After Insecure, Where Do We Go to See Awkward Black Girls on TV?

Originally published on InStyle.

Confession: I have never watched an episode of Full House. Despite being raised in a predominantly white suburb in West Michigan and being an obsessive tween viewer of ABC's TGIF programming block, as soon as the "Everywhere You Look" theme song came on, I immediately reached for the remote. I didn't watch Friends, either; I mostly knew it from beauty spreads about the "Rachel" haircut. Sure, I'd flipped by both shows a time or two, but it was the 1990s and I had options. 

The golden age of Black television was upon us, and my evenings were mostly spent consuming Sister, Sister, Moesha, Family Matters, Martin, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and Living Single. The public school lunch fare of chicken nuggets and whatever tasteless vegetables were on tap for the week were made tolerable when gabbing about Moesha's latest love interest.   

Over the span of nearly a decade, I was immersed in television where Blackness, and coming of age while Black, was centered on some of the biggest networks. It was years later that I realized the wave of Black sitcoms that had defined my entire adolescence was a renaissance. And, aside from Mara Brock Akil's UPN comedy series Girlfriends in the aughts, we'd have to wait another decade for the enlightenment to follow.

It was 2011 when Issa Rae debuted The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl as a web series. My best friend introduced me to the viral show by saying, "Girl, it's just Black folks doing regular shit," knowing that kind of comedy was the key to my heart. "The lead character is super nerdy. She reminds me of us."

How right she was: Rae's character J was, for lack of a better description, awkward AF. She worked at a call center for a weight loss pill called Gutbuster. She hated her job. She was imperfect and fumbling through life's monotonies one cringe-inducing experience at a time. 

"I'm awkward and Black. Someone once told me those were the two worst things anyone can be," J says in the opening of the first episode. "That someone was right."

Watching J navigate work, friendships, and sex with a particular brand of irreverence Issa Rae is now known for was the kind of entertainment I hadn't seen with a Black character before. She also didn't reflect the strong Black woman or comforting mother-like stereotype who served the needs of everyone but herself, a trope I'd gotten accustomed to seeing even in the '90s. The series racked up millions of viewers, a major deal for any web-based show, let alone a narrative led by a Black woman with a quirky temperament. 

The last episode was posted on YouTube in 2013, and based on interviews at the time, even Issa Rae didn't know if there'd be space for stories like hers ever again. So when HBO offered her a two-year deal in 2016, she came back stronger, Blacker, and just as openly Insecure, which is the title she'd give her new series based on the characters of ABG. For five seasons, fans watched Issa Dee (played by Rae) evolve from an awkward Black girl to a Black woman whose interior life contained multitudes — including, still, her awkwardness. 

Issa Dee was passionate about her community but she was also about her bag. She valued her tribe of girlfriends but was more likely to have a fictionalized argument in the mirror than communicate concerns directly to friends or a therapist.

She was flawed. We saw Issa Dee strive and succeed while also repeating the same mistakes thrice. She cheated on her boyfriend, Lawrence (Jay Ellis), and passively dealt with microaggressions at work. She also had nuanced relationships with her longtime friends — particularly with her bestie, Molly (Yvonne Orji), a friendship that at one point grew so toxic it seemed like it wouldn't survive.

RELATED: Yvonne Orji Knows You Liked Molly's Outfits Better Than Molly Most of the Time

Issa Dee wasn't the confident, self-assured Black protagonist I'd gotten used to seeing during the '90s, and I didn't realize how desperately we needed characters like her until we had her. In the world Issa Rae created, Black women were allowed to stumble, to experience valuable and impressive growth, and to still not be perfect. They were granted nuance. They were real.

Finally, we had options again. In 2016, Queen Sugar, Chewing Gum, Atlanta, and Luke Cage also made their debuts to much fanfare. When added to the roster of shows that were already on television — Scandal, How to Get Away With Murder, Black-ish, Power, Being Mary Jane, and Empire — the Black television landscape seemed to have entered a new renaissance. Whether you wanted to see Mike Colter as a superhero in Luke Cage or Michaela Coel's Chewing Gum character entering that liminal space between adolescence and adulthood, it really felt like there was room for all of us. 

Now, many of the shows that ushered in the new era of Black television have ended. Like Insecure, Michaela Coel's I May Destroy You came, was unlike anything airing at the time or before, and then ended, leaving viewers gaping at their screens, or constantly thinking about characters as if they'd been our real-life friends. Once again, seeing Black women depicted as vulnerable, awkward, and unglamorous is in short supply. 

So where do we turn for stories to call our best friends about? Hattie (played by Jonica "Jojo" T. Gibbs) on BET's Twenties shows a lot of promise. Abbot Elementary, starring Quinta Brunson, centers teachers in an underserved Philadelphia school. And of course, there are historical retreads, with a Wonder Years reboot focusing on a Black family in the American South in the '60s and Bel Air, which somehow revisits the story of the Fresh Prince through a dramatic lens. The currently buzzy Station 11 features a heroic turn by Danielle Deadwyler, whose character endures personal trauma, some mess, and being chronically underestimated in a modern, pandemic-ravaged setting. 

Can we thank Issa Rae for her? For any of the above shows that center nuanced Black women? It doesn't feel like too much of a leap to say yes. Through the specificity of her story, Issa Dee became universally relatable (not always beloved; sometimes be-hated, but always relatable).

She went from a flawed beginning to a fairytale-like ending and gave us an honest depiction of what growth looks like in all of its messy, awkward unevenness. Which is exactly what we were doing when she first popped on our laptops a decade ago as J. She made it okay to be awkward and Black. 

The State of the Arts is InStyle's biannual celebration of the Black creativity and excellence driving fashion, beauty, self-care, and the culture at large.

For Many Black Women, Self-Care Begins With a Plane Ticket

Originally published on: InStyle.

Every radical life change begins with a tipping point. For Chrishan Wright, a New Jersey-based digital marketing entrepreneur, that threshold was crossed in 2020.

For Wright and so many Black people around the U.S., the tragic deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd were too much to bear. She had also recently been let go from her corporate job.

"Their deaths on the heels of a job layoff, coupled with the disruption and uncertainty surrounding the pandemic, threw me into an emotional tailspin," Wright says.

Before that moment she had been saving money and researching how she could leave the U.S. But it was that emotional tailspin that led her to create Blaxit Global — a platform created to empower and inspire members of the African diaspora to pursue a life abroad. 

While the word "Blaxit," a portmanteau (Black and Brexit) of another portmanteau (British and Exit), is new, the history of Black women seeking peace outside of the U.S. is not. From Maya Angelou's sojourn to Ghana in her 30s to the St. Louis Missouri-born Josephine Baker becoming a French citizen, there are numerous stories of Black women using travel as a tool for a better quality of life and an opportunity for deep reflection.

"There is no greater form of radical self-care," says Wright, who plans on moving out of the U.S. in 2023, after building a community of expats from all over the globe online. "I didn't realize the importance of travel as a part of my self-care until I took my first solo trip in 2017," she recalls. After years of putting her family and career first, she decided a bucket list trip to New Zealand was in order.

Wright arranged for her two children to stay with their father, she took time off from work and enjoyed 18 days alone. "That trip was transformative in so many ways. I was able to explore things I'd never do in the States because I felt free to just be," she says. 

"I kayaked, even though I can't swim; I zip-lined across a forest, even though I am afraid of heights; I rode a horse along the beach and hiked a volcano… just to name a few. I learned so much about myself and who I thought I was on that trip. That is both the power and the gift of travel," she says.

RELATED: When Will Black People Get to Stop Being "The First"?

Wright also notes that Black people spent over $109 billion on leisure travel in 2019, according to a study by MMGY Global. While there is no data regarding Black expatriation, it's clear that rest and relaxation has become increasingly important. Currently, Wright has cultivated a virtual ecosystem of roughly 20,000 members through her Blaxit Global network.

The same year Wright sojourned to New Zealand solo, digital nomad Sharita Jennings found herself unintentionally in the same boat on the other side of the globe. In 2017, Jennings calls her first solo trip in Panama City an "accidental" one — she got stranded there due to a canceled flight. It was during that time that she discovered there was a different way to live. 

"I was able to quickly research tours to explore the city and, through those tours, I met some amazing people who had all moved to Panama from the U.S. to teach or work remotely. That was also my first time working remotely in a foreign country," she says. 

In 2018, Jennings quit her law job in Washington D.C. and planned her escape to Medellín, Colombia. "I told everyone I'd be back in 3-6 months, I was so serious," says Jennings. Now, nearly four years later she's still traveling, working remotely as a lawyer, and guiding aspiring nomads to take the leap. It's a lifestyle where quality of life always comes first.

"Black women should be uncompromising in their requirement for self-care and rest. Travel is about discovering how to thrive mentally, emotionally, and socially," says Jennings. 

Personally, hopping on a plane isn't so much of an escape as it is a way to remember what is most important. Like it is for Wright and Jennings, travel has always been a source of healing for me. In the winter of 2019, I briefly passed out in a bathroom stall at work. For over a year, I had been suffering from the effects of uterine fibroids, my iron was low from major blood loss, and the pain was unbearable. 

What shook me to my core wasn't passing out near a public toilet at work or the pain of having a period that lasted for nearly 12 months. What disturbed me most was that so many Black women around me suffered the same experiences and how normalized it was.

In a 2010 Study of Women's Health Across the Nation (SWAN) it was estimated that Black women ages 49-55 are 7.5 years biologically older than white women due to stress. By age 30, the same study revealed that Black women exhibited signs of greater wear and tear on the body, contributors to chronic stress, than Black men, and white men and women. Unsurprisingly and more recently, pandemic-related stress has also disproportionately impacted Black and Latinx women.

I needed surgery and I noticed that many of my peers barely missed work after undergoing theirs, let alone had the opportunity to change their lifestyles and focus on eliminating stress — a key cause of fibroids. Instead, they immediately plugged back into the cycle of caregiving, whether it was for the office or their families. But never to themselves.

So by December 2019, I made a plan to quit my job and travel in the summer of 2020. Those plans were thwarted by the pandemic. But the desire to experience a different lifestyle, focus less on my job title and more on healing through travel was overwhelming, and would come to fruition a different way.

RELATED: When Will Black People Have the Freedom to Just Be Average?

Last September, I began a 10-month solo travel journey after being selected to participate in Airbnb's Live Anywhere On Airbnb program. Myself and several other participants are currently traveling the globe and sharing what it's like to live nomadically with the company.

Like Wright, I've pushed myself to do things traveling that I hadn't in the past. I've ticked those dreamy to-dos off my bucket list one by one, like any good traveler. But the most satisfying moments have been subtle: Walking for hours through the busy streets of Barcelona alone at midnight, searching for Spanish-style oxtails (Cua De Bou); connecting with a community of badass Black women expats in Lisbon; walking through the valleys of the Atlas Mountains.

For Black women, who often bear the brunt of so much stress and pressures of the "Black Excellence" ideology, nothing breaks the cycle like having the space to choose your own journey. 

"Today, I see more and more Black women open to the idea of taking control of their lives and optimizing their surroundings," says Jennings. "If a place is putting unnecessary stress on them or their families, they are packing their bags and moving to where they can live a full life."

I hope to see them there.

The State of the Arts is InStyle's biannual celebration of Black excellence in fashion, beauty, self-care, and the culture at large.

Hiking Is Not Just for Able-Bodied White People Anymore

Originally published for Healthline on June 17, 2021.

“Hasn’t anybody ever seen a Black hiker before?” said actor Blair Underwood in a cheeky Funny or Die video from 2009.

In the sketch, Underwood plays a hiker determined to take a peaceful stroll through nature. After receiving numerous stares from fellow trekkers, though — some dubious, some supportive, all passersby are white — Underwood realizes he’s an anomaly. He’s a Black man doing the unthinkable. He’s… hiking.

In 2021, this sketch still holds up. Hiking is largely seen as a recreational activity enjoyed mostly by a very specific kind of person: white, lean, and able-bodied.

The United States is home to more than 400 national parks and, according to a recent 10-year survey, only 23 percent of the visitors to these premier outdoor spaces were people of color, whereas 77 percent were white. Taking into account that minorities make up roughly 42 percent of the country, it becomes clear why Funny or Die’s sketch is so hilarious. There’s a nugget of truth to it.

Though things are changing, personally, I understand why Black people, my community, are still one of the most dramatically underrepresented groups on the trails.

Growing up in West Michigan, an appreciation for nature was prematurely embedded into my identity. Summers were spent outside. There were family cookouts and graduation celebrations in public parks. We swam in nearby lakes and watering holes. My aunts and uncles hunted deer and fished. The first time I ever baited a fishing hook, I was old enough to be trusted with a sharp object, but young enough to sob over “Mr. Worm’s” death for an hour.

Winters were also spent outside. We played in the snow until our fingers numbed, and we visited local beaches frozen over with ice, simply because they were beautiful. I didn’t realize it as a kid because it was so deeply ingrained in me, but nature was it.

The other side of the story 

Despite my idyllic memories of growing up in Michigan, we didn’t always feel welcome in the outdoors.

The first time I heard the N-word — as in really heard the N-word — wasn’t casually from a peer or in a hip-hop song. It was from a white man threatening us after we swam at one of the countless beaches lining Lake Michigan. He didn’t think we belonged at that beach.

The incident wasn’t rare. The same members of my family who hunted, fished, and camped also had a license to carry and would often store their handguns nearby when “relaxing” in nature.

In particular, hiking was an isolated form of recreation — so foreign in concept that it never seemed like an option. If it was discussed, it was noted as an activity best avoided.

In parts of Michigan, endless acres of jack pines and yellow birch trees harbored hiking trails and racist groups. Shrouded from the public eye, the woods were a hotbed for the Ku Klux Klan’s (KKK’s) infamous Robert “Bob” Miles-led rallies.

It took me till age 30 to go on my first hike, at Mohonk Preserve in New York with a couple of friends, and it made me realize how much I needed nature in my life again. After spending more than a decade living in large cities, like Chicago, London, and New York, I was physically drained. I had begun suffering from a major health issue and had also lost touch with my Great Lakes state roots.

My first hike was transformational: the fresh autumn air, the peace, the quiet. I slept easier that night than I had in years. Despite the KKK gossip that I was aware of in my childhood, my experience was actually pretty normal. I think we had a couple of stares, but, honestly, it was no more uncomfortable than walking into a corporate office space on the first day of a job.

And something amazing came as a result of my experience, besides my newfound love of hiking. After sharing my photos with my then 60-year old mother, something in her awakened. She booked a beginner’s hiking trip through the Grand Canyon the following spring. It was her first time hiking.

Breaking the mold 

When Derick Lugo, author of the 2019 book “The Unlikely Thru-Hiker: An Appalachian Trail Journey,” thru-hiked the AT in 2012, he was the only Black person to do it that season. A Brooklyn-born urbanite with a manicured goatee, Lugo had never been hiking before embarking on this adventure.

When he first told family and friends he was planning to hike the Appalachian Trail after reading Bill Bryson’s “A Walk in the Woods” and being inspired, they were shocked. They didn’t know anything about that world.

On the trail, his experience played out like a real-life version of the Funny or Die sketch.

“I didn’t realize that there [weren’t] a lot of Black people that thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail,” he said on the podcast Woods & Wilds. “I thought everyone did this, or whoever wanted to would do it. And people just kept coming up to me and not just saying, ‘Hey, you’re Black, you’re on the trail,’ but they were saying, ‘Look man, we’re so happy you’re on the trail. This is great.’”

Hiking proved to be a transformational experience for Lugo, who is now an avid hiker and outdoor advocate for all.

“I come from one of the busiest cities in the world — there are distractions everywhere and very little time to complete a productive thought,” he said. “When I’m hiking, I can set aside the hustle and bustle of New York City and take in what we humans are meant to take in: the sounds of nature. That gift frees my mind, recharges my soul, and reinforces my love of the outdoors.”

One of the reasons Lugo shares his story widely is because he wants to inspire others to get out there, despite any hesitations they may have.

“I want it to be one day where, when I’m out on the trail, I’m not someone that they’re surprised to see,” Lugo said in a video on his website. “I want to see all different types of people on a trail: people of all ages, different color, creed — you know, people from all over the world.”

The fight for accessibility in hiking

While racial diversity has been increasing on the trails, there are still other hurdles regarding who gets to enjoy the woods.

Accessibility for the disabled is one of the most pressing challenges impacting public spaces, especially when it comes to the great outdoors. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), 61 million adultsTrusted Source in the United States have a disability, making it one of the largest marginalized groups in the United States.

Syren Nagakyrie, who founded the informational website Disabled Hikers in March 2018, is among those 61 million adults. Nagakyrie is a writer, community organizer, and outdoor enthusiast.

They also experience connective-tissue disorder Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, blood-circulation disorder Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, and chronic pain and fatigue, among other conditions. Mobility challenges, fatigue, and dizziness are just a few symptoms associated with these disorders. Sometimes Nagakyrie also uses a cane.

After discovering that a hike listed as “easy” was in fact full of obstacles and challenges for someone like them, they came up with the idea of Disabled Hikers.

Through the website, Nagakyrie provides guides and resources that they tried and tested firsthand and other disabled hikers have tested. The site offers descriptions about where a particular path gets muddy or the pinpointing of major obstacles, like downed trees. They also share details about where benches, tables, and “even a nice log” are located.

Because it’s actually not uncommon for trails to be described using limited labels like “easy” and “difficult,” the organization has adopted the “Spoon Theory” trail-rating system. That system takes into account a number of important details, including how much effort hiking a trail takes, balanced with how replenishing of an experience it might be.

Nagakyrie is determined to serve this community, not just because of their love of Mother Nature, but also because they’re fully aware of the major benefits of trekking the trails.

“Hiking has impacted my mental and physical health in complex and sometimes contradictory ways. Being outdoors has helped me feel a sense of belonging. And finding ways that I feel comfortable moving my body has been very empowering,” Nagakyrie says.

Given their condition, they admit that sometimes hiking can be tough on the body. But it’s clear the pros outweigh the cons.

Health benefits of hiking

In addition to the sense of empowerment hiking might provide for someone like Nagakyrie, studies showTrusted Source that being outside for 120 minutes per week is essential to overall well-being. Greater exposure to greener areas is guaranteed to lower heart disease and obesity.

Hiking also provides time for reflection and meditation, which can do wonders for mental health, and it can significantly help reduce the risk for depression. This can help lower blood sugar, as well, making it a great low-impact exercise for those managing type 2 diabetes.

Whether it’s walking the trails, enjoying the sand between their toes on a beach, or indulging their curiosity with a trip to a national park, people need nature, and they can’t afford to let fear get in the way of experiencing it.

The path forward

Nagakyrie and Lugo aren’t the only ones turning the idea of the “likely hiker” upside down.

This May, New York congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez shared in an Instagram video that, after the Capitol insurrection earlier this year, she felt she needed to invest in self-care. Instead of booking a long weekend at a nice hotel, she strapped on an Osprey backpack and headed to a trail not too far from home. “I felt like I really needed a practice to help ground me,” she explained into the camera.

In addition, groups like Black People Who Hike (that Lugo collaborated with earlier this year), Black Girls Trekkin’, Native Women’s Wilderness, and Fat Girls Hiking have been popping up in the past few years to introduce the beauty and benefits of outdoor recreation to a larger, more inclusive crowd.

“It’s not my people that have to reimagine who should explore the outdoors. It’s everyone else [who] needs to,” said Jaylyn Gough, Native Women’s Wilderness founder, in an interview with HOKA.

Gough’s organization was founded in 2017 to inspire and raise the voices of Native women in the outdoor space. Black Girls Trekkin’ is a group created to empower Black women to spend time outdoors and also to protect and appreciate nature. The group does this by hosting group hikes and educational events.

These groups are working to combat the fears, lack of knowledge, and exclusion that has kept people away for far too long.

There’s an inscription hanging over an entrance to Yellowstone National Park that reads: “For the benefit and enjoyment of the people.” The inscription was created in 1872, long before the era of Jim Crow ended, before women could vote, and well before the American Disabilities Act.

Experiencing the benefits of the great outdoors shouldn’t be seen as a privilege. It’s everyone’s right.

Interview: Lina Viktor Makes Otherworldly Paintings From Star Matter

“The works in the artist’s new group show ‘Hyperion,’ during Frieze New York, are like Klimt canvases from another galaxy.”

The Body Black (series in progress), 2016.

Untitled (in progress), 2016

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At only 29, multidisciplinary artist Lina Viktor's ability to suck onlookers into a world — specifically her own — is enviable. Her signature baroque style fuses a minimal palette of blue, black, white, and 24-karat gold with a technique so ornately beautiful that it's easy to forget the rest of the color wheel exists. "I create boundaries so that I can explore infinitely within them. [It] sounds counter-intuitive but it's imperative," she says.

Viktor's opulent aesthetic is difficult to miss. During her brief, burgeoning career she's shown beside Andy Warhol, Takashi Murakami, and Jean-Michel Basquiat, and her works are currently on display in the Art of Jazz exhibition at The Cooper Gallery at Harvard University. Later this month, she'll then return to that space later for another show, The Woven Arc. Needless to say, she's extremely busy. Ahead of her new group show Hyperion — on display from May 6 to May 10, during Frieze New York — we caught up with the painter, sculptor, and performance artist to discuss the exhibition and how she's using cosmic materials to create otherworldly masterpieces.

Tell me about your upcoming group show, Hyperion. What can we expect? Hyperion is a group show exhibiting works from six London-based artists (I split my time between New York and London). All of the works are in conversation with the one another, but can also be viewed as isolated projects. All of the artists have very particular practices and crafts that are uniquely theirs, yet we all have a very similar viewpoint regarding the production and conceptual nature of our works. The exhibition will be introducing New York to Formationism — an artistic movement championed by fellow artists Walter & Zoniel, the curator Marine Tanguy, and myself.

What does "Hyperion" mean?The curator, Marine, named the show after a John Keats poem, and he titled it after the Greek myth. The myth goes that Hyperion was one the the twelve children of Gaia and Uranus, and along with his siblings, he overthrew the tyrannical rule of Uranus. In Keats' poem, Hyperion is left standing after all the gods have fallen. In this way Hyperion mimics the artist's (or poet's) role in today's society. As Klaus Biesenbach recently said, "in the wake of civilizations and societies, art is the only thing that remains."

How did you prepare for the show?

I worked — a lot and hard. It's always a mad dash to the finish line. I am exhibiting two large-scale sculptural paintings — an abstract and a portrait that are in conversation with one another.

Syzygy, 2015

How, if at all, does your upbringing and family inform your work? I grew up in Surrey and had the privilege of having a very unconventional education from ages 10 to 17. I went to an all-girls international Catholic boarding school in Kingston-Upon-Thames. From the age of 10, I was living pretty much alone in London — my parents had moved to Johannesburg and my sisters were both in school in the U.S. I will add that I chose to go to boarding school and was by no means forced (my mom hated the idea). I attended a very small school — only about 200 girls from 6th to 12th grade, but about 25 nationalities were represented throughout. Needless to say, I barely had any British or American friends. My best friends, who remain that till this day, were from Saudi Arabia, Taiwan, Finland, Mexico, Japan, and Korea.

It was surreal — living and working with young people from various cultural backgrounds and experiencing friendships that embraced and championed the differences and similarities. We spent three quarters of each year living together, so each friend became my family. It taught me how to respect all people from all backgrounds and allowed me to develop an inclusive and expansive worldview before I even understood what it meant to be a citizen of the world. Those formative years were the most important in my life — they formed me into the person I am today, and thus they directly inform the core subject matter within my work: transcendence.

Constellations I, 2016

What's the significance of your palette: blue, black, white, and 24-karat gold? Gold is a signifier of power and otherworldliness. Humans share a storied and rich history with gold — and each appropriation of gold since its discovery relates to the minds of the civilization using it. We currently use it as a form of commerce, a trading tool, a measurement of monetary wealth. The Ancient Egyptians, Mayans, Aztecs, Babylonians certainly didn't use it in this reductive way. Black and white are the extremities of the color spectrum — representing positive and negative space. Black contains within it all of the colors of the spectrum; it is the full absorption of light, while white is devoid of color; it is the full reflection of light. Majorelle blue, often referred to as Yves Klein Blue is likened to a void or an abyss, a color that overwhelms the senses. Together they create a powerful alchemy.

You paint and you sculpt and you use gold leaf. Are there other materials you'd eventually like to work with? I use gold because of its cosmic origins. Like all elements and metals, it was created during the death of the star and has traveled across the seas of the cosmos to miraculously be deposited on our little planet. Any other metals or elements I add to my palette in the future will share a similar tale — and that will be why I use it. I am experimenting with a few other metals presently, with an intention to counterbalance the indestructibility of gold with something that is more unstable — something that degrades or corrodes. I am also investigating meteors.

Viktor in her studio, LVXIX Atelier

You've done a great deal of work with self-portraiture. What is it about that practice that keeps you inspired?

I don't really consider them to be self-portraits. It's my form and I use it as a vehicle to address the micro versus macro nature of the elements that make up life and our universe. The portraits are about abstraction, disidentification, transformation. I use myself because I am always present and it is a performance. But I feel no particular affinity or ownership over the final image as it is not about me or "self." Different bodies of work are about different aspects of these motifs. The new black and gold series [in Hyperion] entitled The Body Black: Iron, Gold, Etheris about the unity on an elemental or subatomic level between our form, our bodies and the greater universe — the oneness of it all. We are all made up of the same elements; we are simply star matter.

linaviktor.com

How "The Craft" Empowered A Generation Of Teen Misfits

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In the realm of female-driven teen movies, one trope is certain: boys will be boys. And so often, they lie at the center of every cinematic plotline. This usually means the girls who love them will fight tooth, nail, and often one another to win their love and affection — by any means necessary.

As teens and tweens watching these films, our impressionable young brains absorbed makeover montages that successfully helped wallflowers nab star quarterbacks. And we were forced to ponder crucial questions like: does my crush even know I exist? According to Hollywood, a young girl's problems are usually frivolous and typically revolve around the male gaze.

All that was momentarily quelled in 1996 with a little film called The Craft. Directed and co-written by Andrew Fleming, it embodied everything its silver screen contemporaries didn't. Its heroines — Sarah Bailey (Robin Tunney), Nancy Downs (Fairuza Balk), Bonnie Daniels (Neve Campbell), and Rochelle Gordon (Rachel True) — didn't have shiny hair or dream of making the pep squad. The words "prom date" were never mentioned. And the best part? They were WITCHES, and Nancy was their misanthropic ringleader with an "unfuckwitable" reputation. By all accounts, the girls possessed some element that made them, at least by conventional standards, unlikable.

The story begins when misfit protagonist Sarah moves from San Francisco to Los Angeles with her dad and stepmom. During her first day at St. Benedict's Academy, she casually performs a trick while sitting in the back of French class. Her classmate, Bonnie, witnesses the magic and decides that Sarah is the final recruit needed to complete her, Nancy, and Rachel's coven. Naturally, alpha witch Nancy is skeptical, though she eventually comes around. That same day, Sarah is also identified as fresh meat by the popular Chris Hooker (Skeet Ulrich). He flirts, she gives in, and a mutual crush evolves. How's that for a first day at a new school?

For the majority of the film, the girls bond. While most female-centric high school films involve a trip to the mall, the "Bitches of Eastwick" (as they're affectionately called by classmates) buy spell books, crystals, and candles from the local occult shop. They expose their vulnerabilities, perform spells together, and become stronger as a group — and their sisterhood is empowering to see.

Since she was a child, Bonnie has had scars from third-degree burns across her back, and struggled with extreme insecurity. Rochelle is the only African American girl in the school, which makes her an easy target for the racist bullying of Laura Lizzie (Christine Taylor), an archetype popular girl. As for Sarah, her mother died during childbirth and her guilt nearly got the best of her during an attempt to take her own life. At age 16, she's suicidal, depressed, and confused about her natural powers as a witch. Meanwhile, Nancy's problems are at home: her relationship with her mother is strained due to a hatred of her stepfather. Football star Chris is also a source of stress; they've secretly been hooking up and he's given her an STD. Not your run-of-the-mill teen movie stuff.

Admittedly, while watching the film again this week I felt some pangs of annoyance. For example, in clichéd female relationship fashion, the three girls eventually turn on Sarah, leaving her to literally fight for herself (and realize her own independent strength). Because, you know, girls just can't get along for long periods of time. And while he's not the center of the story, Chris, a guy, is used to push the narrative forward. But Fleming gives us enough good stuff to ruminate over.

For the majority of the film, what you see is a group of girls uniting in a world that would rather see them cast aside as freaks. For teen girls of a certain ilk, The Craft made a bold declaration: don't conform. In fact, stay weird. One of the film's most iconic scenes happens while the foursome exits a bus in the middle of nowhere. Before closing the doors the driver, in a very fatherly tone, says, "You girls watch out for those weirdos." To which Nancy replies, "We are the weirdos, mister." That simple phrase, coming from the film's fiery antagonist, meant something. It meant these girls were in charge and to be feared. They were aware of their power — even the non-supernatural kind.

The Craft can be heavy and overly dramatic at times (like when a committed Fairuza Balk really just goes for it in the asylum). But the issues it explores represent the breadth of problems teen girls face. Rape, racism, social hierarchies, slut-shaming, and body-shaming are all thrown in the pot. Young female characters like these, with real-life problems extending beyond the walls of high school and puberty, are rarely depicted on screen. And watching a film in which female friendship, instead of just romance, was placed front and center was a revelation. Today, as the film celebrates its 20th anniversary, it's still a revelation.

The Craft is not perfect, but it gave the girls who failed to fit in hope that they weren't alone. Years later, the film still stands out amongst the most celebrated teen classics of the time, likeClueless, Scream, and Can't Hardly Wait. Even the wardrobe — Catholic school uniforms, pink berets, polos, and deep-brown lipstick — is the stuff 90s grunge was made of. It's easy to look back on the era and see that aesthetic as a staple, but this film solidified the look, making it — and its accompanying badass attitude — iconic.

As a Black girl attending a predominantly white junior high school, it was therapeutic, too, for me to see another African American girl — who also wore chokers and had natural hair — on screen. I still remember watching The Craft on opening day, sitting in a packed theater, sharing popcorn and candy with friends. Me with my unruly hair and Anne Rice-inspired cameo necklaces; Linda, another minor, who'd somehow managed to get her tongue pierced at Claire's; CeeCee with a passion for Hot Topic (before it went mainstream). We left the theater confidently that evening. We spontaneously chanted, "Light as a feather, stiff as a board" while passing one another between classes for years to come. Compared to our cookie-cutter peers, we were the weirdos. Though, whether it was kismet or black magic that brought us together is debatable.

Interview: Pat Cleveland Revisits 5 Extraordinary Decades In Fashion

“She lit up Studio 54, played golf with Jackie Robinson, and inspired a generation of iconic American designers. Trailblazing supermodel Pat Cleveland talks to i-D about her new memoir, “Walking with the Muses.””

Pat in a pool in Milan for Linea Italia, by Gian Paolo Barbieri.

Previously published on

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Iconic supermodel Pat Cleveland isn't particularly thrilled about today's chilly late-May weather, but she's enjoying the pretty blue flowers sitting between us. "These freesias are beautiful! Aren't they beautiful?" She leans in to smell them, touching the petals and closing her eyes. "Oh, that's really nice. We need some freesias in the house," she says, glancing in her husband Paul's direction.

At 65, Cleveland has documented her life for nearly five decades — in diary entries, agendas, photographs, and drawings — and now she's clutching the condensed hardcover version to her chest: her new memoir, Walking with the Muses. "I still gotta smell it, I didn't lick it yet!" she jokes, re-examining the dust jacket. "I can't believe it. It's like a dream come true. I've been writing everything down since I was 16."

The book is packed with astonishing stories. How is it possible that one human rubbed shoulders with so many legends before she was 18 years old? It's one thing to meet icons, it's something else entirely to have them co-star in so many of your life's stories.

With Stephen Burrows, 1970, in one of the designer's "lettuce dresses."

With Stephen Burrows, 1970, in one of the designer's "lettuce dresses"

Perhaps it's hereditary. After all, Cleveland's mother — artist and woman about town Lady Bird Cleveland — picked blueberries with Helen Keller and was friends with Eartha Kitt and a bevy of other famous Harlemites during the neighborhood's golden era. Lady Bird's daughter, with her spindly limbs and wide eyes, couldn't have had a conventional life if she'd tried. Her early years were punctuated by book-worthy encounters. She played golf with Jackie Robinson at nine years old, witnessed Bill Cosby's dark side first-hand, and fell in love with Kenneth Eckstine, the model turned "Zelig of homeless people."

Even Muhammad Ali vied for the then 16-year-old's affection. There's a photo of a frosty-eyed Cleveland and boisterous-looking Ali sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on a bus to prove it. And that's how the book goes: story after amazing story, about icons like Halston and Karl Lagerfeld, accompanied by colorful photographs that seem to preempt the reader's every "How is this real?". Had Instagram been around circa 1970, Cleveland would've given Gigi Hadid a run for her money.

Muhammad Ali and a teenage Pat.

Then again, despite Cleveland's youthful energy and free spirit, she maintains a degree of reserve. Posturing on social media might not have been her thing. When her career was taking off, as a "young kid at fancy parties," she opted for ginger ales instead of champagne. And this was at the height of the coke era, a culture that her Halston-led Studio 54 crowd found difficult to resist. "It all comes from your training when you're young as to what you do and don't do. There's a lot of temptations, but [I would] always hear mama's voice saying, 'Now wait a minute, what are you doing?" She admits to raising both of her kids, model Anna Cleveland and son Noel, in the same fashion in which her single mother raised her. That's not to say Pat never had any fun (quite the opposite), she just never let it sweep her away for too long.

See Pat and her daughter Anna in i-D's 2005 The Feminist Issue.

And it wasn't always about resisting. She gave in to her heart on more than one occasion. "For me, love has gone through so many different changes. And being a female and experiencing life as a female was something that I thought was important for the book," she says. "I love men. I think they're wonderful play toys. They have wonderful equipment and you can enjoy them," she says, laughing. ("Thank you for that," says her husband, Paul, from across the room.)

With Diana Ross, 1977, on the set of The Wiz.

Cleveland is known for many things, most notably for bringing unconventional movement and character to the snoozy, runways of a bygone era. Because, never in her 50-year career has Pat Cleveland just walked deadpan down a catwalk; she has danced down them. The stone-faced model archetype is the antithesis of what she stands for. Once upon a time the word "supermodel" was reserved for the women with staying power; the industry supremes who doubled as muses to designers and inspired entire collections. "Pat" (no last name) was one of them. She was also one of the first African-American models to gain super status, paving the way for models like Jourdan Dunn and Naomi Campbell. And best of all, she did it her way, theatrics and all.

"I've been in this business for 50 years and I think holding on to something that's beautiful for so long in your life is a challenge. People change, times change, demands change. Fortunately I've been able to go along with the stream of it. I do think if you have a certain character you can meet certain people," she says. "We're all learning to love ourselves. If you're not loved within something you do, you wither. You need water," she continues, while looking sternly at the freesias on the table again, "You need people to water you."

"Walking with the Muses," is out on June 14, 2016.

Beyoncé's "Formation" Is The Black-Is-Beautiful Anthem I Needed

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Audre Lorde said it best, "If we do not define ourselves for ourselves, we will be defined by others."

Well, on Saturday, Beyoncé did exactly that: She defined herself and every ounce of her Blackness with the video “Formation.” My plans to do responsible adult things like laundry and taxes suddenly fell away. Everything I had thought to do that afternoon was laid to rest as a barrage of text messages flooded my phone. Most came formatted in ALL CAPS excitement — all of them were written in the language of “YASSSSS!” Never had I felt such urgency to respond to texts about…a music video.

Why were we so damn excited? Why were we GETTING OUR ENTIRE LIVES? Because lately, being Black — particularly a Black woman — is exhausting. Especially on the internet. I can’t read a comment section without seeing Black women being called n-----s, being slut-shamed, or being compared to primates. And this is just the trivial stuff.

The beauty of “Formation” is how proudly unsubtle it is. The moment it opens, we hear NOLA legend Messy Mya ask, “What happened after New Orleans?” — an obvious reference to Hurricane Katrina. (The answer to that question is actually quite heartbreaking). The director of "Formation," Melina Matsoukas, then takes us on a fantastic voyage through a gritty New Orleans, with Beyoncé as our guide.

One of the most symbolic moments arrives early on, showing a buttoned-up Bey perched on top of a car. Except, it’s not just any run-of-the-mill sedan. Oh, no. It’s a cop car partially submerged in water. That opening scene reminded me a little of Kendrick Lamar’s 2015 black-and-white masterpiece, "Alright," in which young kids dance atop an abandoned police vehicle. Yet this version felt much heavier. Spoiler alert: In the end, the car sinks, and Beyoncé, splayed across its rooftop, goes with it. The image of her drowning along with the car is powerful. More than 1,800 innocent lives were lost during Hurricane Katrina. Most of those lives could've been saved. If the system doesn't change, we'll continue to sink down with it.

And then, she begins to sing:

Y'all haters corny with that illuminati mess

Paparazzi, catch my fly, and my cocky fresh.

So no, this is not going to be a “We Are the World”-style anthem about police brutality and #BlackLivesMatter. This is Queen Bey, and as she has so many times before, she came to show out. If you love her, you appreciate it. If you don’t, by now, you’ve clicked the exit button. Buh-bye.

At first listen, these lyrics are about Beyoncé. However, for many of us who played the track on repeat Saturday afternoon, we started to realize the lyrics are about the roots of Black-American women:

My daddy Alabama, Momma Louisiana

You mix that negro with that Creole make a Texas bama

I like my baby hair, with baby hair and afros

I like my negro nose with Jackson Five nostrils

Earned all this money but they never take the country out me.

Blue Ivy Carter makes an adorable appearance with baby hair and an afro, hand on hip, smiling confidently at the camera.

And then, just when you think the song can’t feel any more righteous, she goes for the jugular:

I got hot sauce in my bag, swag.

(Faints. Kidding! Just gonna leave this iconic reference to hot sauce right here, though.)

Scene after scene, this video reminded me, my friends, and countless others that our lives and culture matter. The most empowering part of the video is seeing a group of Black women working as a unit in a “formation.” They move together in sync as one, in a manner often seen in big band performances at HBCUs. It’s beautiful. The video is absolutely an homage to Black lives.

February 5 was Trayvon Martin’s birthday, and Sandra Bland would have turned 29 yesterday, the day of Super Bowl 50. It's no coincidence that this song was released during Black history month. And in case there were any question about the message, Beyoncé and her #BlackGirlMagic army performed in Black Panther-inspired regalia for 111.9 million viewers in Santa Clara, CA. That says it all.

Few artists have achieved such a high level of fame while remaining an enigma. If Beyoncé is trending on social media, it’s because she’s dropped an album or a song; not because she’s made the news for tweeting various nonsense to her ex. She’s landed Vogue covers with no accompanying interview inside. Who does that?

Beyoncé’s cocky, unabashed declaration of self-love in her music is not to be taken lightly. Love her or hate her, in an environment that constantly tells women what they can and cannot do, how they should and shouldn’t act, seeing one of our own beat the odds — over and over and over — is forever inspiring. And actually seeing a Black woman peacock for the world? It's beyond inspiring. It’s #SelfGoals.

When I was in my late 20s, advice like “be yourself” and “own it” unfortunately did nothing for me. Those declarations were stripped down to meaningless platitudes by the time I landed my first job, and my boss asked me if I ever straighten my hair. I have bills and student loans. If I’m myself, I just may not get a job, and that’s what the world has told Black women forever, really. The older I get, the more I need to be reminded to forget all that noise and be me. And I need creative ways to help the message sink in. By now, as a Black woman, I’ve learned to navigate the world and shield myself from awkward conversations about my hair and the food I eat with an unconscious ability to code-switch.

What Beyoncé is telling me — telling all of us, really — is to be our entire selves. Don’t embrace the nuances of your culture behind closed doors, put it on full display. Bring your lunch to work and don’t forget the hot sauce.

"Formation" is a Black anthem for Black women. It's a rallying cry sent from Queen Bey to the masses, and it reminds us that, just as it was in the '60s, Black is — and forever will be — beautiful.

Prince DGAF & That Is Why He Meant Everything To Me

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Dig if you will the picture...

It was 1994, and TLC had just released a little album called CrazySexyCool that turned my entire tweenager identity upside down. I can’t prove it, but to say that every fifth-grader at Brookwood Elementary School played this album on repeat for two solid years wouldn’t be a stretch. Before I discovered OutKast and A Tribe Called Quest (and well before my rebellious Wu-Tang years), there was TLC.

On this flawless, tween-appropriate album, there was one track that my junior high-bound cohorts would always skip, track 11: “If I Was Your Girlfriend.”

“Eew this song is so weird. Fast-forward it!” my BFF Adriene would say. The album was our summer soundtrack while jumping rope in her driveway, and that track was on side two of the scuffed cassette tape (yes: cassette tape).

But my 10-year-old self had a secret: I liked this song. In fact, I LOVED it. T-Boz, Left Eye, and Chilli’s wispy vocals oozed sensuality — a sound my innocent young ears hadn’t registered until then. Oh, and the lyrics? Much more interesting than my candy-coated Mariah Carey and Janet Jackson records:

If I was your girlfriend

Would you let me dress you

I mean, help you pick out your clothes

Before we go out

Not that you're helpless

But sometimes, sometimes

Those are the things that bein' in love's about.

Prince Rogers Nelson died yesterday at 57. “If I Was Your Girlfriend” was, in fact, the second single off his genius Sign O' the Times album, released in 1987. I played this track, like I so often do, yesterday morning. And as news spread of his death later that day, I felt gutted, like I’d lost a relative. 

I didn’t know it at age 10, but the beauty of “If I Was Your Girlfriend” is its simplicity and relatability. Over the years, I’ve been both a needy, jealous lover, smothering my guy with similar “would you let me dress you?”-type questions, and the woman who pays more attention to her girlfriends than to her guy. Love is complicated.

My Prince appreciation was a slow build. I’d heard about his name change to a symbol and knew that the media once affectionately referred to him as “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.” Which was — to use Adriene’s word — weird. He became the punch line for many a late-night TV host and simply didn’t fit in with my hypermasculine Method Man, Nas, and Tupac Discman preferences. To put it plainly, he was a Black man who bucked conventional notions of masculinity. And then, to further provoke us, he put his raunchy, eccentric sexual prowess on full display. Prince was out of my league.

Then, as the Y2K frenzy approached, I grew bored with his turn-of-the-millennium anthem, “1999.” Prince was my parents’ music, not mine. The 5-foot-2 vocalist and multi-instrumentalist who ruled the '80s had become comedic fodder for the new millennium’s strict gender binary. The man wore ruffled shirts.

But that soon changed. It wasn’t until I watched his cult-classic film Purple Rain late one night on TBS when I was 16 that I dreamt of running away with The Revolution. Circus shmircus. Obviously, the TBS version of the film cut out the more risqué stuff — like that scene when a topless Apollonia Kotero is left to fend for herself after purifying herself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka. It’s still a trippy film to watch, but the best part, of course, is the music. It was Prince at his finest, peak Prince. His Royal Badness. His Purpleness. And here I was, a teenager, enjoying my parents’ music. The Oscar-winning score struck me as odd and emotionally raw. This wasn’t the first time I'd heard the title song, but it was the first time I paid attention to the lyrics and to the keys (the benefits of being a choir kid). I was now mindful of every chord and lyric of the 8:41-second track:

I never meant to cause you any sorrow

I never meant to cause you any pain

I only wanted to see you laughing

I only wanted to see you

Laughing in the purple rain

By the time I got to college, my fandom was full-blown. After ditching groups of friends who dubbed Prince a “weirdo,” I settled into an art school crowd that appreciated him for what he was: one of the most important artists of all time. He gave zero fucks about labels, a lesson we all could have benefited from in high school. And at a time when many seem hellbent on amassing “likes” and “followers,” it’s a lesson we need to remember for the future. He defied gender and genre norms in an industry that values marketability, not individuality. He was proudly androgynous and oozed libidinous energy. He wore what he wanted: assless chaps, heels, pirate blouses, Speedos. Everything was fair game. Prince taught me at a young age that that dreaded word, weird, was just another pointless label. He wasn’t merely a musician, he was an artist. His Royal Badness’ ability to flourish in eras when hypermasculine genres, like punk and hip-hop, dominated the charts, is an accomplishment to say the least.

Legends are not born. We create them. We learn the lyrics to their music and watch their films on repeat. We memorize excerpts from their books and buy reproductions of their artworks to hang above our desks. We lift them to mythological heights. And that’s perfectly fine. This Twitter user summed it up nicely:

Thinking about how we mourn artists we've never met. We don't cry because we knew them, we cry because they helped us know ourselves.

— Juliette (@ElusiveJ) January 11, 2016

The mourning is real. For me and millions of fans, it doesn’t get any better than Prince Rogers Nelson. And between the passing of Bowie and one of Prince’s protégés, Denise Matthews (a.k.a. Vanity), 2016 can just end already.

But like every legend who’s come before him, Prince has left a trail of music and moments to remind us just why he’ll live on, somewhere in another freaky-funky dimension.

Hey, Oscars: All Black Women Aren't Homeless Welfare Mothers

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For the last two decades or so, any time the word “Oscars” is mentioned in front of my dad, he’s quick to say, “Spike Lee should’ve gotten it for Malcolm X.” It doesn’t matter what aspect of the awards show we’re discussing; some form of that comment pushes through every time.

Me: “I loved Cate Blanchett’s dress last night.”

Dad: “Spike Lee should’ve gotten it.”

Me: “Did you hear Meryl’s acceptance speech last night?”

Dad: “Yeah. You know, it’s a doggone shame Malcolm X lost.”

You get the idea.

Dad occasionally watches the Academy Awards, but his faith in them was betrayed when “Malcolm X lost” on Oscar night, 1993. And by “Malcolm X lost,” he means: How the hell did Denzel Washington lose to Al Pacino for Scent of a Woman? And why was Malcolm X only nominated for two awards: Best Actor and Best Costume Design? He’ll never let it go.

As a kid, I didn’t quite grasp the heart of what he was feeling. I get it now, though. We’re back to #OscarsSoWhite for a second year in a row, and this round feels even more dire than the first. Soon after the Academy announced the nominees on January 14, the Twittersphere blurted out a collective “WTF?” over the fact that not a single nonwhite actor was nominated. If nothing else, I was certain, Idris Elba would score a Best Actor nod for Beasts of No Nation. Nope. Same for Tangerine, featuring trans women of color Mya Taylor and Kitana Kiki Rodriguez. Creed, Straight Outta Compton, and Concussion were all thought to be contenders early on. Instead, all of them were shut out, along with their largely Black casts.

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that when it comes to awards shows, every minority household has experienced some variation of the “Malcolm X was robbed” moment. When one of our own is nominated, we optimistically rally around the television, despite the odds, only to be let down (time and again) when another award goes to “that same (almost always white) person who was nominated last year.” It’s exhausting. But this year, we didn’t even make it to the nominations list.

“Believe it or not, my peers and I aren’t always in the midst of life-altering struggle.”

It’s a sobering reminder that in the hierarchy of Acceptable American Taste, older white men decide on each tier. That knife cuts both ways, however, and a lack of representation isn’t the only problem. In a recent New York Times story, Brandon K. Thorp pointed out that of the 10 African Americans nominated for Best Actress over the years, nine of them played characters who are either poverty-stricken or close to it. More than a few of them are poor mothers with husbands and boyfriends who are in jail or absent.

Stereotype much, Academy?

Believe it or not, my peers and I aren’t always in the midst of life-altering struggle. I grew up with a loving family. I had a spotted pet rabbit named Trix (yeah, he was named after the cereal). And contrary to popular cliché, my dad was present and involved in my life. We even watched the Oscars together. Oh, and my mom has worked the same job for decades.

Considering the makeup of the Academy — 93% white and 76% male, with an average age of 63 — this kind of blinkered view isn’t all that surprising. Sure, the characters and stories that led to those 10 nominations for Black women are important, but it’s scary that this is the type of role that wins over the predominately white male voters. It’s no wonder that so many top-level actresses of color have headed to television.

So the problem is twofold. How can the Oscars diversify its nominations when people of color are so often relegated to marginalized, one-dimensional roles?

“I’d no sooner look to Hollywood to define the times than I would ask a teenage boy to explain my period.”

Whether we like it or not, films play an essential role in how we see the world and how the world sees us. And these shortcomings aren't just about who gets invited into Hollywood's most prestigious club. When I swipe through Netflix in search of a great film to watch on a Saturday night, I can’t help but notice that so many of the really good ones — the tearjerkers, the dramas, the comedies, the ones with the most memorable characters — are led by white actors. While there may be something cathartic about lashing out at the Academy, it's Hollywood as a whole that's to blame. We need better stories. We need characters who are layered and complicated. We need producers and writers who hail from a variety of different backgrounds.

Of course, it’s not just a racial issue. We — people of color, women, the LGBTQ community — have unfortunately left our artistic validation in the hands of individuals who don’t seem to care about the reality of American culture. In 2016, I’d no sooner look to Hollywood to define the times than I would ask a teenage boy to explain my period. We are not a country of white, cisgender heterosexuals. So is it really so much to ask that we see this reflected on screen when we go to the movies?

Will I boycott the broadcast on Sunday? Not necessarily. I’ll probably watch the show the same way I have for the past several years: by occasionally tuning in for a total of 30 minutes or so. I’m curious to see how Chris Rock will handle being host, and yes, whether or not Leo does finally take home a Best Actor statuette. I will be happy for him, sure. (It is the defining meme of our time, after all.) But I can't deny that for me, his win will carry with it the Academy’s unconscionable snubbing of Elba.

In case you missed it, it's February and Black History Month is lit. I can’t recall a recent BHM during which so many celebrities were so unapologetically vocal about race. I typically spend this month reflecting on the past, being annoyed with the present, and mustering up hope for a better future. This year’s Oscars fall squarely into that latter, we-have-to-do-better-now category, just as it did for my dad back in ’93. For him, though, there was a happy ending of sorts when, in 2010, Malcolm X was inducted into the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress for being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically” notable. Yeah, you could say he approved.

If the government can get it right every once in a while, surely Hollywood can, too.

Why We "Should Be Embarrassed" About This Year's Oscars

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Whatever your stance on #OscarsSoWhite and Hollywood’s aversion to change, one thing is certain: We need to do better. From a numbers perspective, the industry can feel overwhelmingly uninspiring for women and people of color. However, there are more than a few women stamping their brand of genius on the good ole boys' club that is Hollywood.

Case in point: Lena Waithe. Back in 2013, Waithe, 31, popped up on our radar after the release of her YouTube series, Twenties, about millennial women of color. Fast-forward to fall 2015, when she swept us away on Master of None as Denise, a witty, straight-talking woman who helps Aziz Ansari's character navigate his love life — and who also happens to be a lesbian. Used to working behind the scenes — she's written for the TV series Bones and produced last year's indie Dear White People — Waithe saw acting as a change of pace. “It’s definitely a different path than I ever expected to be on.”

The Chicago-born, California-based multi-hyphenate spoke candidly about navigating the industry and why the Oscars are so damn important.

Are you surprised by how well Master of None and Denise have been received? You’re so visible now. I’m very flattered by the reaction. And not just by gay people — the gay community has obviously been very supportive. But the straight community really loves the character. They like her swag, her attitude, and the advice she gives. For that opportunity to come to me was such a huge blessing. Usually when you see a gay person of color — especially if she’s a woman — it’s always written by someone who’s never met a Black lesbian in their lives. Aziz and Alan were like, ‘We really want you to inform who she is and what she says.’ I was telling them my stories. I would answer questions, and they would go away and come back with something cool on the page. It would be their version of a story I told them. And that’s what makes it so real.

As someone who’s very vocal about being Black, gay, and a woman, how did it feel to play a Black gay woman in Master of None? It felt good, but it was more about Alan and Aziz feeding off my energy and my genuine personality. Denise felt authentic. I’m not a shrinking violet and I don’t think there’s a world in which Denise would be, either. So I think they were just very mindful of that.

I read that you're contributing to Lena Dunham’s new book with Jenni Konner? Yes. Jenni was kind enough to ask me if I would contribute to it. It’s not even a chapter, they wanted me to write a little something that I can’t quite get into. I don’t know when it will be released or what it’s going to be called. I was just honored to have been asked. I was a writer’s assistant for a show Jenni had on ABC. She and I go way back. I was her first Lena — which I’m not afraid to tell her. [Laughs]

Can you talk about the show you wrote that's been picked up by Showtime? I’m in this waiting space right now with Showtime to see if they’re gonna move forward with the series. It’s an interesting place to be in, because I feel like I’m waiting to find out if I’m pregnant or not... It’ll be the only show on Showtime with a predominantly African-American cast.”

And the show is about Chicago, right? I’m dealing with the same subject matter as Spike Lee [in Chi-Raq], but it’s from a different angle. The characters are real human beings. This is no shade to Empire or Power, but no character is a drug dealer. No character is an athlete, singer, or dancer. They have regular jobs and they’re surviving in a war zone that’s also a city. There’s a lot of pressure.

Has there ever been a moment in your career when you were reminded that you were anything but the majority: a hetero white guy? As I deal with getting this series picked up by Showtime, that’s the sort of thing when I think, Okay, I gotta run a little bit further, work a little bit harder, and do a little bit more than everyone else. Getting things made in Hollywood is difficult in itself. It’s less about the writer and more about the story being told. Dear White People was difficult to make because of the story. The big machine looks at that and the message that it’s sending and how it’s speaking to audiences. Then, that machine is like, ‘Nah.’ Movies like Pariah, Dear White People, and Fruitvale Station take a bit longer to get through the red tape.

So, is it about getting the right material in the right hands then? If you’re writing something that’s complex and layered, it’s going to be difficult to get made. [Those films] are never going to be easy to get through the system. When you look at media, Black characters are often simplified to make it easier for broader audiences to digest. So if I write a character that’s flawed in a human way, Hollywood doesn’t know how to digest it or market it. It’s a little more work. Selling complex Black characters is hard.

I noticed your social media handle is @HillmanGrad, a reference to the show A Different World. Did your feelings about the sitcom — created by Bill Cosby — or the Cosby Show change in light of the allegations against him? Let’s put it this way, Cosby’s actions don’t take away from the fact that the episode of the Cosby Show that’s solely about Rudy wanting to wear a spring dress in the wintertime is probably one of the most pitch-perfect episodes of any show I’ve ever seen. That doesn’t make what he did right or any less wrong, absolutely not. But that doesn’t take away the feeling I got when I saw that for the first time. It’s perfect.

It sounds like you’re still inspired by it? Annie Hall is one of the most perfect movies ever made, save that [Woody Allen] married his stepdaughter. Am I thinking about that as I watch the movie? Not particularly. It’s also the same with A Different World, it doesn’t take away the impact it had. It’s difficult and it’s sad and it’s fucked up. I want those women to have justice, because they absolutely deserve that. At the same time, me throwing away the feelings I had and still have about those shows and what they meant to me doesn’t undo what those women went through. We as a society create the heroes we require for the time. We created [Cosby], because we required that kind of hero.

“LET’S ALL THINK ABOUT THE LITTLE BROWN KIDS...WHO ARE GOING TO WATCH THE OSCARS AND NOT SEE ONE PERSON OF COLOR NOMINATED IN ANY CATEGORY.

LENA WAITHE”

What are your thoughts on #OscarsSoWhite and the boycott? We work in an industry that’s a little behind the times. Although people do need to separate the conversation about the larger problems happening in our society versus the Oscars issue. For the people who work in this industry and make their living in this town, this is a big issue for us. We can care about this and Black folks getting bad water in Flint, Michigan, at the same time. We have that ability. These are two separate issues. That’s a big issue I’m seeing on social media. No one with half a brain is saying that we should be more focused on the Academy not being diverse and not talk about the larger issues. Though what we are saying is, this is a reflection of where we are as a society.

All around the world, the only way other countries and nations have a way to judge us is by our media, our films. That’s why images and how we present ourselves are so important. It’s a window into our country. So, to have all white nominees is actually a bigger issue than one might think.

How do you feel about Jada Pinkett Smith’s call to action? I know people came down on the Smiths, but I’ve met Jada and I’ve had a conversation with her and I think she’s brilliant and just a dope person. What Will [Smith] said on Good Morning America also stuck. Let’s all think about the little brown kids — all kinds of brown: Asian, Latino, Native American, Middle Eastern — who are going to sit with their families and watch this broadcast and not see one person of color nominated in any category. What kind of message does that send to them? That’s a bigger issue.

What do you remember most about watching the Oscars and seeing those people on TV? I wouldn’t be at home in my office now if it weren’t for the movies I saw as a kid and watching the Oscars. The night that Halle Berry and Denzel Washington won Best Actor and Best Actress at the Academy Awards had such a profound impact on me. When people say to me, ‘Oh, who cares?!’ — you can’t take away the dream that was put in my heart that evening. I can still recite Halle’s speech to this day: ‘This moment is so much bigger than me. This moment is for Dorothy Dandridge, Lena Horne, and Diahann Carroll…’

That just made me tear up.  See what I’m saying! Powerful. I know it by heart. Oprah Winfrey talked about being a poor little brown girl in the South watching the Oscars, and seeing Sidney Poitier win for Lilies of the Field and saying to herself at that moment that she should dream a bigger dream. So let’s not lessen the importance of the Oscars. The year Ellen DeGeneres hosted, it reached 43 million people. The world is watching. And we all know people who haven’t seen the films, but will still watch the Oscars. It’s an American tradition, like the Super Bowl. How many people do you know that never watch football, but they’ll watch the Super Bowl? So to me, no one can say it’s not important, because the world is watching, and we should be embarrassed.

Interview: Katie Grand | The SuperSuper

Previously published on:

Now and then a glossy comes along and surprises, titillates and inspires. Right now that magazine is Pop, and editor-in-chief, Katie Grand, is pulling the reins. And considering Grand’s cult-following on industry devotees, it’s no surprise that Pop has been dubbed Britain’s style bible.

Here in the U.K. and in the most knowing fashion circles, Grand is a fixture amongst fashion’s elite. Although for many self-proclaimed fashionites (fuck the word fashionista) the name wouldn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. That is until you read her CV. Along with being a well-respected editor, Grand is also an advertising consultant and has worked for leading fashion brands including Prada, Louis Vuitton, Giles Deacon, and Fendi. She also styles fashion shows for other brands of the same caliber, contributes to major fashion magazines and is an editor at Harper’s Bazaar. What young fashion groupie wouldn’t want to be her minion?

Although, Grand’s love affair with the industry began at a young age. As a student at Central St. Martins she dabbled in multiple fields, and was subsequently dissatisfied with everything. It was also during this time that she and fellow students Jefferson Hack and Rankin Waddell, became acquainted and the idea for cult magazine Dazed & Confused was born.

“We were all students and just like ‘let’s just be the next I.D. [magazine]. Hooray!’” she said during an early morning phone conversation. Grand, who actually came aboard during the second issue of Dazed , was involved in everything from manually assembling the magazine to choosing the photographers and concepts for photo shoots.

“We were limited by our lack of knowledge. I’m happy that is was so random and so innocent. Back then we had to focus on things, like… can we get enough Katharine Hamnett T-shirts?” Her career in magazines technically began as years of trial and error: a relationship with Rankin (a bad decision, she admits), and loads of side jobs. However, the creative freedom at that time was worth it. The experience she gained proved to be priceless in the long run not to mention the staff was favorably small then.

“I didn’t get paid for like seven years. When you have one sponsor, money is quite limited. Rankin at the time had begun getting more commercial work [as a photographer] and I had been fortunate enough to start doing jobs through him. I was also working for Kylie Minogue at the time,” she said.

After working sometime at Dazed, it was time for a change. By now it was clear that Grand had a talent in not just the magazine industry, but she had an eye and a hustle mentality that was right for the world of fashion. She was offered a position at the now deceased magazine The Face, where her first cover debuted in August of 1999.

“I started working at The Face and right off they promised me my own magazine. I didn’t even know that The Face was on its way out.”

On it’s way out indeed. This was also during the period mega-publisher Emap purchased the magazine. According to Grand, people just didn’t think it was cool after this happened. After short period, Grand was moved to her own publication, a high fashion glossy with no set mission, no concept — a blank canvas. This magazine soon became Pop and believe it or not the ‘zine has only just begun to hit its stride.

“I got to grips with it after issue four. We’ve really changed in the last three issues. Before we’d do something like put a feature in the beginning, or do an issue from front to back. Then we realized there was no point in being so cool. There’s nothing wrong with a magazine being easy to read,” Grand exclaimed.

Although the biggest adjustment for Britain’s new it-girl was her new budget of £10,000 for shoots. This budget was far from the indie budget she’d grown used to with Dazed and even Face.

“It took a while for me to get adjusted to that,” she said. She also had to now be apart of a more mainstream social scene. “My new [bosses] told me that I was going to go to every party, every show and have a good time and get drunk.” Although Pop has been around for several issues, it’s still changing. The focus is still being molded and the structure is still being fussed with. It was after issue four that Grand really began to know what Pop was all about.

She jokingly admits that over its brief tenure Pop has had some bombs. Take the covers for example. A past cover featured Victoria Beckham and sales plummeted. “At the time it seemed like a good thing to do, the same with David Beckham when we shot him for The Face. He was at the height of his popularity but then we got the figures and it wasn’t that great. I’m still trying to figure out the perfect cover. I just can’t quite figure it out, there’s a kind of person that should be on the cover.” 

The future is limitless as she discusses potential cover stars, with Scarlett Johansen and Angelina Jolie included among the hopefuls. “Why not?” she said.

For now, it seems the editrix has found a home of her very own, as Pop begins to broaden its reach as it continues to garner popularity worldwide. Cover mishaps aside, its readership has only increased thanks to successful cover models Kate Moss and Courtney Love. But through the ups, downs and in betweens Grand is quite content and with where her success has led her. She’s also content with how the magazine industry has been changing. And considering the how much the industry is often crucified for it’s tabloid-like aspirations, this is surprising. She also had advice for anyone looking to start his or her own glossy.

“Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks. Launch it for you and your friends,” she said. “Now there are a lot of like fan ‘zines out and I think that’s great. So many people used to be afraid to launch.” When asked about her favorite magazines, it’s no surprise that they’re all extinct: The Face, Smash Hits, Blitz, Sky, Nova, and Zoom. “All of these magazines had a spirit about them that represented their time. As a matter of fact I have a Smash on my desk with George Michael [from the eighties] on my desk,” she laughed. With the way things are going at Pop, the magazine shouldn’t be making this list any time soon. 

Originally published online for London's cult-zine The SuperSuper in March 2008.

VIDEO Interview: Skylar Grey | Popdust Style

Previously published on: 

Back in 2009 when Holly Brook penned the track, “Love the Way You Lie,” she had no idea the single would be such a hallmark for her career. Fast-forward to present day, she’s since changed her name to Skylar Grey, garnered a cult following of fans, a collaborative relationship with rapper Eminem and changed her sound from folk to a mix of hip hop, pop and grunge. It’s been a whirlwind. She recently opened up with us to talk style, survival and the difference between Holly Brook and Skylar Grey.

Check it out! [youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vf-Xvp961nM]

VIDEO Interview: Icona Pop | Popdust Style

Previously published on:

There’s a palpable energy between band members Carline Hjelt and Aino Jawo of Icona Pop. Backstage before a recent show at Terminal 5 in New York City, energy is high and the fridge is full of beer. When a stage manager asks if they’d prefer cider, a conversation ensues about the fact that they’re Swedish so “regular beer will do, thank you very much.” A bag of greasy takeout sits in the corner untouched as the girls get ready for what will be a pumped up show. In 2012 the Swedish duo sky-rocketed to cult band status after single “I Love It” hit the airwaves.

Icona Pop, I Love It

It quickly became the angry girl’s anthem for a broken heart. While they weren’t quite as pissed off as Alanis Morissette in her video for “You Oughta Know,” they reminded us that angry, broken hearts are way more fun than sitting at home sad. Here, before opening up for songstress Marina and the Diamonds, they open up about how they met, boy bands and beyond.