Anyone who grew up in a large family will recognise that struggle for attention that comes with being the youngest. There’s a constant, friendly hustle for the limelight and you learn to shout louder so your voice can be heard. Growing up, I was desperate for the approval of my four elder siblings and, when I discovered acting, I thought it would get me all the approval and attention I would ever need. But my eldest brother is Chris Martin, lead singer of Coldplay - and when he became world famous, I realised I would need to work a little harder if I wanted people to see me as more than just his little sister.
Now, I’ve written a play called Superstar. It’s about growing up trying to impress my siblings by becoming a – wait for it – superstar, and how everything changed when Chris actually became one. Fetch the world’s smallest violin, right? This isn’t a sob story – just a way for me to find my voice in a story that’s dominated my life and seen me referred to as ‘Chris’s sister’ for as long as I can remember.
When I played Mole in an amateur production of Wind In The Willows, aged 11, Chris and his new girlfriend, Gwyneth Paltrow, showed up and suddenly everyone was buzzing around them, taking pictures. I was like, wait a minute, this was meant to be my moment! I just wanted Chris to talk to me and I hadn’t even heard of Gwyneth – sure, she was some actor, but had she played Mole?
After that, paparazzi swarmed our family home in Devon; they’d ring the bell and ask us questions about Chris and Gwyneth. I was like, hey, do you want to talk to me about my performance? The press grew increasingly interested in his personal life and started digging up stuff on our family. It was around then I lost my ability to trust whether people were interested in me or my brother. I’d show up somewhere and people would ask about him. Some people assumed I’d be arrogant because my brother was famous. Erm no, I’m arrogant because I played Mole! Luckily, I’ve got great friends who like me for me, but they went through a solid vetting process.
Meanwhile, I became determined to succeed in my own right. I stopped telling new people I was related to Chris. In my teens, I’d even go around school saying how shit Coldplay were, to give the impression I didn’t care. (I actually love their music.) When I graduated from my drama school, I changed my surname to Wren (embarrassingly inspired by the Pizza Express pizza, La Reine) to give myself that mental separation and space to forge my own identity as an actor and writer.
Chris and his new girlfriend, Gwyneth Paltrow, showed up and suddenly everyone was buzzing around them, taking pictures.
I needed to know that any success I might have was on my own merit. It took me a really long time to realise that hiding my relationship to Chris from people was pointless, because I couldn’t talk honestly about things that have impacted my life in a massive way and, creatively, that felt limiting. So now I’ve decided to embrace it instead, by writing Superstar and finally telling these stories that have been bursting to get out of me for so long.
My ambition isn’t to be famous, but to be successful. But seeing Chris so successful has put my measure off a bit. When I tell people I’m an actor they say, ‘Oh, are you going to be like Gwyneth?’ But Gwyneth is a pretty rare case. Most of us actors are just trying to get by. I’ve got a skewed view of fame, too. It stole my brother in a way – his schedule became so busy – and I’ve seen how tricky it can be: when my niece Apple [Chris and Gwyneth’s first child] was born it was particularly intense.
I’d visit their house in LA and it was swarming with paparazzi. I also watched as they were widely mocked when they announced they were consciously uncoupling in 2014. I felt really protective – two people I loved were going through something so hard. It was their way of managing a divorce so it didn’t affect their kids and the world thought it was public property to laugh at or criticise.
There have been unexpected side effects though, too. We’d all love to look like A-listers and having Gwyneth in my life intensified that for me. Once, my agent told me I might not be getting the roles I was going for because I needed to lose weight. But I know how hard Gwyneth works for her body – and I, like most people, can’t afford a personal trainer for two hours a day, like her. These days, I mainly talk to Gwyneth about the kids [Chris and Gwyneth also have son Moses] or my love life. She told me to never date an actor (no, I didn’t stick to that) and she’s always been really kind to me – I’d speak to her every day while I was at boarding school.
There have been some weird moments over the years. I was working in a pub while Chris was winning Grammys. One day we went for lunch at Claridge’s, the next I was back there working as a children’s party entertainer. People assume he bankrolls my life – he doesn’t. I went to the Golden Globes, which was bonkers, but I remember thinking I’d have more fun hanging out with my friends at home. No shade to Chris or Gwyneth, but famous people are a teeny bit boring.
Before I wrote Superstar, I told Chris that I’d be publicly acknowledging him as my brother. He said, ‘You do what you gotta do. But just know people will come at you a bit harder because a lot of people hate Coldplay.’ Superstar is my story. And it will be the last time I talk about Chris. I just needed to do it once, so I can free up my imagination for new stories. I may always be referred to as ‘Chris’s sister’ but, now that I feel I’ve found my own voice, I don’t worry about that any more – it’s liberating. I feel free to use my voice however I want.
Watch Nicola in ‘Superstar’ at Southwark Playhouse in London, 26 Nov to 21 Dec
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