Yoruba names are incantations that the holder often comes to embody. Little Simz, real name Simbiatu Ajikawo, is growing into hers. “It means brave woman,” she tells me, settling into a plush sofa in a Shoreditch hotel suite, on a downcast October day. For the last decade, the rapper-cum-actor has been battling what she describes as a series of “setbacks and rejection”. Now, she’s rounding out her 20s as one of the UK’s most revered musical artists — the proud holder of an Ivor Novello, a Brit and winner of the Mercury Prize (she might, in the words of Kendrick Lamar, “be the illest doing it right now”). Not to mention her acting work, notably as Shelley in the acclaimed series Top Boy, or as a photographer (her coffee-table book — the *book — was published this year), or even sharing her comfort food recipes on Mob. Does she find that she becomes a master of any skill easily? “Is it bad if I say yeah?”
Nobody sounds like Little Simz. Her idiosyncratic style is born from her pursuit to be an outlier. Sometimes I Might Be Introvert, her 2021 breakout record and fourth studio album, was acclaimed for its ambitious production, floating from anthemic instrumentation to soul, highlife- and afrobeat-infused tracks — a magnum opus. “I’m really carving a sound that’s rooted in hip-hop but isn’t afraid to dip into an alternative space to reach different people,” she says. She’s not afraid of challenging lyricism either, eviscerating misogynists who don’t like to see “pussy in power” on tracks such as “Venom”, declaring that self-love is better than disappointing dating on “One Life, Might Live” (“No one love you like I love you, baby, note to self”), and rapping about mental health on 2019’s Grey Area, an album so original it doesn’t even include samples.
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The last time I saw Little Simz, she was jubilant. It was her 2022 Brits after-party at Shoreditch House, the night she took home best new artist. Her mum, who collected the award with her in a heartwarming viral moment, was still beaming on the dance floor. “She was hugging that Brit,” says Simz, with a laugh. “I didn’t expect her to come up on the stage, she just got up! That moment was like, ‘Oh, my daughter is actually that girl!’ ” It was particularly satisfying as her mum had worried about her decision to quit university to continue releasing music on Bandcamp and SoundCloud instead. “I was like, ‘Mum, just trust in what you done — if I’m gonna drop out I’m not gonna be a bum, I’m gonna really make something of this.’ ”
She was true to her word, even if it was no easy feat. Navigating the music industry as a young woman from a north London council estate, without a major label’s support, takes wiley intelligence and unwavering self-belief. Simz clearly possesses both. Today, her youthful face is tightly haloed by a beige hood, engulfed by another from a supersized black puffer jacket layered on top. The 29-year-old is fighting the autumn chill and jet lag as she’s fresh off a flight from the US, where she’s been touring.
In person, Simz is softly spoken and noticeably shy. Born in 1994, she was raised in Islington, the daughter of Nigerian parents who split when she was young. She and her three older siblings barely know their father. One of her most streamed tracks, “I Love You, I Hate You”, unpacks her “daddy issues” and aching loss. Still, the rest of the family remained close. Their home was filled with an intergenerational mix of sounds, from rappers such as Nas and Ms Dynamite, to garage, grime, neo-soul, funk, afrobeat and reggae, all of which have found their way into her sound. Simz balanced her musical dream while doing “double shifts” at her art gallery side job, and found innovative ways to record from her bedroom without a budget. “I couldn’t afford a pop shield that stops all your Ps, Ts and Ds from penetrating the mic, so I used a sock,” she says. In 2015, she rapped, “Heard me singing live way before the world has/Heard my mistakes and frustration way before the world has” on a track called “God Bless Mary”, in honour of her neighbour who listened to the awkward journey to her finding her voice through the wall. “I’ve always written from a very introspective place and just wanted to share my story in hopes that it can inspire someone,” she explains.
Her message is resonating, though it requires every inch of her self-determination. Take her recent US tour: originally scheduled for last May, initially she cancelled it in April due to financial strain, explaining that as an independent artist she has to pay for everything “out of her own pocket”. She’s open about her struggle for resources to take her art to the next level, even after a Top 10 album. The perseverance was worth it, however. “When I got there it was like these people actually love me. They were showing up in my show outfit, with a shirt, tie and a bomber — for me, that’s huge.”
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This transition to becoming a fashion star — revered for her bold androgynous silhouettes — is new too. Inspired by Missy Elliott’s “unapologetic self-expression”, Simz’s stylist, Luci Ellis, tells Vogue that the artist is undergoing “an evolution” where she’s “letting go of any boundaries to create something entirely new”, who — though sometimes seen in appropriately intellectual Prada, prefers labels such as Loutre, a small skate brand that favours recycled materials, helmed by fellow one-woman force Pia Schiele. As for her sculptural tresses, they’re a signal of her growing confidence. She used to hate her hair. “I feel really beautiful and divine feminine when I wear my natural hair [now],” she says, reminiscing about ill-advised mid-Noughties quiffs, constant straightening and bad ginger dye jobs. “I’m trying to love myself holistically, wholesomely, all of me.”
Stepping into her power aesthetically suggests a personal revolution too. In last year’s “No Merci”, akin to a voice-note from a friend who wants to vent, Simz raps about exploitative industry handlers taking large cuts from her hard work. “It’s mad. Essentially, when you give people control, and you’re so trusting, they will really do whatever they want,” she says, before clarifying it’s the “system” that is unethical, rather than individuals. “You’ve probably been doing this for a very long time but you’re not doing it with me.”
In every aspect of her work, Simz is on the side of artists. We’re not allowed to discuss one of her most notable feats — Netflix’s runaway hit Top Boy — as a show of solidarity with striking peers. She thinks their “unified attitude” to change the industry is “beautiful”. This is her outlook on success generally. “It’s bigger than me. I want the next bunch to come through and go even further. It’s not really exciting to do things by yourself.” That applies to her social life too. Cooking gives her more joy when guests can experience the feast, and when she jets to Jamaica, now she pays for friends to join. “You can’t put a price on that,” says Simz. “The pace there is so different. I’m from London where if the bus says five minutes, that’s long! You’re forced to let things happen when they happen.”
Her path so far is a product of that thinking. Early on, she rejected record deals, opting instead to be the driving force of her own destiny. Nor does she really lean on mentors for advice, she says, as she doesn’t want to feel obliged to take it. “I’m fine making mistakes as long as they’re new. If it’s twice, I’m a dummy but just once — that’s just being human, isn’t it?” she says, leaning back and whacking her head on the lamp behind. She laughs. “It’s OK to bump your head as well. I’ve bumped my head so many times, but it’s all learning.”
She keeps a close circle of collaborators, many she’s known for years. Simz paid £1 “almost every day” in her teens to take part in acting, cooking and dance classes at her local youth club, St Mary’s. It was here Simz met dancer Kloe Dean, who choreographed her video for “Introvert”, as well as last year’s Brit performance. It’s also where she met producer Inflo, credited as the mastermind behind music collective Sault, who has also worked with Adele and is a frequent Simz collaborator. After watching her develop, he tells me he regards her as a “vessel of the most high. [She was] born ready.”
No longer underground, the polymath is undoubtedly one of the most unique artists in the mainstream — and she’s just getting started. “For what I’m after, it’s not gonna come easy,” she says, quietly determined as ever. “But I’m gonna put up the fight.”
The December 2023 issue of British Vogue is on newsstands from Tuesday 21 November