memoir

Cher has always been a collage—singer, TV star, Oscar winner, fashion lodestar—and her decision to narrate the whole thing across two volumes is both practical and slyly theatrical. The first installment, Cher: The Memoir, Part One, arrived on November 19, 2024, from Dey Street Books, tracing her life from childhood through the meteoric Sonny & Cher years. It’s a period piece and a coming-of-age at once, and it landed like a cultural event: the publisher’s announcement framed it as the only way to tell a life “too immense for one book,” and early coverage spotlighted the candor around dyslexia, family friction, and the complicated alchemy of the duo that made her a household name.

Part One’s reception mattered. It didn’t just trend; it charted, debuting at No. 1 on The New York Times list and holding the top spot for three weeks—evidence that the appetite wasn’t nostalgic but current. That momentum reframed Cher not as a legend basking in retrospection, but as a contemporary narrator reasserting authorship over her own origin story.

Editorially, the book’s strongest current is its plainspoken voice. Television interviews around publication underscored what the pages deliver: unsentimental clarity about Sonny—his boyishness, the power imbalance of their early years, and the business engine they built together. That frankness demythologizes without diminishing, turning the familiar montage (fringed vests, variety-show banter, a divorce watched by America) into a study of work, timing, and survival.

two

If Part One is an origin story, Part Two is the crucible: the reinventions of the 1980s and beyond, film roles, club culture, couture armors, Auto-Tune modernism, reinventions squared. Fans expected it in 2025; a reschedule pushed publication to May 19, 2026. That may sting for completists, but the delay also signals something creative: a subject determined to get the shape right. The live retail listings now point to that new date, an unusually transparent reminder that memoirs—especially of lives still actively unfolding—operate on artistic time.

 You can hear the weight of the work in Cher’s own comments. She’s described the process as emotionally exhausting, emphasizing rewrites to be more candid. The result, she says, isn’t therapeutic so much as necessary—a choice to tell the whole truth even when the truth complicates the myth. That insistence explains both the split into two volumes and the patience with which Part Two is being assembled.

There is also a metanarrative running alongside the books: a long-gestating biopic, openly shepherded and just as openly rewritten when the script didn’t land. That refusal to settle—rejecting a draft by one of Hollywood’s most decorated writers—reads like the same editorial standard guiding the memoir. The point is not just to be documented, but to be accurate to the interior logic of Cher’s own arc.

audio

One of the most artful decisions in Part One is sonic. Cher introduces each chapter, then cedes the mic to Tony winner Stephanie J. Block, who embodied her on Broadway in The Cher Show. The move is conceptually elegant: a star choosing the actor who once “played” her to help voice the record she’s now writing. It turns the audiobook into a duet—living icon and dramatic interpreter—underscoring how Cher’s life has always been both intensely personal and gleefully performative.

 

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A post shared by Cherlato (@cherlato_gelato)

cher

If the memoir is an archive in motion, CherLato is a traveling exhibit. Launched in 2023 with chef–gelato savant Giapo Grazioli, the project began with a bright yellow truck roaming Los Angeles, pairing pop-icon punch with culinary seriousness. Coverage at the time stressed craft—organic ingredients, local sourcing, playful but technically dialed flavors—and the brand’s intent to keep evolving.

By summer 2024, CherLato had graduated from novelty to residency, posting up for the month of July at The Abbey in West Hollywood. The choice of venue mattered: a queer landmark relaunching under new ownership, Pride-season energy still in the air, and Cher herself turning up like a benevolent impresario. It solidified the brand’s social logic: CherLato isn’t just dessert; it’s a meet-cute between community and taste.

That pop-up residency came with a tight, storytelling menu. Names like Chocolate XOXO and Lemon Berry Fusion nodded to camp and California; Juniper Nights—created for The Abbey—gave the program a site-specific flourish. Press notes emphasized daily-made gelato and the locally sourced ethos, pushing back against the assumption that celebrity food ventures are pure merchandise. The message: CherLato is content you can eat.

recent

Fast-forward to 2025, and the feed tells the story: CherLato’s Instagram rolls out reels touting “new flavors” and encouraging fans to come taste the magic. The cadence is seasonal and kinetic—exactly how a nimble food brand should behave in a social era. It’s not a fixed storefront so much as a tour leg; locations shift, menus refresh, and the audience follows along like fans tracking setlists.

There are also breadcrumbs suggesting the truck’s wanderlust—sightings and fan chatter pop up beyond Los Angeles, including New York-adjacent buzz in autumn. Even where the reporting is grassroots, the pattern is consistent: CherLato keeps surfacing at cultural nodes—rollerskating pop-ups, nightlife relaunches, Pride-month parties—blending nostalgia with novelty. The ice cream lines become fan lines; the brand becomes a kind of ambient fan club.

the idea

What makes CherLato feel more than a merch table is how the flavors behave like liner notes. “Snap Out of It!” (kefir & cardamom) winks at film and meme culture; “LA, I Love You” goes vegan with regional produce; “SoCal’s Coldest Avocado Toast” turns a coastal cliché into a frozen joke that actually tastes good. Even at its most Instagrammable, the menu reads as a conversation with place, memory, and Cher’s own iconography.

The Abbey residency took that a step further: Juniper Nights as a love letter to the host venue, toppings staged like costumes, and a runway of cones and cups that felt couture-adjacent. Media coverage made space for tasting notes—cocoa nibs here, meringue there—while emphasizing the bakery integration throughout July. In an era when “celebrity brand” can feel like a spreadsheet, the specificity landed.

style

There’s a creative feedback loop between the books and the gelato that’s worth clocking. The memoir insists on authorship—on Cher choosing how her story is told, what to amplify, what to complicate. CherLato, meanwhile, insists on presence—on showing up, on seasonal reinvention, on flavors that remix biography into experience. One is text, one is texture; both are acts of control in a culture that’s spent six decades projecting onto her.

The audiobook’s casting choice (Cher + Stephanie J. Block) offers a metaphor for CherLato’s collaborative DNA (Cher + Giapo). In both, she enlists a specialist to co-translate her sensibility—the voice that once wore Bob Mackie feathers now piped through a Broadway timbre; the taste that once toured arenas now spun in a batch freezer. The effect is a brand that feels authored, not licensed. .

gen

Look closely and the motive behind both projects is similar: radical generosity. The memoir gives detail, context, and vulnerability where the public was content to leave only legend. The gelato gives surprise, delight, and proximity—an actual truck showing up where people are, serving cones that nod to shared reference points. She’s not trying to be everywhere; she’s choosing where to be—and making that presence feel like a gift.

That’s why the pairing resonates. The book says: here’s the unvarnished interior. The brand says: here’s a small, crafted pleasure we can share. Together, they feel like a mature artist’s version of intimacy.

impression

In the short term, the live signals will keep coming from social—reels teasing flavors, location breadcrumbs, and cameos when the truck dovetails with other cultural programming. Given the brand’s pattern, expect more strategic pop-ups tethered to nightlife, LGBTQ+ landmarks, and arts events. On the publishing front, expect a second campaign that mirrors 2024’s run-up: new cover art, fresh interviews, and perhaps an expanded conversation about aging in public—one of Cher’s least discussed, most radical achievements.

If Part One’s core argument is that reinvention is a discipline, Part Two will likely show that reinvention is also a rhythm—tours and films and singles and, yes, desserts. By the time May 19, 2026 arrives, the counter-programming of CherLato will have done what it does best: keep the audience close, fed, and in motion.

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