Lifestyle
What does it take to style someone like Beyoncé? Take a cue from Zerina Akers
How does one become a stylist to the stars? When you hear the story of Zerina Akers, stylist to Beyoncé, Megan Thee Stallion and Karol G, you learn that success not only takes devoted work but also genuine community building. One builds a career alongside others.
Visual artist Maria Maea has had the unique experience of following Akers since the beginning of her professional career, when they worked together in production. Both have since become successful artists in their fields. Curious to reflect on what this journey takes and has been like, Maea reached out to Akers to have a conversation. The timing coincides with Akers’ newly launched Saint Helen’s House, a social club and showroom in Tarzana that will serve as a space for young stylists and women across industries to socialize, find outfits that feel good for their bodies and appreciate art — Akers collaborated with Hammer Museum curator Erin Christovale for the space’s first of many exhibitions. Saint Helen’s House is a natural outgrowth of Akers’ first business venture, Black Owned Everything, which she describes as a digital marketplace that has “become a launching pad for Black entrepreneurs and creators” and a way to break barriers and share information with people.
After years of collaborating with others, Akers is starting to feel reciprocation from her community with the opening of Saint Helen’s House. In her words to Maea, “They’re able to show up for me in a real way.”
“Where I’m seeing women now, where I’m connecting with a lot of women and people now — they’re at the top of their game,” says Akers. “We’re able to pull together our resources and create something new.”
Maria Maea: What are some of your earliest memories of fashion?
Zerina Akers: Oh, my goodness. My earliest memories of fashion would be getting a red polka dot dress for Easter and refusing to take it off.
MM: I love it.
ZA: There are pictures of me from about ages 3 to 5, and I’m still wearing the same dress. They had to hide the dress from me.
“My earliest memories of fashion would be getting a red polka dot dress for Easter and refusing to take it off.”
— Zerina Akers
Back then, I didn’t realize we were in the quote-unquote ghetto or in the hood or anything — I didn’t really know the difference. But in hindsight, I think fashion and what you wear held a lot of power — how you showed up in a room and the hierarchy of social anything, like wearing the latest sneakers and the latest trends put you in a powerful position in a room. Eventually, in high school, I started making my own clothes, and people would wear them and buy them. Back then, I thought the only way to work in fashion was to become a fashion designer, so I started studying fashion design, but quickly realized I didn’t have the patience to sew a button-down shirt. So I switched to marketing and was able to discover styling through my first internship at W magazine.
MM: What was the moment where you knew that this was your path, where you decided, “OK, I can grow in this space”?
ZA: I never really felt like I was cut out for a 9 to 5. I always knew I wanted to work for myself. Going into my very first internship at W, I was trying to find myself, trying to see myself, though I didn’t necessarily see myself in that moment — I was the only Black girl in the office as an intern. I just started to explore assisting bigger stylists, and I was always taught to make your mistakes under an umbrella. So I took the path of assisting and interning and wanting to learn as much as I could and go from there. I started doing commercial styling, and that’s really what I think set it in for me. I was assisting stylist Ray Oliveira, and these jobs are very different than the high-fashion jobs. You got off at 6. You came in at a certain time and ended. I saw single women that were working and able to buy houses and make a life for themselves without necessarily being married or coming from a rich family. I was able to see a lot of women take hold of their own lives and that, for me, resonated, while still being able to be creative and create your own hours on your own time. I kept going after that.
Zerina wears Balenciaga top, Dries Van Noten skirt, Schutz shoes.
MM: You and I have known each other for almost a decade in the industry. I thought a lot about the magic of women working collectively and the trust that we can build and the communities that we can create, that get forged through our labor, but also, as you said, all these moments of agency for women of color. Thinking back to your early days as an artist, how did you create trust with your vision and your voice in these spaces? How did you begin to build yourself up?
ZA: I assisted for a while, but when I went to go on my own, I was fortunate enough that my first client as an independent lead stylist was Beyoncé. In hindsight, looking back, the goal was for me to step into it, because often, people are more afraid of success than they are of failure. That being said, it still took me a while to build my confidence, I was kind of doing it as I was learning the job.
One of those first moments for me was the hat look in the “Formation” video — I just remember fighting for that video, and I really wanted to work on it, so I would pitch all these ideas. But I was just the closet girl; they didn’t necessarily think I could take on such a large project. So I did a couple of fittings, and Beyoncé liked this one look that I did specifically and decided to put it in the video. And that look then became almost a symbol for a movement, and a symbol for an entire music era of hers. That, I think, is when I realized I was contributing to creating things that were going to outlive me someday. And then, what do you do with that? Working with someone like Beyoncé, who has seemingly done it all, and worn it all, how do you create new silhouettes? But more important, how do you utilize the platform? For me, it was always important to reach out to independent designers and allow them space on that platform, so it wasn’t just all seemingly high-end Parisian, Italian luxury. She kept her ear to the street, and just that simple gesture of allowing a lot of the younger talents to take space, you have the success of designers like Sergio Hudson and Romeo Hunte. Also Sarah [Diouf] with her brand Tongoro out of Dakar, Senegal. Beyoncé wore her garments twice one year, just on vacation, and Sarah went from employing seven people to employing 50 people. You can’t measure that kind of reach, where you’re able to shift the trajectory of someone’s life and their success. That’s really powerful.
Zerina Akers at Saint Helen’s House.
MM: With Saint Helen’s House, you talked about it becoming an art space and a social club. Why have you decided to make L.A. the home for this project? What is it about this moment in your life and also this location?
ZA: I relocated to L.A. about seven years ago, and it’s been home ever since. When you really get to know Los Angeles, like the real Los Angeles, there’s a certain family unit that’s really beautiful. The way that there’s legacy community and people generationally helping each other — you don’t really find that in a lot of cities, and so that’s always inspired me as I’ve gotten to know the real L.A. But then, juxtaposing that with being in Hollywood, having experienced firsthand the industry, it can be very exclusive. That inclusion, giving younger stylists access that [they] typically may not get to standard showrooms, giving women — the backbone of this industry is often a lot of women [and] they too are going to events, going to red carpets. Where’s their look? They want to look good, they want to feel good. Opening the doors to everyone has changed the game, because it’s just opened a floodgate of community and networks that we are able to build on at the showroom.
I decided to go into more of a residential space to maintain the intimacy of what we were offering our clients, to be able to forge that community there in the space. With Saint Helen’s house, as I went through escrow closing on the space, all of these other ideas came to mind. I have a deep love for the art community as a whole, and the business of art is also very interesting to me, and how artists develop, how their work evolves and how people get to know them. There is power for me in also investing in art. I wanted to offer that to the clients that are coming in the showroom. I wanted them to have their ears to the streets and feel like they’re ahead of the curve in getting to know a lot of these artists. You actually introduced me to Erin Christovale, and we were able to work on this and bring this to life. “Glimpses of the Self” is the first gallery opening of many. I plan to do exhibitions quarterly.
MM: Can you speak a little bit on “Glimpses of the Self”? You had wall text up about seeing yourself, which was such a powerful gesture because so much of the showroom is about getting to embody yourself.
ZA: The combination of artists that we have, like yourself — you have a beautiful woven piece that for me resembled an eye — you have Adee Roberson, who is capturing family and people in joy, in moments of intimacy, to February James, her [portraits capture] some of the more somber moments, which kind of really forces you to reflect on yourself. I just wanted people to come in and see themselves. I thought that was just a great way to open the space.
Zerina wears Proenza Schouler top and skirt, Balmain heels.
Saint Helen’s House, Akers’ new social club and showroom in Tarzana that will serve as a space for young stylists and women across industries to socialize, find outfits that feel good for their bodies and appreciate art.
MM: What advice would you give to a younger self or up-and-coming young women who are navigating these spaces?
ZA: First and foremost: Take the time to learn your industry and your business. Often, we’ve gotten caught up in the 120 characters of life and just how quickly social media is moving. I think people aren’t necessarily taking the time to learn their industry and really learn the business they’re being a part of. It’s fun wanting to learn a couple of things and then go out on your own, but if you’re not managing your bit as well, you’re not going to be able to keep those clients — they’re making sure [that] you have clean business, that you’re in good financial standing, to really be ready to take on the growth that you see. And do right by people, because in three short years, that intern can be your boss. Just always be decent to people.
MM: I want to bring up the value of women working together. There’s so much energy that’s forged around being on a job and showing who you are through your labor, how you show up. A lot of my friendships have been built in that space. Can you speak about some of the histories you’ve had working with different people along your path?
ZA: I’m seeing a point where so many people around me have evolved and morphed into something totally different than how we met. Even us, for example. You were this production master and now you’re this flourishing artist, and you’ve evolved into something so very different. Where I’m seeing women now, where I’m connecting with a lot of women and people now — they’re at the top of their game. We’re able to pull together our resources and create something new and amplify whatever we’re doing and help each other. It continues to be so powerful for me, for us to support each other, especially in this climate, where it seems like we’re being targeted. I think it’s important to come together and stay together.
Makeup Brandy Allen
Hair Diane Griffin
Location Saint Helen’s House
Zerina wears vintage Celine dress, Acne Studios jacket, The Row heels.
Lifestyle
But first, coffee: The drink that energized the American Revolution
An illustration of the Boston Tea Party, when colonists dumped British East India Company tea into the harbor on Dec. 16, 1773. Some accounts say this marked a pivotal moment when Americans started loving coffee. But one historian says Americans were drinking lots of coffee before then.
Hulton Archive/Getty Images
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Hulton Archive/Getty Images
A consequential act of defiance secured tea’s place as perhaps the most iconic beverage of America’s colonial era.
The Boston Tea Party became an essential ingredient in the recipe for revolution in the following years.
But tea wasn’t the only hot beverage with a prominent role in America’s fight for independence.
Coffee was an important part of American culture from the start. And coffeehouses were essential, too — serving as hubs for brewing ideas of independence.
As the United States celebrates 250 years, here’s what to know about America’s early history of coffee.

Colonists were drinking coffee long before the United States existed
Europeans brought coffee with them when they came to America.
“The first documented example of a mortar and pestle used to grind coffee beans was on the Mayflower” in 1620, says historian Michelle Craig McDonald, the author of Coffee Nation: How One Commodity Transformed the Early United States.
“The fact that coffee was present so early is not surprising if you think about it,” McDonald says. “A number of those who were on the Mayflower came to North America from Amsterdam, which was a major coffee trading center in Western Europe by the 17th century.”
The first coffeehouse in the colonies opened in 1676 in Boston, a century before the U.S. declared independence, she says. Some taverns sold coffee even earlier.
The Boston Tea Party probably wasn’t the dramatic turning point toward coffee that some claim
On the night of Dec. 16, 1773, disgruntled colonists boarded three ships moored in Boston Harbor and threw overboard more than 92,000 pounds of tea owned by the British East India Company.
Tensions had been building between the Crown and the colonies over the previous decade, as Britain tried to levy taxes on its colonies to recoup war debts.
The Boston Tea Party protest was targeted at the British government’s passing of the Tea Act in 1773, which granted the East India Company a monopoly over tea sales in the colonies. While the British had removed some unpopular taxes in the preceding years, they left tea taxes in place. Colonial merchants were especially upset that the act allowed the East India Company to undercut their tea business.

To build solidarity for their cause of sovereignty, some patriots called on colonialists to swear off tea in favor of coffee. It’s why many histories point to the Boston Tea Party as a turning point when Americans switched from mostly drinking tea to mostly coffee. The anti-tea sentiment was immortalized in a founding father’s now-famous letter.
In July 1774, John Adams (before he became the second U.S. president) wrote to his wife Abigail, recounting an incident during his travels. After a long day, he asked the proprietor of the house where he was lodging for a cup of tea, provided it was smuggled and free of British taxes.
” ‘No sir, said she, we have renounced all Tea in this Place. I cant make Tea, but I’le make you Coffee.’ Accordingly I have drank Coffee every Afternoon since, and have borne it very well. Tea must be universally renounced. I must be weaned, and the sooner, the better,” Adams wrote.
Despite John Adams claiming a newfound patriotic duty to appreciate coffee, McDonald says colonists had been drinking lots of coffee all along.
She studied advertisements from the 1760s and ’70s to estimate how many shops sold coffee versus tea. Even before the Boston Tea Party, she says, “coffee is definitely more broadly available than tea is.”
A big reason? It was cheaper. “Its price again per pound is significantly less, which tells you about its availability, its accessibility to drinkers.”
Historians say it’s hard to definitively compare tea with coffee consumption, though, as official records from before America gained independence were inconsistent.
And smuggling was rampant, making official records even less reliable.

“There is a vast amount of smuggling,” says Joyce Chaplin, a professor of early American history at Harvard University. “So they’re not paying formal duties on tea that they get from the Dutch. They’re probably not paying formal duties on coffee from the French Caribbean.”
And Chaplin notes that people who loudly proclaimed a new appreciation for coffee over tea weren’t always doing what they said. It could have been political pandering. “I do not drink tea that comes via the East India Company,” she posits someone of the era saying. “But, you know, other sources are fine. Ditto for the coffee.”
Coffeehouses were a hub for revolutionary ideas
A coffeepot with cover, circa 1795. It has an American eagle motif, made in China for the American market. Coffee was part of a growing trend of globalization in the colonial era.
Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Images
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Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Images
In the colonial era, coffeehouses were hotbeds for seditious thought — where people planned acts of revolution.
“Coffeehouses are kind of famous for being places where people think and plot things,” says Mark Pendergrast, author of Uncommon Grounds: The History of Coffee and How It Transformed Our World.
A coffeehouse called the Green Dragon served as one of the locations for planning the Boston Tea Party. Years earlier, the Old London Coffeehouse in Philadelphia was a meeting place for strategizing responses to another British tax, the Stamp Act of 1765.
In Britain, coffeehouses were nicknamed “penny universities,” Pendergrast says: “because for a penny you could go and learn a whole lot by sitting around in a coffeehouse and discussing everything.” The same attitude traveled across the Atlantic.
Early American coffeehouses would commonly have city business directories, libraries of newspapers and currency exchange information. People could get maritime insurance there or buy things at auction.

“There’s a reason why coffeehouses become places of colonial protest … in the 1760s, in the 1770s, and it’s because it is the place where traders and merchants tended to gather,” historian McDonald says. “That’s where they heard about the economics of the day.”
Taverns were more likely than coffeehouses to have rooms for rent and stables for travelers’ horses. They were also more likely to have food.
Interestingly enough, coffeehouses could serve alcohol and taverns could serve coffee.
But the vibes at each were different. While women and men could “riotously drink together” in taverns, coffeehouses often didn’t allow women, according to Chaplin of Harvard.
“The sense was the coffeehouse was the place where you had a clear head — to argue about politics, to find out what was going on in the business world, to cut a business deal,” she says. “Whereas taverns were places where, in a sense, you refueled.”
Still, she says, the lines between the two “weren’t completely clear.”
The cost of America’s revolutionary drink
Coffee (and tea for that matter) was part of a growing globalization of trade around this time.
Much of the coffee in the colonies was grown in the Caribbean, while tea came from China.

Supply was up and coffee was easier than ever to drink. “Trade and frankly, imperialism, are making it possible for … colonial products to be produced and transferred to other parts of the world in greater and greater quantities,” says Chaplin.
As a result, by the time of the American Revolution, both coffee and tea were in reach for many common people. “They’re both becoming affordable luxuries,” Chaplin says.
Fancy coffee and tea paraphernalia were also part of this increasingly global market. Middle and upper-class people would have wanted special implements for drinking these beverages and a place to drink it. That meant they needed wood for coffee tables, silver for coffeepots, and porcelain for teapots.
“These two beverages are encouraging people to consume all kinds of new stuff,” says Chaplin. “The mahogany that comes out of the Caribbean, the china coming out of China, silver that is mined principally in South and Central America and processed in a lot of the parts of the world.”
There’s a dark side to coffee’s history, too. The plantations that supplied the crop ran on the labor of enslaved people. By 1790, half of the world’s coffee was being grown in the French colony of Saint-Domingue, in what is today Haiti, Pendergrast says, where slaves were routinely mistreated, raped and murdered.

The Declaration of Independence, signed in 1776, is infamous for a contradiction. It proclaimed that “all men are created equal,” but failed to acknowledge the hundreds of thousands of enslaved people living in America at the time.
Coffee carried a similar contradiction. The beverage that fueled conversations that inspired America’s fight for independence — centered on the ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness — depended on enslavement.
“Coffee had this paradoxical effect, that it did promote revolutionary thought,” Pendergrast says. “But it was also grown by slaves.”
Lifestyle
You know the Mayflower. What about the White Lion? Here’s the story of ‘Two Ships’
Just in time for a contentious 250th anniversary of the United States of America, historian David S. Reynolds’ latest book, Two Ships, helps us realize that any country that couldn’t agree on its own origin story is destined for divisive times.
Two Ships is about the complicated, conjoined legacy of the landings of the Mayflower, which carried the Pilgrims to Plymouth, Mass., in 1620, and the White Lion, which arrived in Jamestown a year earlier, bringing the first enslaved Africans to Virginia.
As Reynolds demonstrates, it’s not so much the facts of these two voyages, as it is the meanings ascribed to them, that made them such a powerful metaphor for two conflicting visions of American identity.
To simplify, the Mayflower’s passengers were separatist Puritans, dissenters to the reign of the English king, James I. As the United States developed, the Mayflower was credited with carrying the seeds of a radical democracy to the New World, one in which all men (in theory, at least) were equal before God.
In contrast, the European settlers of Jamestown were Royalists, also known as Cavaliers. Loyal to the monarchy, they believed in a strict hierarchy.
But the meaning of the images of the two ships shifted depended on who was invoking them and when. Not surprisingly, the metaphor was deployed most vigorously during the Civil War. In abolitionist speeches and writings, the White Lion or the “Slave-Ship,” as it was commonly called, was condemned for infecting America with the “plague-spot” of slavery.
Reynolds says that Frederick Douglass resorted to the “two ships” metaphor frequently, while Lincoln avoided it, hoping to preserve a unified ship of state. Meanwhile, Southern descendants of Cavaliers invoked the Mayflower to emphasize the intolerance and “cruel, persecuting” character of the Puritans. In a comment that resonates for our own times, Reynolds says:
It didn’t matter to the South that … by the mid-nineteenth century, the North had become a kaleidoscope of religious denominations, …, few of which resembled the faith of the Plymouth colonists. Distortion is intrinsic to cultural memory, especially when amplified by sectional or political bias. For Southerners, the Mayflower had brought Puritanism, which had yielded fanatical movements like abolitionism, now a dire threat to the Union.
In a brief-but-fascinating digression into the unpredictable power of literary fiction, Reynolds observes that the South’s fondness for Nathaniel Hawthorne’s anti-Puritan novel, The Scarlet Letter, and, even more, for the medieval historical romances of Sir Walter Scott, bolstered its nostalgia for a largely-imagined feudal society.

Reynolds quotes the always-quotable Mark Twain, no fan of Scott’s, as saying that Scott “did measureless harm; more real and lasting harm, perhaps, than any other individual that ever wrote …”
Two Ships is a dazzling survey of some three centuries of American history through a close reading of a metaphor. By the 1890s, Reynolds says, the interpretive tide had turned again: “Southern and Northern whites, feeling threatened by people of color and by an array of European immigrants, were retreating to a cocoon of racial solidarity that Mayflower celebrations helped reinforce.”
By the later-20th century, the image of the Mayflower was depoliticized and commercialized into Pilgrim hats and Black Friday sales. The powerful metaphor of the two ships receded into the mist.
Seven years ago, however, the 1619 Project piloted the White Lion — “The Slave-Ship” — back into view and anchored it at the center of debates about slavery’s place in the national story. The 1619 Project has been faulted for its historiography, and it does lie outside of the chronological boundaries of Reynolds’ book; still, it seems too momentous a reappearance of the White Lion not to at least acknowledge in this book.
That criticism noted, I think reading Two Ships would be an excellent way to observe this particular Fourth of July. It’s wise for all of us to have a more informed awareness of how Americans have understood, misunderstood and, often, flattened each other into stereotypes. Or, as Ernest Hemingway, one of the Mayflower Pilgrims’ more cynical descendants, might say in response to that sentiment: “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

Lifestyle
A historically hot Paris Fashion Week photographed with a kid’s camera
I took a kid’s camera to Paris Fashion Week, because was it ever really that serious? Yes and no. This men’s season happened during one of the hottest weeks in France’s recorded history, which inspired that specific brand of collective hysteria brought on by living through yet another unprecedented moment together — taking over our brains and ruining our plans to wear boots — and a grander reflection on what we were doing there and why. The throngs of teenagers doing back flips into the Canal Saint-Martin and playing soccer in the street set the mood for the week. If the world is ending, you might as well swim in dirty water and have fun doing it, no?
As far as the shows went, there was the coastal stoner energy of Tokyo-based Auralee — brightly colored leathers and furry flip-flops — that reminded me of the low-key elegance of hanging out in Southern California. At the Rick Owens show, Rick-heads made minimal weather-restrictive tweaks to their usual uniforms — platforms, leather, ground-grazing garments — making you appreciate the beauty in that level of ascetic dedication. Louis Vuitton built a literal beach as its runway, complete with sand and a giant wave that felt like a mirage: Is this a heat-induced hallucination or yet another buzzed-about set design under men’s creative director Pharrell Williams? At the Dries Van Noten show, there was an ice-cold beer fridge and popsicles, a chic and inspired detail only rivaled by a collection that was a breath of fresh air during a week where I Googled the symptoms of heat stroke more than once. The Willy Chavarria show was air-conditioned, pumped with Xinú perfume and felt expensive. Sven Marquardt, a Berlin photographer and Berghain’s most famous bouncer, was sitting in front of me, which I took as an incredibly good omen. The painted blue feet and Oakley collab sunglasses at the Kiko Kostadinov show felt auspicious as well.
A look from the Auralee show.
There were conversations floating around about how apocalyptic it felt sitting at a fashion show in over 100-degree Fahrenheit weather, our backs soaked, our minds dizzied, when the industry is responsible for something like 10% of global greenhouse gas emissions. The cognitive dissonance contributed to the thickness in the air that week.
At the Comme des Garçons show, called “If the War Were to End..,” models danced and ran and skipped out onto the runway for the finale, soundtracked by the joyous sound of children singing “You’re So Good to Me” by the Langley Schools Music Project. In that moment, we were happy, we were clapping, we might have even been hopeful. Humans have the capacity to hold a lot — a fan in one hand while attempting not to completely melt in the front row, and a fantasy that there might still be a future where we get to wear those leopard-print Dries shoes we fell in love with on the runway.
The moments before the Comme des Garçons show.
Comme des Garçons show attendees.
Comme des Garçons, head-to-toe.
The Comme des Garçons show.
The Dries Van Noten show.
A chic and inspired detail at the Dries Van Noten show: ice-cold beer.
Scenes from the ERL presentation.
The Kiko Kostadinov show.
Tapping in from Louis Vuitton beach.
Quavo at the Louis Vuitton show.
Scenes from after the Louis Vuitton show.
Scenes from the Louis Vuitton show.
Scenes from the Nahmias x Puma dinner at Gigi Paris.
Scenes from the On X Online Ceramics rave.
At Silencio to see Venezuelan DJ and producer Safety Trance.
The Willy Chavarria show.
Scenes from Willy Chavarria.
The throngs of teenagers doing back flips into the Canal Saint-Martin and playing soccer in the street set the mood for the week.
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