments. It’s a feeling Dove Cameron once knew all too well. “I always felt too big, and I thought it wasn’t anyone else’s job to accept me — it was my job to become acceptable,” she says in conversation with Schön!. “I made myself smaller and smaller.” Now, with her new single — the aptly titled “Too Much” — she’s embracing every single facet of herself that makes her who she is.
It’s currently release week and Cameron, who we last spoke to for Schön! 40, is feeling in a state of flux. “I’m always smacked sideways by how crazy release week is,” Dove says with a laugh. “Then I’m like, “Oh my God, I don’t know where I am!” A new single marks a new chapter — a new era of Dove Cameron — one that is equal parts empowered and euphoric. She just turned 29 — the last year of her 20s — and is embarking on a journey that sees her encouraging women to lean into their “muchness,” the things that make them who they are, rather than watering themselves down to make space for those who don’t have their best interests at heart.
Sitting down with Schön!, Dove Cameron opens up about her growth as an artist and songwriter over the last few years, where the inspiration behind “Too Much” came from, how her loved ones encouraged her to really use her voice, and more.
Dove! Thank you so much for taking the time to chat with me. We’ve talked a few times now so I feel like every few years I get to see you in a new phase of life, which is really nice.
Oh my gosh, yes! I love it. We’re old friends. We’re besties [laughs].
Back when we spoke in 2019, you were preparing to release your own music, fleshing it out, seeing what worked. Looking back over the last few years, how would you describe your growth as an artist and songwriter?
Oh, it’s crazy. I don’t know how other artists feel, but sometimes I look at them and think, wow, that was so well thought out—so much branding, iconography, planning, breadcrumbs, and setups. You must have been planning this release for two years. And then I wonder, “why don’t I do that?” I truly am the kind of person who, on a Wednesday, thinks, “What if I made this kind of music?” and then by Friday, I’m like, “Just kidding, it’s jazz. Jazz is the way to go.” [Laughs] Looking back on my supposed growth as an artist, it feels more like finally trying on a hat that fits. I’m obsessed with music. I consume everything — pop, rock, classic rock, rap, hip-hop, musical theatre, dubstep, screamo — there’s nothing that doesn’t move me in some way. It took a long time before I gave myself permission to make this album.
Rather than saying I got better as a songwriter or more polished, it’s more that I finally decided I wasn’t going to seek permission from anyone but myself to make the kind of music I wanted to make. If I’m constantly looking over my shoulder wondering if people will like it, I’ve already failed. This was my first time approaching songwriting in a serious way. I don’t know what the public perception is of how a record is made, but I know people think it happens faster than it does. I get why fans ask, “Where’s the new album?” when someone just released one and went on tour. But these things take a year. I’ve been on the other side as a fan, thinking, “Why haven’t they released anything in two years? Are they just hanging out with their friends?” No — creating this record was an education.
Before this, my first two songs in 2019, the singles that followed, “Boyfriend,” “Breakfast,” and Alchemical: Volume 1 — all of those were made in about 20 writing sessions total. That’s not how I made this album. I was new to music, figuring things out blindly. I’d think, I want to write today, and my label would book a session. That was it. Then I started spending time around other artists, watching their process, and realized, “Why am I not doing it like that?” For this record, I treated it seriously. From January to June 2024, I went into the studio Monday through Friday, 9 AM to sometimes 9 PM, with the goal of finishing at least one song a day, hopefully two. I treated it like a job, with a routine. It didn’t matter if I was inspired, sad, or tired — I just showed up. That’s what many artists do, and it worked. I took the pressure off writing a great song and just focused on creating. If today’s song sucked, we had tomorrow.
I’ve heard a handful of songs and I feel like you can hear that growth, too, in those tracks.
I know the three you’ve heard and those are three of about six dance tracks on the record. Dance was actually experimental for me — I never thought I could do big pop sounds. My biggest track on Spotify, “Boyfriend,” is pop in structure, but not in the way I think of pop — like Lady Gaga, Marina and the Diamonds, Robyn, and even Sleigh Bells. Pop artists have this big production sound I had never been brave enough to try. The first song I wrote for this record is one you haven’t heard yet, but it’s about four minutes long, a lullaby-like take on early love. Super stripped, single vocal, no harmonies, just me, some pads, and an acoustic guitar. I thought, “This is the sound!” I started banking similar tracks. But then, as I got comfortable, I thought, “Let’s experiment.”
When we wrote the second song you’ve heard, I realized I had a huge dance identity that I was really enjoying. That became a big part of the record. Giving myself the space to try things — even when I thought, This is so bad — helped me figure out what worked.
It’s permitting yourself to create — not necessarily bad work, but just allowing yourself to make something. The beauty is in the creation, not just the perfect final product.
Oh, girl. There’s so much that didn’t make the record that I would call bad work. You leave the studio thinking, “Wow, that really smacks,” and then wake up the next day like, “What the fuck is this?” I also really found my creative partners. I worked with three different producers and a few writers on this record. I did a large portion of the album with my friend Tyler, who is insanely talented. He’s Captain Pop — he just kills it — but he found a way to make it feel authentic to me. I also worked with Jason Evigan, who did a few tracks. Finding these camps and communities that were dedicated to making this record exactly what I wanted was incredible. They were excited and passionate — it felt like slumber party camp every day. We were in our pyjamas, ordering sandwiches, having so much fun, crying, laughing. I made lifelong friends, the kind I’d call at 3 AM if I got a flat tire. That, to me, is invaluable.
The last thing I’ll say about my growth as an artist is that I used to be afraid to sing. If you listen to my earlier records, I was doing this whispery, delicate thing — never fully committing to my voice. I had this weird complex that my voice wasn’t good, or it was too Broadway or too something. Too much. My best friend Veronica and my boyfriend were always asking, “Why don’t you sing?” And I’d say, “Because my voice sucks. It’s ugly. It’s too big. It doesn’t fit on a pop track. I have to make it sound pop.” And they’d ask, “Why do you think that?” I had no real answer. They kept telling me, “Just go in and fucking sing. Belt your face off. Because when you’re at home, all you do is scream at the top of your lungs like you’re on Broadway.”
Yeah, like, “Where’s that energy in the vocal booth?”
Exactly! And I was like, “Guys, it’s not gonna sound good.” And they were like, “Just fucking try it, you idiot.” So I went in, tried it, and realized, “Oh, I was gaslighting myself. I was wrong. This totally fits in a pop arena.” The funny thing is the response on TikTok to “Too Much.” Everyone’s like, “Her voice changed.” And I’m like, “No, I’m just actually using it.”
I love that, though, especially because it’s like you’re slowly uncovering more parts to yourself and embracing yourself fully.
Yeah, my voice is deep and loud. And I thought, “Oh my God, why wasn’t I doing this before?” No, my voice didn’t change — I simply stopped changing it.
That’s amazing. You’re giving yourself permission to be your full self through your art.
Yeah, yeah. I know it sounds like a small thing, but I truly had dysmorphia about my voice. I’m really happy with the record. I feel like I hear myself on it for the first time.
I was watching your TikToks teasing the song, and I thought, “This feels larger than life.” I don’t want to say a big change, because it still feels very you, but there’s something expansive about it — like a mindset shift for you. Can you tell me about what was going on for you when you were writing this song, which I think you wrote last March?
Okay, okay, research queen! [Laughs] Yes, so let’s see. I was in the middle of the album process, and Tyler, Victoria, Madison, and I had written a couple of pop tracks that felt very bright, happy, and in love. I was in the beautiful early stages of my relationship, thinking, “Oh, I can write about this — this is fun.” It felt totally new for me because every time I’d written music in the past, I was dealing with something traumatic or sad that required a lot of processing.
This was the first time I went into the studio feeling exuberant every day. I was so in love, so happy, so alive for the first time in a long time. I couldn’t shut up about it — I wanted to write about it every day. Funny enough, that’s how we got another song that’s coming. It’s not exactly a love song, but it is. Lyrically, it’s about the early stages of obsession, right before you fall in love, when you’re thinking, “Oh my God, I want to be with this person forever. I feel desperate for them, I’m infatuated, before it becomes a real relationship.” That’s why I have it early on in the tracklist — I’m releasing the album chronologically, from unhealed to healed, from underdeveloped prefrontal cortex to developed [laughs].
I actually wrote “Too Much” with 0% connection to my life now. You know when TikTok suggests searches?
Yes, and they are always awful or too targeted!
I saw something under the first video I posted that did well, it read “Dove Cameron and Damiano David problem.” I thought, “Oh, fuck. Everyone’s going to think this is about my boyfriend.” It’s fully not. It’s a retrospective look at what I now understand after not being in a couple of different romantic relationships for a while. I want to be very careful with this — I don’t want anyone to react, analyse, or assume it’s about one specific person. I’ve publicly dated some people and privately dated others. This song isn’t about them — it’s about my experience. I was convinced, systemically convinced throughout my life, that I was too much, too big, too loud, too sparkly — by people who never had my best interests at heart.
I’ve always felt like a square peg in a round hole. It made me feel really bad about myself. I never had the perspective to think, “If this keeps happening, maybe I’m surrounded by the wrong people.” Instead, I internalized, If this keeps happening, I must be broken. I must be too much. So I did whatever I could to tear off parts of myself to keep the balance in relationships, rooms, and dynamics. Over the years, I became smaller and quieter. I ran into that a lot in romantic relationships. Something that stuck with me was a time in my life when I was seeing someone I’d been with for a while. We had a great night out with friends. Everyone was laughing, engaging, jumping, dancing—
Having fun like friends do — a crazy concept.
Exactly. We got in the car, and I said, “Wasn’t that so fun?” And he said, “People like you a lot better when you talk less.” I remember being so hit by that, thinking, “Oh my God. Is that true? Am I one of those people who thinks the night was lovely, but everyone else is getting in their car thinking I was too much?” There were things in my childhood that made me feel that way too. I always felt too big, and I thought it wasn’t anyone else’s job to accept me — it was my job to become acceptable. I made myself smaller and smaller. My real friends, my best friends, would say, “Hey, what are you doing? You’re so sad. You’re losing your spark.” But I couldn’t feel it because I was convinced my spark was something bad, something to hide away.
I see other women do this all the time. This is a chronic issue for women in unhealthy relationships or dynamics. Any situation making you feel like you have to become less sparkly and smaller — it’s not loving. When my friends told me, “You’re sad, you’re losing yourself,” all I could think was, “That’s the point.” I didn’t realize that one perspective came from people who saw me, loved me, and wanted me to be big and happy, while the other came from people who felt uncomfortable with the size of me and my personality.
It’s something so many women experience, too. Shrinking ourselves to make space, to be smaller, to be more malleable and “acceptable.”
I want to be super clear — the phrase “If you say I’m too much, go find less” isn’t mine. It’s an old idiom. I saw it on Tumblr when I was 16. That was the start of me thinking, “Hey, that’s a song. I have a lot to say about that.” I see women experiencing this all the time. I wanted to turn it into something fun and anthemic, like rules we can memorize. How do we recognize harmful patterns in relationships? How do we reframe them? At the end of the day, if I’m such a big deal and that’s a challenge for you, maybe I’m not too big—maybe there’s nothing wrong with the size of me. Maybe you try to make me feel small because you want to stay small. Maybe that’s comfortable for you, and you’re afraid of who you’ll be when you step into yourself. But I can’t do that in my life anymore, and that realization was so freeing for me in the last few years.
Even just listening to it felt like a breath of fresh air, so I can only imagine how it’s been stepping into yourself now. I know you just turned 29 and I feel like coming into your 30s is when you really start to realize who you are, who you want around you, and the relationships you want. That’s when you really start leaning into yourself and uncovering this new version of who you are. Is that something you relate to as you enter this last year of your 20s — not to freak you out?
No, no, it’s true. I’ve never felt weird about getting older. I’ve always felt older than I actually am, so I feel like I’m just closing the gap between my actual age and my internal age. But yes, definitely. I want to be delicate in how I say this because I’m a huge advocate against the narrative that romantic love will save you — that it will come into your life, change everything, make you whole, and solve your problems. I hate that narrative. It’s unhealthy to push that on young women. It’s everywhere — in media, movies, books. The idea that if the right person comes along, you’ll be complete and finally come into yourself — it’s an age-old message. I want to state right now that I don’t subscribe to that.
I feel incredibly lucky because, around the time I decided to take a break from the industry, I realised I was running on empty. The metaphor I always used was that I felt like a race car with a broken engine, patched up with duct tape at every pit stop. It was like, “You have eight seconds to replace the tires and close the leak with duct tape.” I kept wondering, “How many years can I do this before the entire car breaks down, and I’m unable to work or process anything?” I think it’s no secret — though I try not to make it my whole identity — that a lot happened in my early life that I never dealt with. Trauma is universal, but the conversation around mental health still has a long way to go. Sometimes, when I say, “I’m really struggling with this right now, and if you are too, it’s okay—here’s what we can try to do about it,” I see people respond with, “Your dad died a decade ago, get over it.”
There’s this cruel, heartlessness that people project a lot of the time.
It’s just an uneducated narrative. I have to imagine it’s coming from people who have never lost anyone significant or experienced trauma. But it was really catching up with me — all these different things I don’t even need to go into that had happened in my life, including the way certain relationships ended and what happened within them. I was collecting these heavy stones throughout what was probably my early career, which looked so fun, easy, and cool from the outside. But really, it was my form of escaping — I threw myself headfirst into my career because I couldn’t deal with what was going on in my life.
Then, in late 2022 or early 2023, I had this moment where I thought, “If I don’t stop right now, I’m going to lose something important.” And I realized — it was myself. I was losing touch with who I was. Even as things were going so well with “Boyfriend” and “Breakfast,” I felt like I was drifting further into the back of my mind. I knew my fans didn’t deserve that, and I knew I couldn’t sustain it. So I slammed on the brakes. I told myself that I needed to go to therapy. I need to write about this. I need to figure out what the hell is going on under the hood of my brain.
At one point, I wasn’t sure I could come back to the industry. I thought, “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’m too far gone.” That terrified me. But I chose to face it instead of denying it because it was starting to manifest physically — I was experiencing weird symptoms of trauma and stress. I knew I had to stop. So I did the work. I read, I educated myself, I dedicated myself to healing. I barely saw my friends. It was a really scary time. But it was also a bet on myself — I knew it was the only way forward.
Then, I came out on the other side. It happened naturally — I started to see light again, and I physically felt like things were leaving my body. At that exact moment, I met my boyfriend. But the important part is, I had already done the work. He just showed up at this turning point in my life and helped me rewrite so many of the negative beliefs I had about myself. I gave him everything — every weird, dark, unattractive, vulnerable, uncomfortable thing. Every part of me I thought I could never say out loud, everything I’d been taught was bad or “too much.” And what did he do? He asked me for more. He encouraged me to become bigger, to express myself fully — to be as loud, quiet, angry, sad, or joyful as I needed to be. I’m lucky — he’s huge himself, which made me see why some of my past dynamics might have been unhealthy. It helped me understand that maybe those people didn’t actually love me for who I was, and maybe they weren’t capable of it. But beyond that, he shows me every day how much he loves me, and that changed everything. It put so many of my past relationships into perspective. I used to wonder, I loved these people so much — why did they hate me?
It must’ve been such a weird juxtaposition — to feel like you’re at the top of your career with “Boyfriend” taking off, but at the same time, dealing with so much internally. I think it’s really beautiful to know you’re being loved properly now, how that kind of love and care opens you up to something new.
Yeah, and just realising that it’s possible, right? I have a song on the record and the closing line is, “Turns out I’m easy to love” because for so long, I thought I had to make myself lovable, make myself worthy — when in reality, I was just with the wrong people. People who didn’t love me, who didn’t see my worth. And that was never a reflection of me or my lovability; it was just a terrible match. Something else masquerading as love. It’s such a powerful realization — that when someone tries to make you smaller, it says more about them than it ever did about you. If there’s one thing I’m really happy about with this song, even before it’s out, it’s that so many people are already resonating with that perspective because this is universal.
As someone who deeply loves women and the feminine experience — who sees myself first and foremost as a best friend, a sister, a daughter — I see this pattern constantly. We all do. We all know that beautiful, bubbly, radiant friend who gets into a relationship with someone unhealed, someone who doesn’t like themselves or feels threatened by her. Slowly, you watch her shrink. You watch her dim herself to make that person comfortable. That’s why this song has such a campy, fun, femme twist — to help us rewire this part of our brains that tells us it’s our responsibility to make ourselves smaller for someone else’s comfort. It’s absolutely not. If you’re simply being yourself — expressing yourself, taking up space — and that makes someone feel inadequate, then that’s not love. True love invites both people to step into their full selves. When that isn’t possible — when the relationship isn’t sustainable, healthy, or adding to your life — you can walk the fuck away.
I wish I had known this in my late teens, my early and mid-20s. I struggled with it for so long. But now, I can write a song about it that’s almost playful, with these campy lines like sending warm regards in a box of new things in a black car. It doesn’t take itself too seriously, but the message is real. I just hope we can all collectively rewrite this for ourselves as women because it’s so important.
All that matters is that you did learn it. I know it feels like it took too long, but the important thing is that you did. Imagine if you were still in that place, still feeling like you had to make yourself small. That would just be awful.
Totally, totally. And I also want to add — this song isn’t just about shrinking or growing in romantic relationships. I’ve been really lucky that all the women in my life — my close friends, my community — have always uplifted me. I’ve never felt this dynamic with them. My girlfriends don’t try to make me small, and I don’t try to make them small. I’m surrounded by people who are just as sparkly, loud, and fully themselves as I am because I think that’s beautiful. In my friend group, no one is “the star of the show.” Everyone is. We amplify each other. We uplift each other. It’s not about being the “alpha,” because everyone is the alpha in their own way. And I think that’s how it should be — not just in friendships, but in romantic relationships too.
That’s why this song isn’t just for people in romantic relationships. If you’ve never been in one, but you have a friend who constantly tries to dim your light, and puts you down — that’s also not love. That’s also something worth looking at. I never want this song to be about tearing anyone else down. It’s about accepting yourself, recognising what dynamics aren’t healthy for you, and choosing yourself at the end of the day. And that’s universal — whether it’s about family, friends, or love.
Absolutely. I know we’re running out of time, so just one last question. There’s a lyric — I’m not going to say which song, because I don’t want to spoil it — but it mentions manifesting. So, I wanted to ask: what are you manifesting for yourself this year?
Oh, I’ve been big on manifestation lately! I kind of lost touch with it for a while when I was in my “dark night of the soul” for two years — which I’m going to refer to as that forever now! I just lost my faith in that kind of connection with the universe. I was like, “What the hell am I doing?” But now, I’ve come back to it in a big way. I know some people are divided on it, and my boyfriend is one of those who’s always like, “Babe, you can’t physically manifest things,” and I’m like, “Yes, I can!” But we’ve talked about it a lot, and I think it boils down to this: if you can convince yourself that something is possible for you, your brain will start to recognise patterns, and that helps you work toward it. Ultimately, you’ll bring it into your life and make it real.
I’ve been really focused on that because I had fallen into this unhealthy mindset of feeling unworthy — like things weren’t going to work out for me, that I didn’t deserve certain things. But this year, I’m manifesting joy and stability — both in my life and within myself. I’m working on balance and taking time for the human stuff — seeing my family, just being a person—which is something I didn’t really know how to do until the past couple of years.
I’m manifesting health because I’ve never been a healthy person, but I’ve been working on that. I’m manifesting self-love and my ability to tackle the things that scare me. I want to manifest strong boundaries, less reliance on unhealthy defense mechanisms, and just the ability to navigate everything with a little more joy, ease, and connection to myself. That’s something that always kind of plagued me in my early life.
And then, on a fun note, I’m manifesting great food and lots of romantic travel. I’ve become really unattached to specific outcomes in my career. I used to sit and manifest big TV shows or hoping that a song would do well. But now, I’m like, “I just hope the exact right thing happens.” I’m so happy with exactly where I am right now, in this present moment. On a bigger scale, I’m manifesting that we can turn things around within this beautiful country — America — and collectively, all of us, can manifest this together.
I agree. Thank you so much, Dove. To end, I just want to say — this is now my third time speaking with you and every time has been such a joy. You said some really wonderful things to me after our chat a few years ago hat I still carry with me to this day and I want to just thank you for constantly wearing your heart on your sleeve and navigating this sometimes very difficult industry with such grace and kindness.
Kelsey, thank you so much. You have the nicest energy ever. I’m so happy we got to talk again and catch up.
That’s exactly what you said in our conversation last time! [Laughs]
I’m fucking right and fucking consistent! [Laughs] I hope that we have our bi-annual, every-two-years-Zoom sooner rather than later, but if not — talk then!
“Too Much” is out now.
interview. Kelsey Barnes