The Habibi Collective

November 03, 2020

Growing up in the west after 9/11 as a child from South-West Asia and North Africa, was an experience characterized by isolation. Your narrative was taboo. Your access to others of the same experience was treated as an act of conspiracy. Accessing your own culture, your heritage, and your people not only othered you, but it was also difficult. It meant watching people that look like you experience unimaginable hardship on the eight o’clock news, and you had to pretend like they were some unknown, far away character of fiction. It meant knowing you were lying to yourself.

Yet, there are those of us who felt the isolation and chose instead to reach beyond the material into the virtual. The internet provided escape routes out of cultural solitude. For those who understood it, it was not a means of communication, but rather a rapidly growing and infinite archive, waiting to be explored. And, simultaneously, it was empty, waiting for stakes to be set in the ground for others in case they ever got lost wandering through the same fields looking for familiar faces.

Interview by Saam Niami
Photos by Malini Vaja
Stills from films featured in The Habibi Collective archive

One such adventurer I have come to know is Róisín Tapponi, an Iraqi-Irish film curator, film programmer, and writer, known to many inquisitors as The Habibi Collective. Róisín has single-handedly created one of the most comprehensive archives on the internet on South-West Asian and North African film, period—but the specific mission of The Habibi Collective is to act as an archive for women filmmakers from the region. The Collective is far-reaching in its implications and archival value. And, as it is staged on Instagram, it has an international reach on a massive platform available to anyone with an Instagram account, circumventing the exclusionary nature of academic and artistic institutions. With almost daily posts of movie stills, videos, presentations, and online screenings shared directly with over twenty thousand followers, the outreach rivals decades-old institutions. Róisín is possibly one of the most successful contemporary film curators in what she has created and proven with The Habibi Collective.

And the emotional gravity, too, of the project is almost as valuable as its successes. It's an instant, approachable archive to culture unavailable to entire generations of both those living in the diaspora as well as those without access to institutions in the region. The Collective is a bridge to culture kept away by distance, politics, and trauma. What once required academic resources or institutional support is now available in your pocket. It’s a project of healing. And it began, exists, and will remain all on Róisín’s phone.

On almost a daily basis, I see people I follow within the diaspora share something from The Habibi Collective. Often, I see people who have never met each other, in different parts of the world, share the same post. And when one does post something from The Collective, it sparks a dialogue, usually difficult to begin in the first place, about the art and culture we all, as one, are searching for. And that’s perhaps one of the most shocking parts of all, that the entire “Collective” so-called is all done by Róisín. Something so significant to so many people is performed by one single person. Entire conversations around culture building begin because of what Róisín decides to post one day.

And I wondered about that throughout writing this article, but never actually got the chance to ask Róisín about it: why is it called The Habibi Collective if it’s just one person? I have begun to interpret, whether this was the intention or not when she began it years ago, that perhaps it’s because we, all of us that receive the archive, are a part of the Collection. Róisín, in real-time, is performing the priceless labor of diaspora building, collectivizing us in spite of the borders that have separated us.

I spoke to Róisín over Zoom, me in Los Angeles, she in her London flat, an appropriate accommodation for a conversation about what is possible at a distance. We spoke on The Collective, future projects in film, and Róisín’s background in journalism.

Hi Róisín, how are you doing?

I'm doing good, thanks. it's been quite a hectic day. I just got back to my flat and I fully crashed, fell asleep. I'm working on a project with The Anthology Film Archives in New York. It’s a really exciting project. Pre- Lebanese Civil War cinema, which isn’t mainstream. There’s no archive, basically. I'm working with a critic and we're trying to make the archives. That's a fun research-led project. but yeah, so that, so I just had that, so I just came up with that. How are you, how was your day?

Where are you right now? Are you in London?

Yeah, I'm in London.

Which area are you in?

I'm in East London and I've always kind of lived in East London when I've been in England. it's very nice.

All of my family is completely displaced, I grew up in a million different places, constantly moving. I'm still living out a suitcase, but this is officially my home and yeah, I very much like it here. It suits me and I have my friends and everything.

I want to get right into the Habibi Collective. What is The Collective to you?

It’s not a business or anything and it's very much based on my motivation. It’s a grassroots initiative, a community-led project. It’s a resource. An open-access site, that's the weird thing about it. It doesn't exist solely in academia, where a lot of my research lies, but also it's not completely divorced from critical inquiry. So it's operating in this weird ground. It's also very much now operating outside of institutional spaces which was a conscious decision I made in the past year or so. If you had to have a geographical map of the arts, cultural film scene, I don't know where it would lie. Yeah. I don't feel like I can explain what it means to me without being able to place where it is for other people.

How did it come about?

It started in 2018, but my research started way, way before that. I grew up primarily in Ireland in the middle of nowhere. I watched a lot of films. I'd watch a director a night. so I would watch a lot of like, John Casavetes I loved, I loved Harun Farocki, I loved Cheryl Dunye, I loved Trinh T. Minh-ha, a lot of essay films. I'd watch a director and night by the stove.

This was very much at the time when I didn't have any cinemas near me. I wasn't in a city, but it was social media platforms started to become a thing. A lot of what I was discovering was online. It’s not like there’s much of a diaspora, apart from my family, in Ireland. Everything I found was on me. I started making a film log, which I still keep to this day, a chaotic 2003 Microsoft document.

I saw that there was a lack of films by Arab women. And that was a huge part of my identity that I wasn't seeing represented on screen. So, my practice is, and always will be, and has been research-led. So I started researching, and I remember watching Measures of Distance by Mona Hatoum. She’s a Palestinian-Lebanese visual artist who studied in London. It's an essay film about her mom, a correspondence. It's very beautiful. That was a huge turning point for me.

I started from that, from that moment on, actively searching for films by Arab women. There was nothing natural about my finding these films. They weren't available to me. Arab women's film especially is very prominent right now. It's very famous. When you think of big films from the region, you think of Haifaa al-Mansour, Nadine Labaki, Shahad Ameen, Charien Dabis, you think of women! But it was not like that at the time.

A lot of people in interviews ask me, “Why are you focusing on women films when programming seems pretty equal now?” My programs, the non-Habibi ones, are always fifty percent men, fifty percent women, or like more women, but there's nothing natural about that. I get sent 98 percent of films by men. And then I have to do that hard research to find women and then somehow make the program equal. So there’s nothing natural about this growth in women filmmaking. It has been the result of a lot of people working hard behind the scenes.

Again, the same premise of people thinks that the most famous films are the best. Which is so not the case. They’re the most famous because they have the most money and they have the best producer and they have the working distributor.

And so I started Habibi, on Instagram, for a few reasons. I was interested academically, in the archive and in an open-access site. I think accessibility has always been at the heart of what I do. Instagram is super accessible. You don’t need a JSTOR password to access it. So I started posting stills from films that I was watching. Now, I usually get some sent to me or I can reach out to other curators. There's no business plan or anything. It's a community that just grew. None of the people that engage with the Habibi Collective are there because they love film. They’re not film buffs. They're there because of representational purposes because they're seeing themselves represented on screen.

So a lot of people started asking, ‘Where can we watch this work?’ They still ask me that every single day and it fucking drives me mad, but that's how I started curating screenings because, I was like, ‘Okay, people want to see these films. I want to see these films.’ So every screening has been sold out to date and they've kind of been everywhere in the world or wherever I'm invited. And I curate around themes. Climate migration. Queer identity. I don’t like to curate around national borders because borders are so precarious in the region and also that's so homogenizing. We never see a festival around ‘American cinema,’ so why should we have one in Lebanese cinema? Though, I have curated in that vein when I have a mission, like a fundraiser. So for example, I did a Sudanese experimental film festival in Sweden to raise funds for the revolution when it was happening. And also I recently did the Beirut artists festival. And of course, the Independent Iraqi Film Festival. And the screenings I do are always free. They’re always after work hours and always attended, which I think is a really strong accomplishment in London. The audiences are young diasporic people of color, people who work in the arts. They're not the white, neoliberal people that are managing the arts in London.

Left — Serheldan (2003), dir. Serheldan Ahmad and Christine Chamas

Top right — Mussolini's Sister (2018), dir. Juna Suleiman

Bottom right — The Three Disappearances of Soad Hosni (2011), Rania Stephan

Wow, that is such a huge accomplishment.

Yeah, I'm pretty proud of that. I think that's what I'm most proud of. For Habibi Collective, even now that it’s getting more popular, the people that it’s made for are the people that are consuming it. Maybe because I'm a very shrewd businesswoman. I have my very strict politics of production. I'm very strict with how I run things and that has helped me keep control. It hasn't been swept up by brands.

What is your relationship with the films that you deciding? I read something you said in an interview, a film archivist is the part of the film industry that isn't appreciated but they're doing the most work. And I wanted to know what is your actual mentality behind choosing a film and how do you engage with the politics of the films you choose?

Well, there’s a lot to say about politics. The people that I admire in the industry are, first and foremost, P.K. Nair, who was an Indian film archivist, and also kind of Henri Langlois, who was a film archivist in Paris. We don't have an equivalent in the region. In London we have the BFI, in New York, we have the Anthology Film Archives. In the region, I get friends sending me all the time film reels that they've saved from the garbage. And with the heat, people don't know how to preserve these reels. Everyone wants to be a filmmaker. Yet, there’s so much work to be done. So much work. And there's a huge lack of people willing to do that work. So I guess I'm just trying to inspire other people to do similar things.

As for the politics of how I choose films, when I started getting commissions it was from London-based white institutions. And then I realized the program's presence in their public program was just to tick those diversity boxes that would get them more funding that I should have been getting. I've always rejected them because they're fine showing a Black artist, but they're not willing to represent that diversity in their boards or in their staff. So a lot of what I do is working beyond the politics of representation and towards the politics of production.

And by that, I mean supporting the filmmakers beyond just screening their films. And, I'm a moving, breathing film. So I will link people up with suitable people like scriptwriters, producers, or I'll help submit their films to festivals or I'll offer advice or give talks. It’s kind of like a directory. I feel like a feel directory. I come across people like that. And then that's how I gain exposure to their work. And then I work with their film. So that's how I find films. The whole project came out of a lack of resources. There’s no online directory where you can search for an Iraqi film on the revolution in Tahrir Square. Everything I receive is from contacts, from people in the film industry who I know and hear.

I'm a bit bored of institutional critique. I used to think that my presence in these spaces would help diversify them, but it doesn't. I like to work in my own kind of space. I have quite a lot of freedom within how I program the films. For example, I directed the Queer MENA Film Festival and that was something that I never would have been able to do in collaboration with an institution in the region. And even distribution is very political. So, distributors, especially now that we've all moved online, have to do this thing called geo-blocking. Neighboring countries who they don't like don't get to see the films.

I was looking into the Independent Iraqi Film Festival, and I wanted to know what that whole experience was like and the reception of it. I read too somewhere that you were talking about how doing it online and independently from an institution in the region saves you the trouble of going through the politics, but how was the actual process of the festival, and did it start online or did it move into that with the pandemic?

I don't particularly like film festivals. They're very, very cold. They’re culturally gatekeeping. They're very exclusive. With Cannes, the biggest independent film festival in the world, they didn't even show it online and it's just that kind of behavior.

So it was built on being creative and finding a new way that film festivals can be run. I was working with three really incredible, amazing people, Israa Al-Kamali, Shahnaz Dulaimy, and Ahmed Habib, all Iraqis. I was directing and doing the programming mainly. We decided, well, I kind of put forward that we don't charge. If you're a filmmaker applying for a film festival, you need to pay an entry fee, usually quite an extortionate one. You need to have a certified producer and you need to have a European distributor among many other things. So we scrapped all of that. Anyone who wants to apply can apply. And also, we were going to pay you as well. We're going to pay your screening fees. And we eliminated the competition element because that's something I really hate. If we wanted to mobilize filmmakers and create an industry, create community, I'm not going to pit them against each other.

We made it open internationally to anyone for free. Obviously no money in it at all. Zero. We didn't apply for any funding. And, it was online because it could reach more people, and also, none of us are living in Iraq. There’s a huge diaspora and the diaspora is very, very strong. I don’t think there’s any other SWANA community that compares. I guess because of the war.

So yeah, that's why we wanted to make it online so most Iraqis could access it. We also had everything in Arabic and English. and I think that's a big part of how we managed to get the huge Iraqi viewership, which is, again, the thing I'm most proud of. We managed to get our biggest viewers were Iraqis in Iraq.

Wow.

As for selecting the films, I watched over eighty films, and they were all very lo-fi, handhelds, all of this documentary, some really beautiful ones. We showed, obviously the ones that were of the highest quality. The women filmmakers were actually really difficult to find for Iraqi cinema. All of the women filmmakers, apart from Zahraa Ghandour, were a part of the diaspora. I think it's maybe because Iraq is a war zone. It’s very easy to ask, ‘Why aren’t there more Iraqi filmmakers?’ You have to respect that. People can’t just do that. It’s not safe.

We're going to have it next year as well. and we might have it. We'd like to have in real life. It will be very, very easy to have it in London, but I'm more interested to have it in Iraq. Although, I don't think the Iraqi government likes me much. I just don't think it will be a good idea or safe.

So you’re starting a streaming service, Shasha.

Yeah! So Shaha is Arabic for 'Screen.' That’s taking up all of my time right now. It’s a huge operation. There's a lot of us. I’ve always run Habibi Collective, I'm the only person involved. I didn't have money to pay a salary and free labor is one of the worst crimes in the art industry. So that was always my reasoning behind that. It’s just me on my phone. But, obviously, I need a lot of people to make a streaming service, so a huge web development team, UI designers, UX designers, graphic designers, brand identity people, programming, team marketing, blah, blah, blah.

So I made it separate from Habibi because we’re going to show films by men. Habibi's women and women-identifying folk, but Shasha is going to be everyone. And also it's a business, it's a streaming service, there's money, there are transactions. Habibi, I want it to stay beautiful, pure. Me on my phone.

It’ll be ready in January. It's the first independent streaming service for SWANA film, which is very exciting. It’s going to be like 20 films per month.

Left — 3eib (2020), dir. Sarah Bahbah

Top right — Be Like Others (2008), dir. Tanaz Eshaghian

Bottom right — Leila and the Wolves (1984), dir. Heinry Srour

Wow, really?

It’s not going to be a normal service. It’s going to be curated each month. I'm really excited. It probably wouldn't have happened without COVID because I was so busy with screenings. So many work trips planned, which all got canceled. I panicked. But now there is a higher demand for online screenings and also it just reaches more people. You can reach anyone in the world. so I guess it fits in with that whole digital foundation that Habibi was.

I wanted to know, too, about your online magazine ART WORK Magazine.

My first job was as a journalist. And this was at a time when fashion bloggers were a thing. I was writing about fashion stuff, then I lost interest in fashion, although I was a model and I was in the fashion industry again, but from a different position. And then I started becoming interested in art and my academic background is in comparative literature.

So, I never studied film or art. I've always studied literature. I started writing for the magazines I was reading. And also, I have a huge love for academic journals. When I first moved to the UK, South London, I remember being in the big Tesco's and seeing a copy of Vogue, which I had never seen before, and I was like, ‘Mum, can I, can I have this?’ And she was like, ‘What do you want that for?’ My family isn’t even remotely interested in the arts.

You don’t have to explain that one to me. Well acquainted with the attitude.

I was just very attracted to that world. I was working my first full time, journalist position at an Arab youth culture magazine, and I was freelancing at i-D and The Guardian.

And then, just like with film, I didn't really like how things were being run. I had all of these problems and I wanted to create a magazine that was completely moved away from that. Just have friends and people I admire write for it, cultural workers living on the margins. It's very chill. I don't want to try to make something big. We'll have the magazine, not stress about it. No bullshit.

It was a very slow process as well. In journalism, you have to file in like two days, whereas I literally worked on these texts for months with the writers and we'd meet up over coffee and stuff. When I’m freelancing, I never meet the people that I actually write for. So we built those relationships. It was collaborative. There was no hierarchy. And they were present through all of the editing. It was not about the actual output, but more about the process. I never really care about the outcome. The value for me is in the process.

Others of us would like to do the work that you're doing, not specifically archival film work, but more spotting holes in academia or ephemera within the region or about the region. Do you have any advice on how to get up and do the work to inform on the region?

I think the number one main thing is to do your research. I didn't, in no way shape, or form, start any of this being like, ‘I want to change something. I want to change the industry.’ I was just pursuing my interests. And I think that's the number one thing. When people ask, ‘How do I change things?’ You need to, first of all, know everything that you can know about film. You do the work first. I work with so many big institutions where the film team doesn’t know about film. People get into these high positions but it’s not because they know shit, most of the time. It’s about connections.

So, value that interest. And if people do have that one thing that they know a lot about and love, then go for it. Pursue whatever you want to change. You don't need a lot of money. You don't need loads of followers. That will come naturally if you are really persistent with what you want to do.

What I try to do is be really honest and transparent about money. And be open with your contacts, too. People are so weird about sharing their contacts. Share your contacts with everyone. That’s so important. Especially as a journalist. I’m always sharing. I have a database of about 300 press contacts which I share all the time so that other people can pursue careers in journalism, to pitch.

Don’t worry about making change, becoming activists, worry about actually doing your research and doing your hard work, and staying up all night, reading about whatever you're interested in. I think that's key, knowledge. Knowledge is power.

Culture

The Cost of Queendom

December 17, 2024

One summer afternoon in New York, a few days after their New York premiere of the acclaimed documentary Queendom, office met up with documentary filmmaker Agniia Galdanova and producer Igor Myakotin at a tattoo parlor on the west side of Manhattan. While Agniia received a tattoo of the portmanteau “DOCU CUNT” across her fists, she — unfazed by the needle on her knuckles — answered our questions alongside Igor about the making of the stirring story that has traveled around the world.

One of the opening scenes of Queendom depicts a ritual many of us are all too familiar with in the 21st century. Jenna Marvin, the documentary film’s central subject, takes her friend along with her to take photos for Instagram. When she finds a suitable backdrop, she poses, poses, poses, and then reviews the photos. Dissatisfied, she gives her notes, and then returns to pose, pose, pose again.

By Brook Aster
Photos by Liv Solomon

The ritual may be familiar, but nothing else about the scene — from its setting to its stakes — is ordinary. The backdrop behind Jenna is a sweeping expanse of ice and snow in a small Russian port town called Magadan. Jenna is dressed in drag, but not drag of the Rupaul’s Drag Race variety; her drag has been referred to as “creature drag.” Her signature white face paint, platform heels and surrealist costumes, with their exaggerated sculptural proportions and use of duct tape and repurposed items, catches the ire of her neighbors and the love of online admirers alike. Jenna eventually accrued a following on social media for her public and technically illegal drag performances, which often involved little more than her walking or being in public spaces but nevertheless were often met with abuse and threats of imprisonment.

But when Agniia first encountered Jenna, she hadn’t yet reached the level of virality that would eventually come in the years to follow. The filmmaker was researching different drag performers in Russia for her sophomore project, which she thought would be a docuseries, when she heard from a friend about a young drag queen from Magadan. “I was like, this is impossible. I have to meet this person,” Agniia remembers. “And I could not actually go meet her because I was in Moscow and she was in Saint Petersburg, so I sent a friend of mine with whom I’d been studying with in film school, and she went and filmed the sample.” The simple video, showing Jenna and her friend getting dressed up for a party, struck something in Agniia. The drag was an earlier, more prototypical version of the style Jenna is now known for; less duct tape and ornamentation, but still that signature striking makeup. “Something sparked. I knew I just had to stick to this feeling,” Agniia says. She decided to turn the docuseries into a documentary solely focused on Jenna.

Around that time, the entire world came to a grinding halt: the onset of COVID-19 pandemic had just led to lockdowns around the globe. With only a couple thousand followers on social media at that point in time, Jenna had tried to branch out and connect with other drag artists in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, but faced rejection; her drag was extremely unconventional, and not even other drag artists quite understood it. “I think we found each other at the right moment, because nobody knew what to do, how to cope with all this,” Agniia says. “Jenna was saying that she was lost, and she also didn't know how to develop her art next.”

Unlike some of the other artists Agniia had initially researched, Jenna didn’t need much convincing to allow the camera into her life. “[Especially] after COVID came, there wasn't really [any] drag in my life,” Jenna recounts when I speak to her later over Zoom. “I realized that what drag is for me is not just a costume, a dress, something that you leave, that you take off and then in the dead of the night you put back on. Later, I understood that this is who I am, that I am art and I am drag, and that this is way bigger and more important than just clothing or costume.”

[LEFT TO RIGHT: Agniia Galdanova, Jenna Marvin, Igor Myakotin]

When it came time to move into production stages, Agniia sent a clip to Igor, who had been referred to her by a past colleague. When Igor saw the footage, he was similarly struck by Jenna — and even more struck to find out she shared his small hometown of Magadan. “It was just so fateful to know that I also come from this town, and I've never seen it through this cinematic lens, through the vision that Agniia has,” he says. “I was mesmerized by the footage, mesmerized by Jenna. I thought to myself, I have to do everything I can [for us] to work together, whatever the collaboration is gonna be.”

The two followed Jenna for over three years; Agniia first relocated to St. Petersburg, where Jenna had taken up residence after leaving her grandparents’ home in Magadan, and later Jenna moved in with Agniia in her home in Moscow. All the while, Igor and his team worked remotely from the United States to meet Agniia’s production needs. Inevitably, with all their time spent together, Agniia and Jenna became close.

“There is an unspoken rule in documentary filmmaking that you have to keep this line, and you can’t overcome certain boundaries,” Agniia explains. “In my first film, it was not an easy subject [to do this with] as well. I was following a family for seven months, and [we became] close, but I always was trying to keep my distance, and was constantly thinking about it. How much should I say? How much should I give?” But as she got to know Jenna, it became clear that this time, that distance wouldn’t be possible. “With Jenna almost from the very beginning, I was like, fuck it. That’s not going to work with this one. I'm going to break this rule 100%. I never regretted it, because that's actually what built up the trust that is there.”

As Jenna's public performances continued and began to garner more public attention, her online audience multiplied. Among her virtual admirers was French fashion maven Michèle Lamy, who would eventually sign onto Queendom as an executive producer. Lamy's discovery of Jenna led to an invitation to walk in the Rick Owens show in Paris — her first time modeling, and her first time leaving Russia in her life. Of course, Agniia and her camera followed. But most of their excursions were not so glamorous; many of Jenna's performances shown in the documentary were undertaken at a real risk to her physical safety, and by extension, to the safety of Agniia. But neither of them were daunted.

I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.

After all, Jenna was used to both taking risks and documenting them well before she was the subject of a film; she and her friends long filmed the often impassioned, sometimes violent reactions of strangers and policemen to their mere existence in public spaces in drag. And after a protest performance in which she wrapped herself in the Russian flag, Jenna was kicked out of beauty school, her last attempt at a practical route before pursuing her drag as a full time venture.

The only time Agniia tried to dissuade her was on Paratrooper’s Day, a Russian military holiday often characterized by the drunk soldiers roaming the streets. The risk for violence was especially high. “On Paratroopers Day, people say you can't come out in skinny jeans or with nail polish,” Jenna describes. “[I think] you should do the opposite. You should really make a statement and come out wearing what you want to wear. I think that clothes, what we wear, is really at some point beyond our psyche, our mind, our understanding. It is as if it's a certain kind of spice that is enticing you and you follow the scent of that spice and you don't see anything else except that scent and you follow it. That's how I see it.”

“I was like, ‘girl, maybe we should not do that,’” Agniia says. “Igor was stressing out and she told us, ‘well, you don't need to follow me. I'm gonna go and do it. I don't care if you're coming or not.’” In the end, Jenna ventured out for her performance anyway, protesting the then-recent invasion of Ukraine. Agniia followed. Not shown in the film is that the two were arrested, and managed to talk the police out of their arrest.

Not too long after, she would have to leave Russia again, this time moving for Paris for good; the film follows her struggles to get a visa in time to leave the country after the onset of the war. “It's already been three years that I've been in France, and it is important for me to understand and remember who I am, and to remember that pain, those moments when we were back in Russia doing drag, fighting with the police and law enforcement,” Jenna says. “It is important that this resistance continues and that those voices are not being silenced. Yes, here there’s much more freedom, there are pride parades and queer people can get married, but this is an illusion because there are also places where you cannot get married and you cannot enjoy the same freedoms. I cling to who I am, who I was from the very beginning. I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.”

“Meeting Jenna gave me hope for the future of the country, because governments come and go, people in power come and go, but the generations change at the same time,” Igor says. “So it warms my heart to see that someone like her came from somewhere like that. If I saw her back then at a similar age, it would be even more personal. I think I would’ve accepted myself as gay quicker, and I wouldn't be nervous or closed and not open to the world or myself… Working with this project also meant that we were amplifying the voices of many, many people who couldn't speak like Jenna could.”

For Agniia, the honor of telling Jenna's story is only paralleled by the honor of having her in her life. “We found each other,” Agniia says. “And what I learned from Jenna is so precious; about life, about art, about surviving. And I appreciate it a lot. This film grew so much larger than just a documentary, because I have a family now, a working family.”

Queendom is now available to stream on Apple TV.

Culture

The Fears and Futures of Snow Strippers' Hardcore (And Hardly-Of-Age) Fanbase

December 09, 2024

It’s 6:00 PM and the queue for Snow Strippers has already amassed and wrapped its way around Kentish Town. An army of Racer Worldwide bomber-clad teens have taken over, all united by what Snow Strippers’ electroclash mayhem has to offer against their shared uncertainty towards the future.

Is it 2024 or 2014? The moodboard is quite literally my 13-year-old Tumblr page, accessorized with Balenciaga-esque black-out sunnies and hair clips galore. Pink hair, red hair, blue hair, black hair with bleach streaks a-la-Y2K. We spot our first Snow Strippers Dad - a balding man in a long evening coat accompanying two girls in bedazzled, fur-lined bombers. Not too sure he knows what he’s in for.

Not sure that we did either.

The doors haven’t even opened and yet it’s very clear that tonight is more than just about the music. It’s a social setting, and rocking up solo is no issue.

Introduction Gabriella Fittes
Interview Liv Solomon
Photography Mathilde Favel

We didn’t expect our questions to be answered by a demographic made up of a majority of 16-21 year olds. But the post-covid generation had a lot to share on the serious topics – and it seems to be all about escape. Dancing to escape a future in a world they are disillusioned by, against the political state and cuts to arts funding - and they haven’t even left school yet. We met a community bizarrely made up of Aries and Pisces zodiac signs, looking for a release in the electronic chaos of the dancefloor - soundtracked by Snow Strippers.

We came to find out what brought them here. Is it really that deep or just a bit of fun? People are coming out, and we want to know how they’re feeling, and where Snow Strippers’ emerging popularity fits into all of this. Are Snow Strippers an anchor to reality or an outlet to escape?

Mazzy, 21, Portland, Oregon

What brought you to London?

Dude I don’t even know - I’m supposed to go on this study abroad program. My options were either Milan or Australia but I don’t fuck with the bugs out there. And I don’t speak Italian so like… it’s London.

What’s your zodiac sign?

My zodiac sign? Crazy ask! Virgo.

What do you do for work?

I was in an internship last semester, train design. I would design trains in Antwerp and the Netherlands

What do you do for fun?

Girl! Girl I don’t know… I scroll on Instagram. I watch YouTube videos. That’s kind of it.

Who’s gonna save the world?

…Me!?

Y2K or 2010s?

2010s

Red Pill or Blue Pill?

Blue pill

Tati or Graham?

Tati.

Thoughts on AI?

Errrr no. Not yet, no.

Do you dance to escape?

Yes

What do you listen to before bed?

3 hour reddit stories (laughing)

Movie of the year?

Anora. It’s amazing

Grace, 16, Cambridge, Aries

Gaby, 17, Cambridge, Sagittarius

Summer, 18

Rosie, 18, Hertfordshire

(l-r)

What brought you here tonight?

Summer beckons to Grace - It was her. Literally her!

Grace - So I said to Summer, please will you come with me to see Snow Strippers

Summer - *beckons to Gaby and Rosie* And these are our plus ones

When did you guys get into Snow Strippers?

Summer - Mine’s only been a few months to be fair, maybe like 6 months

Grace - Probably like 8, 9 months

Kim, 19, Aries, London

Juliana, 17, Cancer, London

(l-r)

What do you do for work?

Juliana - She goes to college, and I just work. I work as an admin in an office.

What do you do for fun?

Juliana - I go to concerts, I like raving.

Would you say you dance to escape or to be a part of something?

Juliana - I don’t know, I just enjoy it. But sometimes I do it to escape work, boring stuff.

What other events do you go to, like raves?

Juliana - I haven’t been to much because I’m still young and I don't really have friends in the rave scene, so I go to venues like E1. But I usually go to metal gigs. I go to more of that.

Sahana, 17, East London, Guidford, Pisces “can you tell?”

Yasmin, 16, London

(l-r)

What brought you here?

Yasmin - Snowstrippers. I love their music.

Tati or Graham?

Yasmin - Tati

Y2K or 2010s?

Yasmin - It depends if we’re talking about the early 2010s or the late 2010s. I’m thinking 2014 like …. Like that’s… the skinny jeans with the boots over (references her outfit)

Do you dance to escape?

Sahana - I guess I’d say that.

What do you listen to before bed?

Sahana - Fake Mink. I actually do. I love Fake Mink.

Y2K or 2010s?

Sahana - 2010s. I like the 2010s.

What part of the 2010s?

Sahana - 2014, 2015.

What brought you here tonight?

Sahana - Fake Mink and Snow Strippers. I love their songs.

What’s your favorite brand?

Sahana - Racer Worldwide.

Yasmin - I don’t really have a favorite brand. I'm not that into shopping.

How do you style yourselves?

Sahana - Brick lane, DEPOP

Yasmin - I like vintage, car boots a lot. Do you know the one in Dalston? I go every weekend! I got this top from there, these jeans, these boots. Literally everything is from there. So cheap as well.

Reuben, 16, London

Tati or Graham?

Can’t lie, Graham. I know that Graham’s behind the production of all the songs and I’m more into the production of the music. And I like Tati’s vocals but I’m more into the beats and shit.

Do you dance to escape or are you dancing for the music itself?

I used to do breakdancing. And I just dance to feel like myself. I feel like moving around and getting the [rhythm] is some way of just expressing yourself and letting yourself be free. I think a lot of people here come to these concerts to enjoy themselves. I’d say there’s a social setting as well. You can see everyone dressing the same and it’s just good… it's like community.

Like a uniform. It’s a separation from the rest of the world.

Sahana - Yes. Some aren’t just coming for the actual artist, they’re coming just to socialize.

Reuben - It’s like [Snow Strippers] know the demographic they attract.

Frida, 18, England

Alex, 17, Greece

Alice, 19, Brazil

(l-r)

Would you travel to space if somebody asked you?

All - Yes.

Are you afraid of AI or do you support it?

Alice - I’m kind of afraid

Alex - I support it because I love Chat GPT

Alice - Yeah, I do all my fucking uni work on Chat GPT

Alex - But my professor doesn’t even care. He loves it [because I do psychology].

Who’s gonna save the world?

Alice - maybe Kamala Harris

Frida - Aliens

Alex - Yes, aliens. I agree with that.

Frida - I think they’d come and just put things right

One last question, would you say you dance to escape or be involved in something?

Alice - I dance for both.

Alex - I just dance for the vibe. You guys are both… your vibe is just UGH.

Colin, 19, Florida

Berkeley, 18, Florida

(l-r)

Does AI scare you?

Colin - OH SHIT

Berkeley - I’d say to a certain extent as far as creativity

The Lolas, 18, Twickenham,

Virgo (left) / Aries (right)

What are your names?

Both - Lola. We’re Lola. We’re both Lola.

What is your zodiac sign?

LV - Virgo.

LA - Aries.

(To Mathilde) Let’s get a photo of them together

LV - Yeah, because it’s the Lolas. Do you know what I mean?

LA - We are the Lola’s.

Space travel: yes or no?

LV - Yes.

LA - It’s just too much. Too much.

Does AI scare you?

Both - Yeees! Yes.

LV - I hate robots.

LA - Especially for artists. We both do art. AI is gonna ruin the industry.

LV - Even when I was looking at unis I was looking at Plymouth. And basically, they said that they’re taking AI as art. Like, degree-level pieces.

LA - Yeah Yeah! They’re accepting it as final pieces.

Do you think the current technological state is affecting art and media?

LV - Yes 100%. It’s changing every day. All of it’s advancements, I don’t think it’s a good thing. I think everyone should stay organic to just what we can create as humans.

LA - I think it’s good in essays, and in medical care. I’m glad we’ve got those advancements.

LV - I think in the art industry it doesn’t help.

LA - I wanna work in the film industry and that’s like, I’m against that. I would never watch an AI movie.

Do you dance to escape?

Both - Yeahhhhhh!

LV - It’s an escape from reality

LA - I love a dance.

What was the most recent nightmare you had?

LV - Oo I feel like we can find a conjoined… (looking at each other like they’re telepathically attempting to recall a shared dream)

LA - My aunt beat me up (giggling). That was my nightmare.

LV - A real-life nightmare! I don't know… last night I had a dream that I was throwing up and then I actually felt like I was gonna throw up, so that was a pretty recent nightmare.

LA - It was like a manifestation.

LV - I was just a bit hungover really.

Vicky, 20, Poland, Taurus

Cindy, 21, Korea, Libra

(l-r)

What brought you here tonight?

Both - Snow Strippers!

Cindy - We just met!

How long have you two been fans?

Vicky - I’d say 2 years. A while.

Cindy - I think similar.

Vicky - I’m really glad I got a ticket because they sold out really fast. Luckily a friend of mine couldn’t make it and then I met Cindy in the queue, and she knows my friend. They were gonna go together and we just bumped into each other.

How has the recession hindered your creativity?

Vicky - I mean it probably has helped in a way, because I feel very distressed. I can’t afford anything, I can't afford to sew and I can’t afford materials to do the things I want to do but at the same time that kind of fuels you wanting to do it more because there are so many barriers stopping me. It feels like there are a lot of people in the creative industry who have nepotism and a lot of financial help from their family and [I] feel a little bit of jealousy with this. Like you can’t do it because you don’t have the facilities that they do.

Do you dance to escape?

Cindy - Oh yeah, actually I do.

What do you escape?

Cindy - I’m an overthinker so I tend to worry about a lot of different things. I feel like when you’re dancing and just dancing to music that you really love, you can kind of forget about the reality sometimes. I sometimes use it as a factor to just run away from something that worries me. And I think it also links to my creativity…

(an ambulance rolls past us so we have to pause the interview)

Ellie,17, Stratford

Joyce, 17, Stratford

(l-r)

What’s your zodiac sign?

Joyce - Ah I don’t even know.

When’s your birthday?

Joyce - June 28th

You’re a cancer, just like me!

Joyce - Aahhh!

Who’s going to save the world?

Joyce - Jesus, God.

Does AI scare you?

Joyce - Actually, it does. I feel like it does.

What do you do?

Joyce - I am a student. Film and TV.

What’s your zodiac sign?

Ellie - I don't do zodiac signs.

At this point, someone from the crowd interrupts Ellie:

Guy - ‘Yo I know you from the Lola’s. Do you know the Lola’s? I know you from the Lola’s… I just spotted you from over there ... You coming to her birthday party?

Ellie - Yeah, are you? *turns back to me* Sorry.

Who’s going to save the world?

Ellie - Jesus

I think we should just end it on that

Ellie and Joyce high five

Nat, 22, Wales, Libra

What brought you here?

Loving their music for so long and loving them honestly

Tati or Graham?

Tati because she’s one of the girls. Goes without saying.

*taking photos* Glasses? No glasses?

Whatever you prefer.

Starts posing, showing us how her outfit matches the baby pink look , holding up the pink glasses…

All of the pink matches. It all matches so it just had to be done!

What’s your zodiac?

I’m a libra… *posing* make sure to get the back

Y2Ks or 2010s?

Oh my god. The hardest question you could have probably ever asked me. But I would have to say 2000s.

Who’s gonna save the world?

Charli XCX.

What do you listen to before bed?

Lana or Frank Ocean

What do you listen to when you wake up?

Snowstrippeeeers!

Movie of the year?

The Substance. Absolutely The Substance.

Are you team Elizabeth or Sue?

I think we're all Sue. No, we’re all Sue but we also have an Elizabeth. You know?

Safe, 17, London, Gemini

Amber, 16, London

Daphne, 17, London

(l-r)

What brought you here?

Safe - Snowstrippers, bro… I love it

Tean Tati or Graham?

Safe - I don’t really have a favorite… *a beat*…Tati

Joanna, 21, Bournemouth, Pisces

Sophia, 22, London, Aries

(l-r)

Culture

Aweng Chuol Cannot Be Boxed In

November 22, 2024

Before she took her first breath, Aweng Chuol’s mother knew that her child would be a rebel. Even with all eyes on her, she has no desire to live through people’s perceptions of her; in fact, it might be physically impossible for her to care about outside judgement.

The first born of a dozen children, Chuol chose a path she felt the universe call her to. One day, while she worked a closing shift at her local McDonald’s, an incantation of all that could be possible played through her mind as a woman handed her a card. “You’re going to be a superstar,” the stranger said to her.

Growing up amidst a war-torn South Sudan, the model and growing multi-hyphenate still loved the place she called home. She still finds that sense of home within the sanctuary of her body, an ability that has allowed her to take massive leaps and risks. At 18 years old, she snuck away to Paris to walk her first runway for Vetements, after which she was signed to agencies in Milan, Paris, and New York. Her unforgettable look and enchanting walk were stamped in all the greatest minds in fashion. She was “it,” and there was no doubt in her mind about it. While this story may sound like a whirlwind fairytale — a refugee one day and a supermodel the next — Chuol’s story is much more complex than that.

Photography Asger Carlsen
Styling Jahulie Elizalde
Talent Aweng Chuol
Interview Kerane Marcellus
Hair Izumi Sato
Makeup Rose Grace
Creative Producer Liv Solomon
Photo Assistant James Lynch
Styling Assistant Rebeca Flores
Production Assistants Rea Brayshaw, Abby Dillingham, Enzo Holdt
Editor-in-Chief Simon Rasmussen
Assoc. Creative Director Mitchell Connell

AWENG wears FULL LOOK by MIISTA

When Chuol immigrated to Australia with her mother and eleven siblings, she reached a newfound consciousness, new obstacles to overcome, and a new life to get used to. Throughout her formative years, she had finally arrived at a point where she could call Sydney, Australia her home. Over time, she found comfort once again in her long legs, high cheekbones, deep skin, and full lips. Everything that led up to that moment had proved to be worth it.

Discovered while she was a student studying law, it was kismet for the powerhouse model to become a household name. “Aweng” is a sacred name, meaning “cow” in her native language, an animal that brings pride to its people. Chuol is bringing pride to all iterations of herself. From her many geographical journeys, to her internal journeys of navigating life, love, and constant change, Aweng Chuol is a woman who cannot be boxed in.

On an early Tuesday morning, right after her meditation session, we spoke about her manifestations, her tenacious spirit, and the oral history that keeps her connected to her culture.

Kerane - I appreciate how you’ve chosen your own narrative outside of what others have chosen for you. How do you stay authentic throughout your ever-growing career?

Aweng - I think it's just having the right source of energy around you. All my friends, my agents, and you know, I'm a first born, I'm a double Libra, so it's like being grounded. It's innate in me because of the way that I was raised and my personal experiences before fashion. I'm not the model that had magazines as a kid. I’m not the model that was watching all these amazing films of Hollywood and like, New York City. I'm from Australia, that's just so out there from where I'm from. So, thinking about the 18 years of life that I got to live before I got into entertainment, definitely helps a lot, to be honest.

How would you describe punk culture and how do you interpret it?

Avril Lavigne is the punk-est culture I know. And when P!NK first came out, she was the epitome of punk in my head.

I like the way you dress yourself, like your personal style is so cool. How does your personal style align with punk culture and your identity?

I think my personal style fluctuates. It has its ebbs and flows. I think it depends on the season that I'm in, like, right now, I’m the hot girl season. So, I’m wearing the Matte brand, I'm wearing Ottolinger, I'm layering, like, and then even my CFDA look, it was the Di Petsa and their whole thing is body, water waves, my stylist added jewelry stacked jewelry. Adding gold, mixing color, mixing jewelry, I think it's my essence. If I'm wearing a hairstyle that's up, and my hands are empty and my legs are bare, then. I like to then layer jewelry on my hands and my ears.

What are some of the most rebellious things you’ve felt you needed to do?

I think my entrance into fashion behind-the-scenes was very rebellious. When I got confirmed for the Vetements show, when I first got discovered, they flew me from Sydney, Australia, literally my hometown, into Paris, and I had told my family that I wanted to go to Paris, and I had a big option in Paris, and, you know, they didn't, they didn't believe that I'm going to Paris to walk one show. Me and my parents kind of got into it, and I just basically sneaked out of the country.

You didn’t put that in your essay for Elle!

No, [laughs]. I literally ended up in Paris. And I was like, “Yeah, I'm in Paris, Mom!” What can you do now across the world, you know? Now you just pray that I get home safely and all of that. When I got home, I think I was grounded for two weeks straight, but then I already had the energy and the touch of traveling. So I was like, “Okay, I'm gonna go again.” And this time, obviously, I told him when I was going back to London.

You were 18 at the time right?

I was at the time in Australia, and you think, oh, you're an adult at 18, but [you know] African cultures.

Right! I also come from an immigrant household. When I turned 18 I thought I could do all these things but my mom was not about it.

Yeah! My mom was not letting me go into Hollywood.

Didn’t your mom say to reach out to that lady who gave you the card?

She didn't think that it would actually bring anything. When you're young, between the age of 16 and 18, I think that's when people tried to scout me for things. So, she didn't 100% think anything was gonna happen but I had another option right before Vetements and it fell through, and then the Vetements option came through.

LEFT: AWENG wears GOWN by C-PLUS SERIES, SHOES by THOM SOLO, RIGHT: AWENG wears TOP and SHORTS by MACCAPANI, BOOTS by LARUICCI

Your coming out story was a huge moment that you shared with the world. How did you come to the decision to let the world in on your personal life?

I think for me, I just did it. I was always the rebellious kid. I was always the black sheep. I was always that kid. My mom knew from a very young age I was gonna test her, like 110%. I was born at 7am in the morning when she was going for her walk. She said, "This child is literally a menace.” So coming out wasn't really coming out. I just bought someone home. I said, “Hey, this is this. Any objections?” I’ve always been a diplomatic kind of person and a justice [oriented] kind of person. One thing I realized, too, is people will get comfortable if you decide whatever you decide on that day. That might be uncomfortable for a while, but they will have to just get comfortable. That's just it, if they're gonna stay in your life.

I related to the way that you wrote about feeling guilty for leaving your family. I’m also first-born from an immigrant household. Does that guilt still come up sometimes or has it subsided?

100% it does. I even had my therapy session yesterday morning. I have therapy every Monday at like 8am and my therapist, an amazing Black woman, by the way; she and I were speaking about the feeling of whether your siblings resent you for doing life in a way without them being fully involved. My siblings, they're all in Australia. Australia is not like Miami or Los Angeles or New York. It's 25 hours, and that's on a good day. I can't really get up and leave when I'm trying to build an empire or a career, or longevity in my career here. I have 11 younger siblings, so I watched a lot of them be born, and then now graduating. So the guilt never really goes away, but I've just learned that we're all individuals in this life, and we all have paths that we have to follow. It's obviously ultimate love and unconditional love.There'll be a point where I'll be able to go there, or they'll be able to come here and stay for a bit longer. I think it's growing pains, that's the thing about siblingship. There are a lot of growing pains that society doesn't really speak about.

Are you close with your mom as well?

My mom is 15 years my senior. So she and I grew up together. I watched my mom go through her 20s, and now I am going through my 20s, and she's in her 40s. I'm like, I get it. I kind of get why you were wilding out [laughs].

If there was any place you could go at the snap of a finger, where would it be?

I would go to South Sudan, because my grandma is there, and she is the sweetest woman ever. When I go back to Sudan, all she does is wake up and have coffee with ginger and then speak to me about her entire life and her mom's life. She just loves to tell stories. I'm more of a writer, so I don't really have much to say to her. So, that exchange is so intimate between her and I, and she's just my peace. She's literally just my peace, my dad's mother. Then another choice, selfishly speaking, Hawaii, I've never been, but I just think about being under coconuts. and Bretman Rock lives out there, and I feel like he lives such a peaceful life. I would love to just experience that first day, even with the chickens and everything. He's living his best life. That's my favorite manifester, right there. He's amazing.

I love the way that you talk about your grandmother. Passing down oral history is so important.

So important, because libraries get burned down. We know that now. They get removed by politics. So, oral knowledge is so important for the human experience, and culturally, we actually do more oral passing down with my native language. They haven’t started having books on it until recently.

Even those traditional types of things being passed down. I saw a dad practicing haka with his baby.

I think it's so spiritual. I saw the haka being done in the New Zealand Parliament. I went to law school, so I love politics. I can talk about politics all day, and I just I cried, because they ripped the paper and then to performed. And being able to be stopped—that's just so powerful. I hope it gets passed the way they wanted to pass it, to be honest.

Oh, wait, did you finish law school? Like you finished?

I didn't get to finish. I have one more year left, and I have two years to decide whether I go back or not. It's just my schedule. I have so much that I want to do in fashion and entertainment, period. It's one of those things. I will go back to school 100%, I want to get multiple degrees. I just want to learn. I think I'll go back, it’s never too late for that.

Definitely, never too late. I don't think it's ever too late to just start over. What type of law did you study?

I did International Relations, majoring in International Policies. So I wanted that to be my ultimate goal. I wanted to be part of the United Nations body for South Sudan. I was 17 when I decided that. I just started working extra hard, getting extra credits, getting in early, and then the universe was like, “You need to go into fashion.” I was like, “Okay, let's go!”

You don't really seem like a person that really cares to present themselves a certain way, I like that you're not really fearful of being perceived. Do you see yourself as a role model like the supermodels that came before you?

For my siblings, I've always been a role model, because I'm the eldest sibling, and I grew up with my mother. I think there were instances in our relationship where she saw me as a role model versus when I saw her as such. I see her as a role model because she's my mother, you know. I definitely do think I'm a role model. When I walk outside, kids, teenagers, people in the industry, or my peers come up to me and I'm like, “Thank you.” I know I'm being perceived. I am careful with some things, but in essence, I'm just a Aweng. and a Aweng is busy doing this, or Aweng just did this cover, or this campaign.There's perception there, but I think in being a role model, I just try to kind of make sure anyone that's watching me knows that the world's a mess but we're gonna be okay and to be kind.

AWENG wears DRESS by TAOTTAO, BOOTS By THOM SOLO

Going back to the Vetements runway, you said that you felt already at home in your essay for Elle. Are you at home in your body anywhere you go?

I think being a former refugee, you kind of have to find homes then and there. Wherever feels safe, where there's a roof over your head, that's home. I’m a girl growing up on an island in Australia, in a different society. My grandparents in my mom's home, my step dad's house — I was always moving. So, now that I have my own place and I make my own decisions, the adult autonomy has finally entered the chat. I think it's really in my body, and it's really in where my mind is at and what kind of morning I've had, is what I would say. There are some days where I am just moving for the plot. That's what I'm doing right now, and that's just it. I think it's important to give myself permission, some days, to not have an agenda of where home is right now. You know, sometimes you’re just here to have fun or here for vacation. I kind of detach a little bit, is what I would say, too. I'm always moving. I can't get attached to every hotel room, I can't get attached to every flight seat or airline seat or whatever. So I think it's really the body, I think the way I carry my body, the way I'm moving, the way I speak and the way I carry my tone, I think that's where home is.

Beautiful. So, when you moved to Australia, did you struggle with assimilation?

I think moving to Australia, literally, the moment the plane landed, I was like, “Oh, this is consciousness. I'm here, okay.” We landed in the middle of April. So it was basically summer in Australia. I went into autopilot. I'm learning the language, learning the culture. It was a culture shock and that was just two years of just mindlessness, trying to survive, a mode of fitting in, or getting settled. After that, it was okay. This is home now. It took me a while to call it home. It definitely took a few years to feel safe.

Who’s your favorite upcoming designer at the moment?

Grace Ling. I love her work. She's a sweet, sweet woman, very nice to me, very nice to everyone, and I like the way she moves. She just moves in such light. Like, girl, what's your secret?

Who are some of your favorite models right now?

Anok Yai, of course. Alex Consani, one of my good friends, Awar Odhiang, she's amazing, and she had such a great season. We love, love, love, love, love her.

What advice would you tell your younger self?

Slow down!!! That song by Billy Joel, “Vienna” — play that over and over and over and over and over again for 15 year olds. I was in a rush. And now I’m here and I'm like, “Okay, great! You figured it out, but what was the rush?

Let’s manifest. What does the future hold for you?

I think it holds a lot of peace. I'm trying to get into more philanthropy now. So, I’m working on that behind-the-scenes. Hopefully an acting debut is in the skyline, shortly. And to continue on slaying the girls, and the boys, and the gays.

I like the way that you're so knowledgeable about the fashion that goes on, yes, like within your industry, I feel like sometimes models are just models and they're not really into fashion. They're doing what pays the bills, but I enjoy how you know the names of designers, photographers, stylists.

I think it's important. I think it's important once you're out, you know, what did you get, besides the covers and the campaigns? Did you get the names of the stylists and photographers? Has anyone passed away during your career? Is anyone you wish you had met during your career? That’s important to think about.

What advice would you give to anybody who is interested in becoming a model in today's age?

Do your homework. Find your niche, study what you want to actually do when coming in. You're going to get a lot of “no’s”, but the world is not going to end on a “no.” I feel like a lot of aspiring models, or want-to-be models get really taken aback when they get their first or second or third “no,” and it discourages them. Entertainment is like any industry, you're going to get “no” from your bosses. You're gonna get “no” from your dream. It happens. So, if you really want to do it, you’re going to need to keep pushing to do the work, because there is work. Being a model is not easy. There is work! Oh, and get your passports, because you do need your passport. I promise you. And enjoy the ride. I think where I'm at right now in my career, I'm really enjoying the ride. I get to aspire for more.