TV: How has it been to see the industry attempt to shift to become more inclusive?
NK: When I think about the time I started Lorde in 2013-2014, I think about 2 Brown Girls — Zeba Blay and Fariha Roisin’s podcast — and gal-dem, the publication out of London. We were being critical of the media because we were people who worked in media and felt like our voices were being excluded. And now our voices are being commodified. It feels really disingenuous; it’s really just giving brands optics, while they don’t have to do any deep work or make radical changes to the structures of their businesses. Had I known that was going to be the wave of change, that representation was going to add to the culture, I probably would’ve rethought my approach. But capitalism does what capitalism does, it doesn’t matter how you put out the work or what work you put out. Eventually, capitalists will get their hands on it and exploit it.
TV: What is your approach to working within a capitalist structure while having radical ideology?
NK: To be a legitimate abolitionist means to take a serious L; to not have your means be within a capitalist structure, however that can be achieved. For most people, especially people who live in metropolitan cities that are as expensive as New York, it’s not possible. I reckon with that every day: figuring out ways of how to continue the work that I do but do it with as little harm or impact as possible. A part of that means accepting that there are always going to be people who are going to copy your work and exploit you. If that means I’m not going to make as much money as all of these capitalist casting directors, then that’s the L that I’m choosing to take. I have to figure out what my values are.
Now in the age of Instagram, so much of this work for people is rooted in immediate validation: a tag on Instagram from a cool photographer or a brand. If you keep chasing that validation, you’re going to lose your sense of self, your values, your relationship to spirit. The work is going to be more about feeding that machine and that really harms the world. And to actively say, “I’m not going to participate in that, I’m going to have boundaries around that,” means that your work might not soar as high in a capitalist system.
TV: How has life as a casting director been through the pandemic?
NK: I started the first half of the pandemic really resenting my work and resenting working in fashion. I truly do not believe that the world needs any more material goods. To be a part of an industry and a system that amplifies shopping, materialism, buying things, and unhealthy body image, we’re exhausting ourselves. So I felt really spent for the first half of the year, having a true reckoning of myself and of my work. What am I trying to do in this world? Do I think that this is even important? Truthfully, I don’t. I felt like I lost myself and I lost my values. And values can evolve too. I have no shame in admitting that the thing I started in 2013 is not as important anymore and I’m ready to shift a bit. So I had to take time to decide what that shift looks like. I started to work for a casting agency freelance to learn more about casting for film. I started to revisit the concept of representation; I think the way it’s iterated in fashion is harmful. What can I do with the work that I started to shift peoples’ focus back to the important parts, the parts that activate us and create change? To me, that’s telling stories – whether that’s through editorial, documentaries, film. So I’ve been doing a lot of that sort of casting and it’s made me a lot happier with the work that I do. What are really important stories? What are films and documentaries that have inspired me to move and be active? To look at casting more from that lens has been really helpful, it has reactivated my sense of purpose in this work.
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