Teyana Taylor Cover Story Interview: Coming Up Roses

The rose holds great significance for Teyana Taylor. In 2018 she released “A Rose in Harlem,” one of the standout tracks from her album K.T.S.E., and it tells the story of her circuitous path as an entertainer, artist, and woman. Taylor once saw herself as a rose growing from concrete—a metaphor popularized by Tupac Shakur. But today, she views the flower differently.

“There’s no thorns, no roses,” says Taylor, who is speaking passionately on a cream colored sofa almost mimicking a rose—she’s wearing a fiery red flip bob, a green Nike tank layered over a T-shirt, matching sweatpants from her Jordan collection, and an army green cummerbund. Now she focuses on the vines and thorns that help support the bloom—an idea that inspired the design for her latest Jordans, the “Concrete Rose” 3s.

The conceptual sneaker, set to release March 14, comes in hunter green with vines wrapped around the shoe and a sole designed to resemble crumbling concrete. The campaign features images of Taylor’s mother and longtime manager Nikki Taylor, her father Boe Darden, and her daughters, Iman “Junie” Tayla Shumpert Jr. and Rue Rose Shumpert.

“I wanted to tap into the support system,” she says. “It’s important because in order for me to blossom, you have to have that support. I can’t do it alone. I wanted to shed light on the people in my life and my world—especially with everything that’s happening.”

And there’s a lot happening for Taylor.

2025 was her most accomplished year yet. She released the album Escape Room, which garnered her first Grammy nomination, and appeared in several major projects, including Tyler Perry’s Straw, The Rip, starring Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, Ryan Murphy’s legal series All’s Fair, and Paul Thomas Anderson’s highly acclaimed One Battle After Another. In One Battle After Another, Taylor plays Perfidia Beverly Hills, a complicated revolutionary who appears in only the first 20 minutes of the film but looms large throughout. Her piercing performance earned her a Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress earlier this year, and now she’s up for an Oscar in the same category.

It’s been a long journey for Taylor, who struggled to find her footing in both Hollywood and the music industry. In 2020 she announced she was retiring from music. Shortly after, she received a call to play the lead role in A Thousand and One, the drama that depicts Taylor as a flawed mother who kidnaps her son from foster care, which was written and directed by A.V. Rockwell.

On the day of the shoot, Taylor is in full bloom, but still reflective.

“None of this stuff has happened for me overnight,” she says. “This has been a 20-year prayer.”

Taylor sat down with Complex Editor-in-Chief Aria Hughes for an episode of Please Explain to discuss her two-decade path to success, why styling herself is so important, her early relationship with A$AP Mob, what people misunderstand about Perfidia, whether a sequel is actually happening, and how she creates safe spaces for fellow artists.

For more from the conversation, check out the full episode of Please Explain.

Let’s talk about your latest sneaker, the “Concrete Rose.” Talk to me about what went into the design.
My first sneaker was the “Rose,” which represented me. With the “Concrete Rose” I wanted to tell a story and create a collector’s piece—the “Rose” from Harlem, plus its support system. The vines and thorns symbolize that no roses without thorns: you need a tribe, a village, to blossom. I wanted to highlight the people behind me; what’s behind the lens matters as much as what’s in front.

I also wanted the shoe to be interactive and personal. The vines are removable so everyone can prune their own rose—that’s the garden theme. We made aprons and I wanted to sell shears but Jordan said I wasn’t allowed to. But I was able to do it for friends and family.

Once removed, the vines can’t be reattached, which makes each sneaker unique. You don’t have to cut them all off—my mom cut one, someone else cut two—but once cut, no two sneakers will be exactly the same.

I love that. I saw a comment on Instagram that was like, “I’m going to cut off the vines,” but that’s what you want anyway.
That’s exactly what I wanted. Honestly, since I’ve been giving them out to my friends and family, nobody wants to cut their vines. So the event that I did in the flower shop, I’m like, OK, we’re pruning. And they were like, no, we’re not. I was like, well y’all going to prune something.

I was watching your My Super Sweet 16, and you were wearing BBC, ICECREAM, and Jordans. And skateboarding in Harlem. Were you the odd man out?
You ever have a group of kids everyone just loved? I had a team called Team N.E.R.D. We were the skater kids, but we were also hood—still from the block. It was the perfect balance, and we stayed neutral. Even when other teams had beef, we didn’t. It was always like, “Oh, that’s Team N.E.R.D.” We could be with any crew and blend in.

We had the Team N.E.R.D Breakfast Club at Johnny Rockets and Amy Ruth’s. We were lit. We went to Johnny Rockets all the time because they were supposed to cater my Sweet 16, but something happened and they couldn’t. They ended up giving me a lifetime card instead.

Oh, that is so cute.
It was a 10-year card—I could eat with four friends, and we’d have the Team N.E.R.D Breakfast Club. We were the cool kids. After my Sweet 16, I started seeing the big hair, fitted caps, skateboards, and BBC ICECREAM everywhere. I thought it was dope. I had a little fan base before I was really a celebrity, back when MySpace was lit.

Speaking of Harlem, I remember A$AP Rocky was at your Sweet 16. I also saw you two together at the Chanel subway show in New York, and I thought it was amazing, seeing someone from where you’re from in those spaces.
Honestly, that hits home for me. That’s gang gang. I saw A$AP Yams, God bless his soul. I’ve always had an eye.

We used to take the same train to school—different schools, but we’d see each other at the station every day. At the time I had Team N.E.R.D. I’ve always been like a creative director, always wanting to build a team.

We’d stand at the station, looking at each other’s sneakers, get on the train, and not even say hi. Eventually I told him, “You need to be on my team. I’ve got this team called Team N.E.R.D.” Teams were a real thing in Harlem then. I brought A$AP Yams on, and Bari and Elijah were already on Team N.E.R.D. So a big part of A$AP actually came from Team N.E.R.D.

Wow.
Yeah, I had just gotten signed and got really busy, so we drifted apart—but nothing crazy. That’s when they created A$AP. I remember they came to Amy Ruth’s while we were having a Team N.E.R.D. Breakfast Club and said, “Yeah, we the A$AP Mob.” That’s the thing about Harlem—we were all close. So it was dope to see them grow. Your girl got good taste—they’re so talented. Rocky was with Million Dollar Babies, and Ferg was with HNV. We were all on teams and all close.

So it was dope seeing Bari and Yams come from Team N.E.R.D., Rocky from Million Dollar Babies, and Ferg from HNV, then all come together to form A$AP Mob. It was really dope to see.

I love that story. I want to talk about fashion. You’ve been looking great this whole press run—consistent, all hits, no misses. I know you style yourself but work with Wayman and Micah to pull pieces. It’s a lot of work to style yourself, so I want to talk about your approach to the Thom Browne dress you wore to the Actor’s Awards.
That was important to me. Especially when it comes to Thom Browne. He was one of the first designers to embrace me. I love collaborating, and I appreciate Micah and Wayman’s patience. For them it’s like, “OK, we’re dressing this person.” But I’m very hands-on. When things get hectic, we get on the phone, go through the looks, and I say, “Pair this with this—boom, boom.” Micah’s a Sag too, so he was like, “We’ve never done this before, but I love it.” We have a good time. I appreciate their patience because I couldn’t even get into certain houses. I couldn’t even secure invites to the Met Gala and, at one point, to the CFDAs. And I take pride in styling myself because I remember when I was in this shit by myself. I knew what I wanted to wear. I also came up in the industry helping designers behind the scenes working and I built my fashion legacy.

My agent once told me, “I know you style yourself, but you’ve never experienced award season like this. Campaigning is a lot. When you’re in London, you’ll need someone to ship everything.” She said, “We’re not saying get a stylist—just a collaborator.” That’s why I don’t call them stylists—nobody styles me. But it was nice saying, “I want this, this, and this,” and Micah and Wayman had it shipped with an assistant. Usually it’s just me lugging everything around.

Yes, it’s a lot of logistics.
So in that aspect it worked. But one promise I made to myself—and told them ahead of time—was that award season was something I had to do myself. Campaigns and press runs are cool, but I wanted Golden Globes, Critics’ Choice, SAGs, and the Grammys to be me working directly with the designers. I needed my vision understood. I worked too hard to get here, and that had to be all me. Don’t get me wrong, I love collaborating. But when I stand in something I designed directly with a designer, it hits different. I’ve always had a vision. I dreamed about moments like this. What would I look like having a mediator for an event I waited my whole life for?

I need to speak directly with the designers—Daniel [Roseberry] at Schiaparelli, Daniel [Lee] at Burberry, Haider [Ackermann] at Tom Ford, Thom Browne. Me and Thom are especially close. My first big fashion moment was the CFDAs, so when I hosted them, I said, “I want to wear all Thom Browne.” We push each other. It’s an amazing time in my life to express that. I used to cry wondering why I wasn’t getting invites. But it made me realize the wait isn’t punishment—it’s preparation for what’s already written. Everything happened this way for a reason.

I’ve designed for people behind closed doors for years. Now I get to design out loud and pour into myself the way I pour into others—designing, directing, styling, choreographing, directing videos. I love it. It brings me joy and peace. When I retired from music, the first thing I did was help protect and uplift other creatives. So being in a season where I can pour into myself the way I pour into others feels amazing. I’m the kind of person who gives what I yearn for.

That’s a beautiful quality. But I want to get back to making the dress—what were you thinking?
Honestly, I love Thom and his imagination. When they said ’20s and ’30s old Hollywood glamour, I thought, OK—sequins, shiny fabrics, beads. Back then everything was beaded and detailed.

So I thought: how do we have old glamour meet us now, instead of us meeting them where they were? I took the bottom of that glamorous dress and mixed it with a Thom Browne/Teyana collaboration. I kind of wanted to be like, I’m catching what you throwing. I wanted the ‘20s and ‘30s to catch what we was throwing, and I think we caught it. At the bottom you see the shift, from classic glamour to my expression now, the body and the art of it. In the ’20s and ’30s it was about shape—the silhouette, even the pointed bust like Marilyn Monroe’s dresses.

We push each other. I love collaborating because I’m passionate and I have a vision, but I need to talk to people who can draw. I don’t want a middle person speaking for me. I need to be there, feeling the paper, seeing the sketches. Because like Meek [Mill] said, “I used to pray for times like this to shine like this.” You know what I’m saying? It is just, that’s how it feels. That’s how it feels to me. “A little lady. But I’m lion-hearted.”

“I’m going to get it regardless.” That song hits crazy. I love that. I’m getting chills thinking about it. Even before all this started happening, when that record came on in the club, everybody would get hyped. But sometimes my friends had to stop and be like, “Bitch, you good?” I felt it.

Like scripture.
I didn’t even have an album. When he said, “I did it without an album,” it hit hard. That’s the hustle—and that hustle is in me. It’s the grind: keep dreaming, don’t give up, keep going. I’ve been the queen of pivoting. If something isn’t serving me, I pivot. That took a lot of prayer. This has been a faith walk for me. So when I stand strong, ten toes down on something, it’s because it took a long time and a lot of hard work to get there. None of this happened overnight. This has been a 20-year prayer.

Let’s talk about acting. You’re very gifted on camera. I know people tell you that, but there’s something about how you embody softness and strength—it’s hard to balance. I’m glad more people are seeing it. I want to talk about Perfidia because you seem invested in people understanding her. Why?
Because everyone deserves understanding, especially complicated characters. When we watch movies, we often ask, “Why did they do that?” I love when films create healthy dialogue. I don’t just want people to understand—I want discussion. I want to hear different perspectives. We don’t do that enough anymore. It felt powerful to see this movie and Perfidia shake the table. It made some people uncomfortable, while others understood it completely—especially mothers who’ve dealt with postpartum depression.

Perfidia is misunderstood. She comes from a long line of revolutionaries, and that identity is ingrained in her. When you inherit something like that, you feel pressure to carry the torch. Her fight is for freedom—free bodies, free borders, freedom for all. Then she gets pregnant and doesn’t fully understand what that means. Everything changes. Even when she’s eight or nine months pregnant, she says, “I feel like Tony Montana,” because that revolutionary mindset is still in her. Nothing slows her down—until it does.

After the baby, she feels ignored, like a piece of meat. The person she’s building a life with focuses entirely on the baby. He sees it as love for their child, but she experiences it differently. When you’re dealing with postpartum depression, you can’t tell a mother how to process it. Everyone handles it differently. She may not have handled it the way others would, but there shouldn’t be judgment. What we can do is step in and help. In the movie, no one does. We hear Perfidia cry out, and we see Bob walk to the door—but he walks away instead of going in. That leaves her feeling like she’s alone, in survival mode: I’m all I’ve got, so I have to show up for myself. The debate around her character shows how overlooked postpartum depression still is. Instead of asking how to help, we end up judging a mother who’s struggling with it.

Yeah, true.
That’s why I like talking about it—because it spreads awareness about being present. When a woman is dealing with postpartum depression, it’s not a joke. Step in the first time. Hear me the first time. See me the first time. Some people think she’s selfish, this or that. But that tells me they didn’t really receive that letter at the end. They didn’t hear her in her most vulnerable state. She was vulnerable. You hear the pain, the 16 years passing, the accountability, the curiosity. You hear a mother asking: Are you happy? Do you have love? Will you try to change the world? We failed, but maybe you won’t. That’s a side of Perfidia we hadn’t heard during the film.

Her character also shows how often we’re forced to be strong—forced to be superheroes, she-roes. We’re not allowed to take our cape off. One mistake and everyone clutches their pearls. Perfidia shows the pressure we live with every day to be perfect.

Yeah.
What you see is humanity—authenticity. She’s raw and beautifully flawed. One thing she does that I wish women did more is be selfish sometimes. Not in the exact ways she was, but still—be selfish. We’re always expected to be super mom, super wife, super girlfriend, super aunt—always super until we have nothing left. Our cup is empty, water spilling everywhere, and we’re still trying to pour from it—shaking the cup to see what’s left while we’re running dry. So even outside the specifics of the story, seeing a Black woman show up for herself and put herself first—I’m here for it. We deserve to be selfish sometimes because we’re always selfless. When do we put ourselves first? When do we love ourselves first? I hope that didn’t misconstrue anything.

I think that was a great explanation. I see common threads between Inez from A Thousand and One, Perfidia, and the detective you played in Straw. They’re women who’ve experienced what you described. You’ve had a big role and a lot of attention. Are you afraid people will keep casting you in these types of roles?
I’m not afraid because I want to be intentional about what I do. It goes back to what I said about styling—I want to be direct and transparent from the start. I won’t let myself get boxed in. In fairness, I filmed One Battle After Another and Straw around the same time, before anything came out. Then I did The Rip, and another movie, 72 Hours with Kevin Hart. I probably did four or five films because the Teyana in me—the little Harlem girl—was like, “Yeah, let’s do it.” Then everything started hitting at the same time.

Which is great.
It looked like, OK—Teyana’s just a badass. But now there are other things I want to do. I felt the same way when I started directing music videos. I got bored quickly. I was like, I don’t want to keep telling stories in three minutes. I’m ready for longform. That’s how I feel about these roles. I’ve done six back to back—Teyana being complicated, being a badass. I enjoyed every role, that’s why I took them. But now I’m ready for rom-coms, horror films, all of it.

That’s what I love about having a big imagination and big dreams. I can pivot easily—like, OK, I want to do this now. I’m spontaneous. I can’t even sit still for long. I want to do everything. There’s always room for me to explore other roles. And honestly, where I am in my career now, I have more say in what I choose. You have to understand—at one point I couldn’t book anything. So even while filming One Battle After Another, I was like, yeah, I want to do this, I want to take everything that’s supposed to be mine. When you see a lot of movies from me, that’s the grind—that’s me remembering when I couldn’t. Now I’m in a space where I can pace myself, be intentional about my next roles, and say, this is what I want to do. I’m in a place now where I take a lot of meetings.

You can choose.
Yes. I’m meeting a lot of people, and it’s gotten to the point where they ask, “What do you want to do?” It’s not even, “Here’s a role.” It’s more like, “We want to work with you. What do you want to make?” So I’m like, cool, I want to do this. I want to do a rom-com. I’ve also been really into horror. I get in those rooms, network, and take advantage of that question—what do you want to do? And baby, I don’t shy away.

That’s a good transition into Get Lite. When I saw the description, I thought: modern-day Save the Last Dance, Honey. But sometimes we look back at those movies and think, that was cute for the time. I know Storm Reid is starring in it, and Get Lite is very New York. How are you making sure she understands that? How do you make the film feel classic and timeless
Honestly, I had a cheat sheet. I came from A Thousand and One. A.V. [Rockwell, filmmaker] is amazing—another New York girl—and we both love the city and its architecture. New York became a character in that film. So when I got the call about Get Lite, I knew what it needed to feel and look like. I want it to be timeless. I don’t want people watching years later thinking, “That was cute for the time.” Sometimes you look back at old outfits and think, what were we doing? But back then it was lit—the True Religions, the chains, the big cuffs with the shell toes, the Von Dutch hats. You couldn’t tell us nothing. I want this movie to feel like something you can return to. Like Pretty Woman or Waiting to Exhale—no matter how old they are, they still pull you into that world.

I want the whole film to feel choreographed—even the camera movements. I’m already building my relationship with my DP, which is important as a director. Even though I’m from Harlem, I’m always a student. With this film I’m scouting, staying hands-on, doing all of it during award season. By the time award season ends, I’ll already be deep into pre-production. That’s how excited I am. I want it to feel like when we saw Stomp the Yard or You Got Served. You left the theater ready to battle somebody. Remember Rize and Miss Prissy? We were hyped. I miss when movies made you feel like that. That’s the feeling I want this one to have.

I want to talk about creative direction and YoungBoy. It’s inspiring to watch because it feels like everyone becomes a better performer after working with you. Talk about that process. How do you make someone like him feel safe and protected?
With me and Coco, our company, The Auntie’s Production, our number one goal is safety: protecting creatives and their visions. When we work with people like YB, Summer Walker, Latto, Lil Baby, Coco Jones—the list goes on—the first question is always: what do you want to do?

Sometimes artists know exactly what they want, sometimes they don’t. My goal is to understand the vision and elevate it. I might have a million ideas, but it still starts with you. You are the vine, you are the rose. I’m just here to help you blossom.

A lot of my ideas come from conversations with the team. I create in the moment. I work best spitballing. I’ll listen to the music and say, “OK, this would be dope.” Then we build it out. We’re a one-stop shop: we have the music director, we curate dancers, handle styling, and design merch. Some artists bring their own stylists, but I’ll still design pieces.

The best part is helping artists bring their vision to life and elevating the performance—choreography, dancers, everything. One thing about YB: he can sell out arenas. That’s not new. But this is the first time he really wants to show up as a performer.

He’s quiet and shy, so he doesn’t say much. That’s where me and Coco become real aunties. I’ll ask, “Babe, what you want?” Then I take that idea, build on it, and bring it back. Some people don’t have the words or don’t know how to articulate their vision. Our job is to understand them so they don’t have to stress. We’re nurturing, but we also push. If you want certain things in your show, you’re going to have to move, dance, put in the work. We’re not lazy—we push each other.

YB might not talk much, but he knows what he wants. He’ll say something like, “I want to come out in a casket.” Then Coco says, “Our nephew wants to come out in a casket.” OK, cool. Now I’m thinking: he’s floating in the sky, the casket opens, and the show begins. I’m always creating, especially once I hear the music.

We also collaborate with companies like Wasted Potential. Shout out to them—they worked with us on the YB tour. They’re incredible designers. We bring the ideas, they mock them up and bring them to life. We love collaboration and doing whatever it takes to give our clients the best show, performances, wardrobe, dancers, and choreography. I was doing YB’s tour while I was on the press run for One Battle. I went to the concert first to check on him, then ran to my screening, then ran back so I could creative direct the show in real time. That’s the video that went viral—me at the soundboard looking like a proud auntie.

I treat it like game film. I go home, watch it back, and think about timing, lighting, everything. Even during the show we’re in YB’s ear helping him hit his marks. It’s really dope to see artists invest in themselves and do the work. That’s not always common now. Me and Coco are old school—we don’t play. If you’re spending your money, we want to make sure you’re getting the best. Seeing artists like YB, Latto, Summer, Skrilla, Lola Brooke, Coco Jones, and Queen Naija invest in themselves is powerful. I’ve watched them say, “This is what the label gave me, and this is what I’m putting in.” That’s the era I come from. I learned that from Beyoncé—invest in yourself even when you don’t see the return yet. That’s what I did, and it led to bigger opportunities and bigger shows.

That’s what I want for my clients. I want them to feel like the investment was worth it. And when they move on to the next room, they know how to navigate it so nobody takes advantage of them. My goal isn’t to creative direct every move forever. Sometimes I do one tour and then send them off because I have my own career too. But I love being the startup. I want to build artists up so they can walk into rooms confidently and say, “This is how it’s going to go.”

Last question. You made a lot of news talking about a sequel for Perfidia. What’s your sales pitch to Paul Thomas Anderson?
What’s funny is it’s going viral and people are taking it seriously. Not that it’s a joke, but I didn’t sit down and say there should be a sequel. I want scenes with Chase [Infiniti]. I want to know what happened. I want to know what Perfidia did during those 16 years. When Willa walked out the door and he said, “Be careful,” and she said, “I won’t,” I want to know where she went. Was she going to find Deandra and Perfidia?

I need a spinoff with Perfidia, Deandra, and Chase. I want to see them on the run. I want to see the woman behind the voice in the letter—how she got there, how she reached that level of vulnerability, regret, and accountability. You can hear those 16 years in her voice. It would be dope to actually see that story.