Karen Binns by Henry Boadu | Image courtesy of Karen Binns
Brooklyn-born Karen Binns has spent over 30 years shaping her career in fashion, blending an entrepreneurial spirit with a deep connection to culture. From a young age, she was drawn to fashion and film; her mother would bring home Vogue magazines that Karen would pour over, and classic films like Auntie Mame sparked her imagination. “I always imagined myself as Auntie Mame when I got older—an eccentric woman who could take her family anywhere because she had done it all,” she reflects. Binns’ path into the fashion world was one filled with unconventional connections. A close confidant of Jean-Michel Basquiat, she bonded with him over struggles with tokenism and the intellectual dynamics of New York’s downtown art and party scene. Her first connection to fashion came when she started working with designer Andre Walker, consulting on his shows. This relationship set her on a trajectory that would eventually lead her to London, where she has lived for the past 30 years and remains inspired by the youth culture of the city. Over the years, Binns has established herself as a stylist and creative director, working with artists like Tori Amos and Wizkid. Beyond styling, she’s passionate about nurturing the next generation of talent, involving herself in initiatives like Hi-Fi, NewGen, R.O.O.M., and The British Fashion Council’s Fashion Awards, all dedicated to giving back and uplifting creatives. Models.com spoke to the Global Fashion Director at 10 Magazine about how New York has changed since the ’80s, the emerging designers she’s excited about, and why the fashion industry must embrace all generations to create a limitless space.
I know you grew up in Brooklyn. Can you tell me about growing up there? What are your first memories of fashion, and do you remember your first styling job?
Growing up, I went through a pretty rough time when my father went to jail. He was gone for about a year and a half, but there’s no shame about my upbringing. Without that experience, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. It made me independent. I remember my mother bringing home Vogue magazines in the mid-70s. I was probably around 14/16. My mom worked as a home attendant on the Upper East Side, working for very wealthy people. She had such a good look; she was so chic that they loved having her because it made them feel like she was part of the family rather than just a private duty nurse. Anyway, she’d bring these magazines home and say, “Karen, I know you want to see these magazines.” Apparently, they would throw the magazines away when the month was over, but she’d bring them home for me. I was the only family member who read them cover to cover. I’d keep them in my room and treasure them. I remember watching two films that influenced me a lot: one was a 1940s film, and the other was Auntie Mame. I always imagined myself as Auntie Mame when I got older, an eccentric woman who could take her family anywhere because she had “done it all.” I was heavily influenced by film. One of the films, Laura, was from the 1940s and featured an independent woman who did everything independently. She lived in Manhattan, worked at an advertising agency, always looked amazing, and hung out with people from all walks of life. I said to myself, “Imagine getting up every morning, living in a beautiful apartment in Manhattan, working in advertising and fashion.” That was my dream, and as I looked at the magazines, I realized that the ’30s and ’40s influenced those magazines from the ’70s. I lived in a tough neighborhood in Brooklyn, but we had a nice house in that rough area, and my mother always looked amazing when she came home. No one would ever guess she was a private duty nurse or looked like a maid. Everything she wore was secondhand, but she had this elegance to her. [When I was] 14, she said, “Okay, you can’t look like the other kids out here. I’m going to take you shopping and buy you an outfit. It’s all going to be secondhand, though.” The best quote she ever gave me was, “It’s always better to wear the best of last season than the worst of this season.”
Do you remember your first styling job? What did that mean to you at the time?
I didn’t really have a “first styling job,” per se. I was asked to hang out/consult with the designer, Andre Walker. I saw his first show at The Roxy when I think he was about 17, and it was absolutely brilliant. I was mesmerized. From then on, I started hanging out with him and advising him. I went to his shows, and then I started doing some club work. I ran my own club called Soul Boys with these Jamaican people, and it became a hot spot for people in the fashion industry, because it was such a cool place to be. Anyway, I remember meeting Diane Pernet, and she asked, “Would you like to come to the studio and maybe work on a show or something?” I didn’t really understand what it meant at the time. I didn’t go to fashion school, so I wasn’t familiar with the whole process, but that’s how I got started.
You also mentioned that you ran a club. Can you talk about that as well?
Yes, I ran a club called Soul Boys. I created it when I came to London at 21 with a friend. She wanted me to go with her because her mother wanted her to have someone look out for her. We went to this club on Battle Bridge Road in London. It was a legal warehouse party with cool DJs, and they just served beer and wine. It was off the charts. I said, “I’m going to do this in New York.” So I went to a West Indian club in Flatbush, linked up with some people there, and said, “You guys are going nowhere. Why don’t we take this to Manhattan?” I had already been going to clubs like Danceteria. I would get all the info from the Village Voice and the back pages of Interview Magazine; those magazines told you where to go, who was going, and who was cool. I’d just show up on my own. I knew Brooklyn wasn’t enough for me; I always knew I wanted to end up in Europe. So, I met these people and said, “Let’s try it. We’ll make a really cool flyer, and I’ll go to all the clubs like Danceteria and Save the Robots. I’ll give it a shot.” How I looked made people come, and they brought the cash from Brooklyn. I had the fashion crowd, and for two years, we were on fire and never got busted.
Going back to the start of your career, I know this is a question you get a lot, but you were part of the ’80s scene and very close to Basquiat. Could you describe that era in culture and what it meant to you at the time?
That era was one where the “rich kid” wasn’t popular. They couldn’t buy their way into anything, and they hated it. Jean and I were really good friends because we thought alike. We understood what it was like in the nightlife, how we were treated, how we were looked at, and we refused to be tokens in anyone’s scene. Jean was very, very smart, self-taught, and intellectual. I didn’t realize I was an intellectual then; I thought I had common sense. But I always made it a point to learn about his work. When I first met him, we argued in his back room. The next time I saw him was at his first opening night. I’ve told this story many times, but we became best friends after that. We never looked at each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. We saw each other more like siblings because we shared strong feelings about the same things. We had conversations that are reflected in his paintings. I would go to his studio and talk about things like, “Can you believe they’re trying to treat me like this?” The ’80s were a reinvention of the ’40s but more like the ’50s. That’s where pop music and pop culture took off. We hung out with Warhol, and the city was electrifying because it was filled with creators from Europe who pushed us to be more than we were, seeing our value more clearly than we could at the time. Culture was everything, not money. If you had too much money, you were looked down on. I remember seeing John F. Kennedy Jr. at the club, and he was cool, but it was because New York had such an intense intellectual scene. William Burroughs would even be at the club in a wheelchair. Today, who do you see?
Do you feel like that’s how New York has drastically changed today? What are the main differences you see?
New York is ruled by rich kids from Scarsdale with no creativity and zero culture. “Oh, what are you wearing?” “I’m wearing this.” “What are you wearing?” “I’m wearing that.” “That’s great. I’ve seen it on a million people. That means it’s really good.” That already makes me want to throw up. Everything’s about everybody doing it for validation. Who cares? Please come up with something original. When I go home, I’m yawning. I was there when everyone was different. No one looked the same. Back then, I knew Marc Jacobs when he was very young. He’s probably one of the only ones who has stayed true to being different. Who else? I’m not saying everybody’s bad, but everything is just a rehash of what’s already been done, what’s already on Vogue or out here. And the casting—if you have Black casting, it’s only one slim African look. Black people are 17+ different colors, 17+ faces, and 17+ shapes. And then I start thinking, is this tokenism all over again? Don’t treat them as a monolith.
You’ve been working with Wizkid for a long time now. Could you speak about that relationship and how you’ve collaborated to build his image to what it is today?
Wizkid is at the top of Afrobeats. Well, it’s not just Afrobeats; it’s more than that. But he’s one of my top three artists. The way he fuses music is unlike anyone else. I have a lot of respect for that. I have to like the music in order to work with the artist. I have to be honest. I don’t work with random people. I worked with Tori Amos for 32 years; she is a white American alternative rock artist. What I’ve done with her has been copied and rinsed; she’s one of my best works. I’ve gotten a lot of work from what I did with her, and many people wrote about it. And by the time I got to Wiz, I was untouchable. When I heard his music, I asked him what he wanted to be. He said he wanted to show the world what he’s accomplished over the past 10 years, but people always treat him like a child. He looks so young and wants to show that he’s a man, that he’s leveled up, and that he’s elevated. That’s why I came up with the cover idea of him crying, like Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire, for Made in Lagos. He reminded me of Marlon Brando—he had the same arrogance and power. When I listened to the record, I thought, “I’m going to have him in tears. No one will see that coming.” And now that album is legendary.
No one knows what he’s wearing on that cover. I stripped it down. I made him an actor more than an artist, and that’s how I worked with him. My references came from film and actors, not musicians because the words and work he was doing were so eclectic. Of course, the first person that comes to mind is Fela Kuti, but I wanted Wizkid to be the modern-day version of Fela, more intellectual, which is tough because Fela was a genius and extremely intellectual. I wanted Wiz to be intellectual against his peers today, and doesn’t he look it? Sometimes, he drives me insane, to my last nerve, but maybe that’s because we’re both Cancers, so we kind of battle a bit. I think that’s healthy.
“This industry needs all generations involved. Only then can they create the perfect space—a limitless space”
How you have seen the industry progress, what are the main shifts you’ve observed from then to now? Are there any specific trends or changes that stand out to you?
Well, after Covid, I noticed that anyone and everyone who was Black got hired, but they were all from this younger generation. So, for all of us who have been working for a long time and are really good at what we do, our experience was often overlooked, and our contributions were gaslit as if we didn’t exist. And I’m not saying this out of resentment; this is just the reality. The only person I saw who was given a fair chance from our generation was Edward Enninful. In the past three years, I’ve seen all these young people being praised as brilliant, even though they haven’t really done anything yet. It felt like my generation was given a very weak chance. We were overlooked and often gaslit. But now, things are starting to come back to people who truly have what it takes, regardless of the generation they come from. And that’s the gray area; the people who have put in the work and have the experience should finally get the chance. I’m seeing more of that now, more than ever. For me to be in this position, having Sophia (Neophitou-Apostolou) see me—it’s a reminder that we could be in this industry for years, and still, no one sees you. They may see you but don’t want you there because they feel there’s no room for people like you. But there’s more than enough room for all of us. I’m not just saying this because I’m a Black woman; I’m saying this for everyone who has paid their dues and deserves the chance to work. Yes, some young people are great, too, but we all need to be working. This industry needs all generations involved. Only then can they create the perfect space—a limitless space.
Are there any exciting initiatives you’re looking forward to in your new role as Global Fashion Director at 10 Magazine? What vision do you have for the role, and what projects are you most excited to work on?
Well, I’m already working on a few exciting initiatives. One is Hi-Fi, which is an NGO that works in tandem with the Hidden Agency. A lot of people in this industry are focused on being “fierce,” staying on top, or getting the next big job, but we believe that we become better at what we do when we give back and work with people who might not have the funds or means. Every time we work with someone, we not only help them but also learn something new ourselves. It’s a cycle of giving back, and I love it. It’s an initiative I’m really passionate about. For example, we recently worked on the Maximilian Raynor show. We produced it, and I came into style and mentored him. He’s a fantastic designer, and the show turned out wonderfully.
Now, because of that collaboration, he has the opportunity to be considered for future work, as people can now see his full potential. We might not be able to do this on an ongoing basis, but at least we’re helping someone each season. It’s about creating space for others. Another initiative I’m involved in is the NewGen, led by Sarah Mower. It’s a platform that specifically aims to include people from marginalized communities, especially Black designers. My role is to make sure that the people selected aren’t just chosen for tokenism; they need to be the best. For me, it’s about picking the most talented, not just because they fit a demographic. I want the best, and I’m not afraid to speak up and say, “This isn’t great; this is incredible.” I’m not doing anyone any favors by letting mediocrity slide. I see the effort that goes into it, and I’m committed to finding the best work. I’m also a judge for The Fashion Awards with the British Fashion Council (BFC), and on top of that, I’m part of Kenya Hunt’s mentorship program with R.O.O.M., and I sit on her mentorship board as well. Like me, Kenya’s an expat, so we bonded over the fact that we were both Black Americans here in London. I’m from New York, and she’s from the South; Kenya has been in the industry for a long time. What she does is create a safe space for marginalized communities and Black people to speak about their experiences in the industry and see how we can help. We’re not just here to give them a job; they have to put in the work like we did. But we provide the reality, offering valuable advice to help guide them.
Do you have any emerging designers or brands on your radar?
There are quite a few. There’s a designer based in London named Paolo Carzana, who reminds me of John Galliano when he first started. He does what makes him feel amazing, but it’s always beautiful. He creates everything from scratch, by hand, and does it all himself. I think he’s a real treasure for the UK. I know people are already familiar with Grace Wales Bonner. What she represents her culture is in its purest form, but she’s no longer emerging. She’s already established. Maximilian Raynor, I think he has great promise. My hope is that he goes in the right direction and that he’s able to work with really incredible fabrics because he knows how to cut a dress and a pair of trousers. He has his own distinct aesthetic, but now it’s time for him to take the business side of things seriously. I think he’ll do well. I also saw the latest Central Saint Martins show, and I have to say it was the best one they’ve had in a long time. They’re all completely sellable. It’s hard because there are so many smaller designers out there, but it’s difficult to say who has the most talent. They’re all good for different reasons, really.
Karen Binns by Henry Boadu | Image courtesy of Karen Binns
