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Audrey Nuna on Existentialism, Villains, and Dressing like a ‘Futuristic Grandpa’

The rising rapper is breaking out of the simulation.

Culture
Audrey Nuna on Existentialism, Villains, and Dressing like a ‘Futuristic Grandpa’
Jones Crow
Jill Vincent
Production Assistant:
Haley Bolen
Hair & Make Up:
Tammy Yi

Stepping on Audrey Nuna’s photoshoot set, the studio has an atypical calm as the glam team and stylists assemble the first look of the day. Nuna seems to have this effect on people—a warm and unhurried composure that sets the emotional temperature of the room. Walking into the backstage prep area, I see Nuna in the makeup chair, piles of hair extensions to her left, as her mother hand-plaits more hair into a braid that is already six feet long. The gesture of a mother braiding her child’s hair evokes the nostalgia of getting ready for school, but—like most of Nuna’s creative output—there is an element of surreality that accompanies all sentiment.

At 24, the New Jersey native has already built an impressive career in music. She began auditioning for musicals in Manhattan at age 12, started independently recording at 17, and was signed to Arista Records by age 20. These efforts culminated in her first studio album, a liquid breakfast, in 2021. When we sat down for our interview, Nuna was mere days away from the release of her latest song, “Starving” featuring Teezo. Although I planned to steer the conversation toward her upcoming musical projects, Nuna’s contagious curiosity and intellectual musings derailed these ideas, and soon we were talking about everything from simulation theory to Catholicism.

Mid-interview, she remarked on how funny it was we’d landed on these topics: “I feel like every interview I have turns into an existential crisis conversation.” And how boring would it be if it didn’t? Below, Nuna shares her thoughts on synchronicity, musical theater, villains, and dressing like a “futuristic grandpa.”

Top: Mortica; Skirt: Banzo; Pants: Purgatory; Shoes: Salomon; Choker: Ayana Designs; Necklace: Ayana Designs; Ring: Rare Romance

What is the concept behind the braids?

Audrey Nuna: This is part of a character that has been really present in my next project. This concept of, “Where have I been this whole time?” and growing pains, the result being someone who hasn’t cut their hair in a while. I am fascinated with hair in general. Growing up Catholic, surrounded by a lot of biblical symbolism, like the story of Samson and Delilah, I love the idea of hair as a source of power.

I’ve read that you once described LA as “simulation-y.” After living here for a few years, has that opinion changed?

I think the simulation still stands, but after traveling a bit, I’ve realized that it exists no matter where you go. Maybe I’m just a big simulation-theory gal, but I just sometimes have a hard time believing that all this is real. I think LA is where it’s most potent. Maybe we’re near the core chip programming.

Are there any cities that feel less like a simulation?

I would say New York and maybe Seoul. I know which cities definitely feel like a simulation; when I went to Ohio, I was like, “Wow, this is another core chip proximity moment.” I went to Columbus and Cleveland on this last tour, and all the synchronicity was insane.

When you talk about synchronicity, do these things stand out to you as coincidences with meaning, or do they just feel random?

I think it’s a combination of both—maybe both at the same time. I always try to give things meaning. As humans it’s natural, but I really don’t know if there is any meaning at the end of the day.

Top: Vintage Jean Paul Gaultier (Courtesy of Crazi Selection); Vest: Sonia Carrasco; Skirt: Mortica; Shoes: Grounds; Necklace: Ayana Designs

Or it’s just the meaning you give it, you know?

Exactly. It’s all subjective, and you get to decide because there is such a vast abyss that you can take what’s around you and make it what you want it to be—I think that really is the meaning at the end of the day. It’s up to you if there’s no meaning. You can go back and forth between the two. There is realism and optimism at the same time, which is confusing. I think that’s something I really started to think about after this project. The first project [a liquid breakfast] almost had an air of innocence and bliss, and for this next one, there are cracks and things seeping through. Navigating everyday life as a young adult.

How would you describe the cracks in this upcoming album?

The cracks have been the harsh realities of what it means to be alive in this time of the human race. I’m more educated about what’s going on in the world, whether that was by choice or not. The free access and democratization of information and platforms like TikTok have exposed us to the world we live in. On a personal level, the cracks have been the loss of friendships and realizing that not every person, whether in LA or any city, is your friend because you exist in the same space. That has been a really formative experience going through the music industry. Those things have really woken me up in ways that, at times, felt painful but definitely are a necessary part of life. Sonically, there’s a bit more darkness and it’s thrilling and liberating, but it definitely roots from a darker place than the first one.

What relationship do you have with your community or—for lack of a better word—your fans? Has that shifted over the years?

I feel like people used to discover your music and then learn more about you, and now we’re in an age where people tend to gravitate towards who you are as a human and discover the branches of your work later. Being a multi-hyphenate is the new standard for every artist. We're all becoming bionic, and trying to keep the human within us intact is the challenge. Going forward, everyone born after this certain mark in time is going to be born half iPhone and half themselves. That’s almost unavoidable.

After reading some of your interviews, I get the sense that you’re a bit of an undercover theater kid—is that true?

I actually was. What gave that away?

Dress: J. Kim; Top: Vintage Balenciaga (Courtesy of Crazi Selection); Skirt: J.Kim, Shoes,: Ground; Rings: Karo Karu; Earring: Rare Romance

You mentioned listening to the Wicked soundtrack—did you want to be on Broadway as a kid?

I actually did want to be on Broadway. I grew up in choir, which was my first exposure to music, and then I started doing musicals in school. I played Millie in Thoroughly Modern Millie—Korean Millie, but let’s go. I was also Mayzie LaBird in Seussical. It was a big part of me coming out of my shell growing up. I even did auditions in Manhattan for musicals and commercials.

How old were you?

Between the ages of 8 and 12, maybe. I think I got out at the right time because the idea of going into a room of strangers and competing to prove that I’m good enough is the most whack idea of all time. I would never see myself taking that seriously anymore. I’ve broken out of any semblance of trying to be something for someone else.

When did you transition from singing to rapping?

It literally just happened one day. I think the song “Comic Sans” that I made with my friend Anwar was my first or second time rapping. I did it as almost a joke in that session but I found after that it was such a great way to express myself with words and not be limited to a word count.

You’ve previously likened your creative process to painting and pottery—do you have any creative rituals? Anything that puts you in a flow state?

The discipline-freedom balance has been interesting to navigate. I’m at my most creative when I’m taking care of myself and I’m around people who understand me. My producer and I say that our method is just the “sit-around” method where we wait for inspiration to hit. Time, energy, and intention is really all it takes.

My therapist told me, “You can’t get creative unless you get bored.” It’s difficult when you’re busy to have the luxury of getting bored and waiting for something to strike.

A lot of my creativity was birthed from boredom as a kid, just being in the suburbs and not having shit to do. I love Rick Rubin’s theories on creativity that it’s more energy than it is muscle, which is why discipline is so interesting. You have to hydroplane between the two constantly, and it’s fun.

You just recently came out with a new song called “Starving” in collaboration with Teezo. Can you tell me how that collab came together?

I’ve always been a fan, and I think we’re on similar frequencies in terms of the type of artists we are. This song was something different for both of us and it was so fun breaking out of the simulation for a second, doing something we both feel is fresh but also nostalgic. I love the idea of “starving” right now—there is a lot of starving going on in the world in both a literal sense and in the lack of humanness.

A lot of the meaning of the song came after we wrote the lyrics. I’m a pretty emotionally constipated person, so I usually understand how I feel in retrospect after creating something. I’ve always felt like an outsider, growing up in the suburbs with very few other people of color, and I think the song reflected those feelings—being an outsider and starving for connection.

Jacket: Purgatory; Skirt: Purgatory; Shorts: Praying; Pants: Mortica; Shoes: Praying; Necklace: Rare Romance; Sunglasses: Akila; Earring: Rare Romance; Ring: Rare Romance

How did you two influence each other?

He gave me a lot of wisdom in the short time we had together on set. We spoke about the saturation of content and how “content” feels more important than creativity right now—we both hate that. His perspective aligns with mine in that we are both actively fighting against that and putting creativity first. With all the pros and cons of technological advances, there's a lot of beauty and a lot of fakeness, too. I am personally clinging to creativity for dear life because it isn’t fulfilling to me any other way.

In this song and in some of your previous works, you have the recurring motif of these horns. How did that come about?

It’s a character that’s been developing alongside the music. The second project really explores the idea of villainy and the darker sides of yourself—the experiences that conjure that side of you. I like thinking about what makes a villain: are they just hurt people? The origin story of a villain is one of the more interesting things to explore. For the horns themselves, I saw a photo of these Vivienne Westwood horns from the nineties. She created this headband with horns on it, and I worked with a makeup artist from Paris named Lisa who took the inspiration and ran with it. It became a part of the look to go alongside the sonic world.

Who are your favorite villains?

Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker, and I kind of fuck with Cruella. I like antagonistic characters like the grandpa in Courage the Cowardly Dog. But my favorite villain is the old woman from Spirited Away, Yubaba.

I feel like you approach your projects almost as a director—creating the characters, the set, and the overarching theme of the album—does that resonate with you?

A hundred percent. I’m very much a world-builder type of person. I love the process of building out a storyline and approaching projects as if I were scoring a film. I love artists that commit to a certain oxygen in a certain universe. I love Missy Elliott from a visual perspective. Radiohead, too. I think The Weeknd and Childish Gambino do a great job of worldbuilding in terms of the sonics and visuals. And obviously Frank Ocean.

You have very distinctive personal style. How would you describe your approach to clothing?

I always say, “futuristic grandpa.” That’s always been my core. My grandpa was actually in clothing manufacturing, and that was my first exposure to fashion. He was always so swaggy and could rock Old Navy vests and make it look fire. Growing up really informed me that you don’t need luxury. Luxury isn’t creativity, and it isn’t fashion. To me, the high/low is really important to feel a sense of freedom. If I want to buy gardening gloves off eBay, that can be fashion.

If you could swap a wardrobe with anybody, who would you choose?

Faye Wong. Björk as well. They’re always on my mood boards. They’re just the OGs; they were experimenting with fashion in a time when it was not encouraged. As an Asian woman, it wasn’t common to make something of yourself or be loud, and Faye Wong really paved the way.

They were true originals. I feel like that’s something we’ve lost a bit to this over-saturation of celebrity and the homogeneity of the algorithm. I’m not really sure where we’re at in the culture, but I’m hoping Gen Z will breathe some originality back into it as they come up.

I think there’s a huge wave coming. I feel it in the air, discovering more and more artists who get it. Even just because we’re becoming bionic and you can just learn anything on YouTube. There’s always turbulence on the way up, but I think we’re about to hit a sweet spot, a real golden era of art and creativity. I genuinely do believe that.

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