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Pussy Riot's Nadya Tolokonnikova Gets Married
In-between honeymoons and revolutionary organizing, we sat down to chat with Tolokonnikova about her wedding. “John did a lot to help Ukraine and to help women’s rights,” explains Tolokonnikova, “and I found that endearing.” “Both of us are kind of workaholics, we worked on things for over a year before anything romantic happened — but I guess we both need this kind of work ethic and mutual respect proven first.”
A shared work ethic, mutual respect, and a love of Adidas solidified their relationship. “We both wore Adidas to be part of the Gopnik dresscode,” says Tolokonnikova. Only she could make Adidas matrimonial. “I sewed on the three stripes to John’s jacket, and enhanced my upcycled dress and veil as well with Adidas logos. I learned how to sew while in jail — I never thought anything good could come from this, being forced to sew police and military uniforms, but i tried to reclaim this skill and put it to use here.”
Tolokonnikova’s daughter, Gera Riot, made the playlist, with old Soviet pop hits and new Russian trap songs. The couple’s first dance song was Alla Pugacheva Позови меня с собой (pozovi menya s soboy). The lyrics roughly translate to “in spite of evil nights, I will go after you.”
Everything served at the wedding was vegan. “I made a vegan Napoleon cake from scratch because we couldn’t really find anyone to entrust this to. I assembled it into a large cross and dyed it black,” Tolokonnikova tells of us making her own wedding cake. We asked her who she'd wished had been there with her celebrating: "Hypatia. She was a philosopher violently murdered by Christians in the 4th century. The Russian court used my journal entries about Hypatia as evidence of my hatred toward religion. I think she would’ve had fun at our wedding— and enjoyed our cake.”
The only thing missing from their registry were "more HIMARS to Ukraine." See photos from the wedding below.
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American Apparel, Dov Charney and Me
I didn’t care. Any thongs that I’d accumulated by then would be replaced with boxers during college. I wasn’t into fashion and the fun-loving, hypersexual atmosphere American Apparel hawked wasn’t reflective of my early experiences of sex.
At 18, the sex I was having was never for pleasure, sometimes for money, and always for power. Most of my partners and all of my early clients were men significantly older than me. I played up my youthfulness by marketing myself via a very specific, barely-legal archetype, one that I found socially and fiscally remunerative.
I started crashing with this guy who worked at a Wall Street hedge fund any time I’d return to New York on college break. What began as me renting his spare room on Airbnb turned into a mutually beneficial relationship: the guy — let’s call him Joey — was closeted and wanted to have a girl on his arm to take to parties. While unspoken, the transaction was clear: Joey got a platonic escort and I got a free place to stay.
One of Joey’s friends gave me her expired ID so I could get into clubs and bars with them. On nights out, I would dress in full femme drag: an old pair of American Apparel jelly heels and spaghetti strap dresses. Joey’s male friends started calling him my ‘uncle.’ I could tell that most of them wanted to sleep with me (a few of them did) but also that my presence as a much-younger addition to the social mix made them uneasy. Seeing them squirm with discomfort turned me on and felt like role play.
This era at Joey’s felt healing, somehow. I was able to capitalize on the power of youth after being bogged down by depression, discomfort and uncertainty during my actual underage years. At college, I was living more ‘authentically’ when it came to gender and sexuality, and then could enact some lighthearted femme role play back in New York.
At 18, the sex I was having was never for pleasure, sometimes for money, and always for power. Most of my partners and all of my early clients were men significantly older than me. I played up my youthfulness by marketing myself via a very specific, barely-legal archetype, one that I found socially and fiscally remunerative.
After college, I got into the writing scene in the city, going to readings at KGB and hosting my own at Honey’s in Brooklyn. I wrote quickie, a collection of short poems and early iPhone photography. The book took me to Los Angeles on a promo tour in 2022. I vaguely considered a limited-run merchandise line, maybe manufactured at the Los Angeles Apparel factory. But mostly I wanted to meet Dov. Or, rather, I thought that Dov would want to meet me.
I sent an out-of-the-blue Instagram Direct Message to Dov and invited myself to the factory. Within an hour, I was in South-Central Los Angeles, pulling into a massive compound of industrial buildings. I was 24, wearing a tiny button-up romper with my hair in braids. A middle-aged man in sweats and an oversized white T-shirt came out to greet me.
He gave me a brief tour of the massive space, talking to everyone he passed and never slowing down. At a sewing station, he opened up the Shazam app on his phone to figure out what song was playing.
“What is this? It’d be great for TikTok!” he exclaimed and kept walking while tapping into his phone. I followed behind him into an office area, towards a door that read DOV CHARNEY. I sat down confidently in the seat facing his desk.
A little brown mutt trotted in, tail wagging.
“That’s Barbara,” he said, with affection.
I scooped her into my lap. She licked my face. I felt Dov watching me.
“So, what can I do for you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
I looked around at the twin mattress on the floor in the corner. The framed photo of Bill Clinton at a deposition in the Paula Jones case. The Bill Cosby book on the shelf. The walls covered with printouts from his various legal cases.
What immediately came to mind as a response was, “what wouldn’t you do for me?”
This isn’t an article about Dov Charney. The influential individual — whether it be Dov, or Elon, or Ye — is primarily of interest to me symbolically. They serve an opportunity to work discursively, in order to investigate the following question, among others: how do we reckon with complicated figures, especially those who add to the realm of cultural production while at the same time perpetuating harm in and around those sites of production?
Through American Apparel and his current facsimile of a company, Los Angeles Apparel, Dov has entrenched certain forms of femme hypersexuality as the normative expression of both age, race and gender, as accessed through commerce; Dov the individual, on the other hand, symbolizes a certain kind of Ur-Masculine who is unrepentantly tethered to an unbridled id.
"Sleeping with people you work with is unavoidable!" he told reporter Hadley Freeman of the Guardian in 2017. Indeed, Dov’s initial splash in the press was related to his flippant and unapologetic stance on workplace dynamics; he made what seemed like intentionally inflammatory statements about sleeping with his employees. Sexual harassment in the workplace and even sexual assault allegations soon followed, all of which settled out of court.
As someone who has slept with people I’ve worked with in most of the jobs I had, I never really cared about any of Dov’s workplace-related statements. Sure, I was mostly sleeping with restaurant coworkers who worked similar roles as me. Dov’s ability to hire and fire, sponsor visas and the like changed the balance of power. But as I took on other roles — like working on film sets or at a tech startup — I too wanted to sleep with my much-older bosses, because of that very power imbalance. And sometimes I did, for no other reason than to take the taboo to its logical conclusion and see what lay on the other side.
When it comes to the sexual assault allegations against Dov, I find myself returning to the aforementioned question: how do we talk about hard things? How do we keep someone in the cultural fold who is an industry innovator (which Dov arguably is), who might become even more ideologically radicalized if he’s completely ‘canceled,’ who has created numerous jobs with fair wages and health benefits for undocumented immigrants, yet who has still not holistically acknowledged any harms he might have caused within the workplace with regards to sexual assault and harassment?
In the ensuing years since our initial meeting, I did some paralegal work for Los Angeles Apparel. I wrote some copy for the website. A bunch of small things added up to what I’d call a strange but genuine affection for one another.
Later in 2022, I was on a call with Dov and a former investor in American Apparel, who would go on to hire me to write for him. Dov was making the introduction, and at one point he said, “I’ve been dating 20 year olds for 20 years now, and this is the best batch of them yet.”
I remember thinking: what he’s saying is that he thinks I’m smart. And even though we aren’t dating and never have, he’s saying he values the disposition of ‘being smart’ in combination with ‘being young.’
After I hung up the FaceTime, I felt a sense of foreboding. I took a deep breath and recognized a feeling of… jealousy? I couldn’t figure it out. I wasn’t always going to be young, so the anxiety was clear: this market asset would depreciate in value until an inevitable and prolonged period of cultural obsolescence. But my jealousy was harder to explain.
I remember thinking: what he’s saying is that he thinks I’m smart. And even though we aren’t dating and never have, he’s saying he values the disposition of ‘being smart’ in combination with ‘being young.’
I’ll arrive at jealousy by way of Emily.
Emily. My first girlfriend.
I used to cancel plans on Emily last minute all the time. I was vague with my emotions and made sure she always came over to my place, as I never once made the effort to stay at hers. I was the epitome of a flaky fuck-boy, keeping the upper hand through half-truths, missed calls and just enough attention to keep stringing her along.
One day, Emily sent me a series of texts expressing concern and confusion about my shitty behavior. She ended the text thread with: “Anyway, I really care about you and would love to spend some quality time together sometime this weekend if you’re around. LMK.”
I texted back “Hmm ya, sounds chill. Could work.”
I felt sick with this power I had over Emily… sick with power.
Eventually, I just felt sick.
Photo by Taryn Segal
Years later, I got fitted for my first suit after being invited to my friends Grace and Zoe’s wedding last spring. I dropped over a grand in cash at Brooks Brothers, being catered to by an employee there who kept asking if I wanted the pants tailored in a more feminine way.
My photographer friend Taryn Segal came to document the fitting. I sent a photo to Dov, who responded back, “Young Dov.” I felt elated.
There’s the jealousy.
Do I want to be Dov? I honestly don’t know. I think age gaps are sexy. I think power trips are sexy. What I’m reckoning with now is a (perceived or real) impending loss of power, and a slow recognition that I might not be interested in either side of the dynamic anymore.
It’s the end of 2023 and I’m riding in Dov’s old school Toyota Camry (“These are great, so old school, I bought two of them”). We’re driving west to Brentwood, for a meeting with Ben Kohn, the CEO of Playboy. There's a potential for all of us to work together, and we’re meeting for the first time to discuss it. The previous night, Dov and I spent two hours on FaceTime (Dov from his room at the factory and me from a room in his Silver Lake mansion) to talk it over.
In Brentwood, Ben orders a stack of pancakes and talks about Playboy’s current “capital light” model. Dov and Ben dive into financial specifics for the majority of the first half hour. I chime in here and there, essentially asserting that whatever they spend hosting at Tao in Vegas, for example, could be cut in half and reinvested in underground, invite-only parties with relevant DJs and better locations. And a quarterly zine couldn’t hurt, either.
About 45 minutes into the meeting, Ben gets up to go to the bathroom. Dov turns to me and says, “You’re talking too much.”
I keep going back to the original question. What can I do for you?
Ever since that meeting, Dov feels like a meal eaten right before getting food poisoning. I delighted in the meal and now I delight in it being out of my system.
Maybe what I learned from American Apparel was a lesson in body autonomy that has nothing to do with clothes. Dov is just another piece in a greater praxis of self-discovery. The pattern of aligning myself with powerful men and then feeling enthralled by games of mutual exploitation has served me, and I’ve relished in the years that it’s worked. I’ve taken knocks in the scarier moments when it hasn’t. I’m finally ready to be on neither side of the paradigm.
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Wes Knoll's Rite of Passage
While these images expose prevalent themes of rebellion, his deep-rooted connection to the people and places he inhabits allows a blossomed sense of meaning. Instead of reveling in the past, he owns up to his faults with newfound introspection and a digested sense of his youth. Fading Smile is a love letter to the city he's always known, a place he could’ve left behind and sworn off. Instead, he preserves the past with tenderness and an understanding that although the city changes, his memories of it remain the same.
Hi Wes! Thank you so much for meeting with me today. Congrats on the release. How has 2024 been so far? Do you make resolutions?
Thank you! My new year was good. It was pretty chill. I relieved myself of the pressure to have a crazy night and celebrated with friends intimately at the house, toasted to the ball drop. I don’t really make resolutions anymore. In the past I have. A tradition of mine growing up was making a wish for the year and tying it to a balloon and letting it go into the sky.
I love that. So you grew up in New York. What is the biggest difference between the city you grew up in and the one you see now?
Yeah, born and raised. People and places have changed the most. There's less of a sense of community. The influx of people who relocated from other states has kind of eradicated the true identity of a New Yorker in their neighborhood. Besides lots of businesses falling victim to gentrification, the actual identity of a New Yorker has begun to take on a new definition, which is two-fold. I think it's a double-edged sword.
Do you think there will be a resurrection of the New York you grew up in?
I think it’s gone and it’s not coming back. I think there is this trend of New Yorkers, or people who grew up here, always talking to the younger generation saying, "It was great until the moment you got here. You just missed it." I think there is an element of everyone identifying with a late-to-the-party ethos. I do think we are moving in a different direction in terms of accessibility when it comes to living, the price of everything has become astronomical and it’s fostering less of an artistic environment for people.
Have you ever thought about moving?
I’ve thought about it, but it’s my bread and butter.
What type of person do you gravitate toward?
The freaks of nature. I think people who are unique individuals and don’t really give a fuck about what other people think about them. Also people who are just going to swim against the stream of normality and society. Whether it be their clothing or whatever they are ranting about on the street corner. Or whatever it is they choose to do with their life be it graffiti, panhandling, racking. I love to see the quirks within the human condition and give light to them, rather than step on those cracks in the sidewalk which I think a lot of people do without realizing.
Getting into the book, I was very drawn to the introduction. Can you expand on your process of writing it and what you wanted to convey?
The introduction went through countless edits to capture years of unique stories as well as personalities. More so what this unique microcosm was to me. What I wanted to convey the most was this world I found myself immersed in, was representative of what I believed to be the truth and a right of passage for many New Yorkers, as well as many teenagers in general, regardless if they grow up in a major city or not. I don’t think people realize it is super universal, in all these oddly niche experiences and personalities, we have to keep it secret because we’re young. Something I wanted to highlight was the risk factor and what these crazy characters were immersed in… to just capture that cinematic level of disbelief from the stories that make up these images.
How much of your youth informed your stylistic choices?
Pretty heavy. I saw a quote once, that you listen to the music that you love when you're 18 for the rest of your life and I find myself falling victim to that. I find myself having a foot both in the past and the present. As I get older I begin to question that. And stray while trying to find out which is the right truth to follow. In terms of inspirations, art practices, or life choices, I have a heavy sense of identity from my youth and the way that I viewed the world then with a certain purity I hope to maintain as I age.
How did you decide to arrange the photographs?
There is a narrative in terms of their sequencing. The order I was seeking was the first spread of the book: people climbing the sides of the highway to paint graffiti, following them climbing to this abandoned area, going off to explore the world, immediately getting arrested afterwards on the side of the road. Countless spread of journal entries of what's coming next. As well as what fueled and funded what came next, which is pounds and pounds of weed, ounces of coke, thousands of dollars. Then you are hit with a myriad of collages of the characters in the book who are living their lives, and exploring thematic ideas like someone who has a tattoo of loyalty across their neck; money laundering; people sticking their heads out the side of windows on road trips; girls kissing each other on prom night; or a letter I wrote when I was child after I stole something from a museum. My dad made me write a thousand times on a piece of paper: I will listen to my parents, I’m sorry for what I did. Towards the end there's a road trip chapter, I feel like once you spend enough time in New York you need to get out. There’s also a graffiti section, and one of going out to California to cop drugs and bring them back. The characters find themselves back in the city with love letters and death once again. It's an enigmatic look at that process, without revealing too much.
I love to see the quirks within the human condition and give light to them, rather than step on those cracks in the sidewalk which I think a lot of people do without realizing.
Anyone get upset about something you put in the book?
So far no or at least no one has confronted me. But there are definitely tons of things I did not include for those reasons as well. I think there is a level of intimacy that I definitely wanted to respect for certain people’s lives, narratives, and stories.
How did it feel releasing something so vulnerable?
The book has gone through so many iterations. I’ve worked on it for three years. I was really nervous leading up to the release because it has a ton of myself in it as well as other people. To me the greatest works of art are the most vulnerable, the most honest, and self-reflexive. I felt I really needed to put all of myself in it in order for it to resonate with people. So having done that and receiving such a positive embrace from friends and supporters was more than I could have ever imagined and feel grateful for.
Do you have a favorite moment in time during the book?
My favorite moment in time in the book... that's tough, but I would probably have to say either the photograph of the two girls making out, which was taken on another high school’s prom night or making it through TSA with over $50,000.00 in cash divided up between 4 carry-on pieces of luggage that we used to buy 100 pounds of weed. There's also a photo of a ripped sheet of paper from a yellow legal pad with the words “text to get sucked 578-620-1216” written in red ink which was thrown at me out of a car window one night while I was writing graffiti in Brooklyn after midnight. The other moment in time is one that is seemingly mundane, but represents the moments I cherish most from this time period: a photo of my two friends, Diego & Jesse, as we sat on this rooftop above 72nd and broadway, which became a very meaningful and symbolic place for this community of kids.
Is there anything you wish you could tell your younger self from that period of time when things were unstable?
Honestly, no. I don’t wish I had any other wisdom than I had at the time. I’d want my younger self to tell my current self to keep getting out there. Back then when I would make a decision about whether I needed to go out to document or experience or partake, I would ask myself if I would remember the evening I was engrossed in at home better than if I submit myself to the possibility of the unknown. I would turn my mind off like a light switch and that's something I would want to tell myself more today. Just go, don’t think, let my feet take me, and the rest will work out.
Do you ever wish you could go back?
I used to wish that I could go back constantly. When I left the city for college, I would listen to all the voice memos that I had recorded in attempts to transcribe dialogue and stories for the project, reliving the memories and laughing like a madman to myself. This was when the first true iteration of this project was made, back in 2017. The title I had then was "Qasim." Now I do not wish to go back, I think releasing this project has been carthartic, allowing me to understand, make sense of and close this chapter of my life — something I aimed to help other people do with their adolescence as well. A universality through the intimate.
Do you agree it’s fun until it isn’t?
No, I don’t agree that it’s fun until it isn’t. It is always fun. My mother always used to say a similar phrase in a told-you-so type of way whenever we would goof off too hard and injure ourselves growing up saying, “It's all fun and games until its not”. But, since time is non-linear, and we often fondly reminisce on moments in the past that seemed terrible, once over and behind us, they can be laughed at and reflected on with glee and acceptance. An old barber of mine from Sicily used to always say, “-but, ehhhwhaddaryougonnadoaboudit”. The best stories are always the worst ones. Sometimes we forget that until we realize it is rumination. Hindsight is 20/20.
Are there any other artistic mediums you’d like to try or are currently exploring?
I’m working on a short film featuring this lady I met on West 4th Street who's been living on the streets for quite some time now. Her name is Marianne. She has a beautiful singing voice and was a singer in her younger years. I’m looking to do more short films that are character profiles. Shining light on people who make the city run that I think don’t get a lot of shine, but who actually define the city.
What are you looking forward to in the future?
More adventures, more exploration, more stories, meeting more people and getting to understand them. I hope I can better understand myself too and help other people do the same.
