Words: Cara Elise Taylor

Jezebel, by filmmaker Numa Perrier (Black & Sexy TV, Queen Sugar), is a story based on Perrier’s life as a camgirl at age nineteen. In the aftermath of her mother’s death, Tiffany (Tiffany Tenille) is introduced to sex work under the tutelage of her older sister Sabrina (Numa Perrier)—a phone-sex operator. Tiffany responds to an ad for a camming site, where webcam models perform for people who join their chat rooms and pay to view them/virtually interact. The film (which Perrier wrote, directed, and co-stars in) emits the feeling of closeness at its best and its worst, and reminds us that sex workers’ stories need not be solely about trauma. A wig named Jezebel and an older sister who encourages financial agency become the catalysts to transcending girlhood. Jezebel displays a deeply affecting bond between two sisters and how that love helps a young Black woman in loving herself and accessing her power. 

Cara Taylor, Womanly Magazine’s Digital Content Manager, spoke to Numa about the film, the multiplicity of her story, and how she takes care of herself.  

What did it mean to be a camgirl in the late 90s, and how did it feel to be involved in that culture so early in the internet age? 

The tech was rudimentary, and you couldn't see or hear the other person - they could only see you in delayed frames. This felt, to me, like a version of a peep show (which were popular in Las Vegas at the time) and I was often more consumed in my own fantasies than the guy in the chat. This was a form of escapism for me, and on Fridays when I got my check I felt happy, relieved and proud of myself. It was very much one day at a time and one check at a time until I moved on. However, I was aware of being the only Black girl, and I used that more to my advantage than anything else. Once I understood how fetishized we are, I let that be my calling card. I leaned way into it. Even with all the racism I endured, I still felt desirable. And the white women I worked with still found time to be jealous of me even when they didn't have to deal with the slurs and racial abuse that I sometimes had to deal with. That was the main part of the culture that was eye opening for me.

The work that you did, the cam work, how much of that informed how you navigate your art now? 

I would not have connected the two, but I have now, looking back. You know, it was actually the first time that I ever used a camera. It was forming a very early aesthetic of my own image, and how I wanted to present myself. I had my costumes that I would try on, and things that were fun for me to do. I loved to readjust the lights and do the framing a little bit different. I really do think that was an early slice of filmmaking. It also took away any notions of prudeness for me, so I’ve been able to navigate the space of the erotic in a kind of way that not everyone can navigate because they don’t have that experience. I’ve been an artist since I was a kid and in everything that I do, even in the sex work, there was artistry in that and there was an early forming of my signature. 

The actress who plays you teeters between a sense of empowerment and feeling emotionally confused. How did it feel to watch her portray that? 

I definitely offered her the role because I could intuitively feel she had the range for it. That whole spectrum of curiosity, discovery, confusion, power. We spent a lot of time talking about it, because I think the natural go-to is to think victim, or to think trauma, but there was actually more that I remember. I remember liking going to my job. I remember liking the costumes. I remember discovering what a fetish was, and I remember the sadness. 

I can’t just come at my story from one angle, especially if that angle is victimhood. I would never frame myself as a victim; I chose to do that work.  

When I was watching the movie, I thought a lot about Alice Walker’s In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens. She talks about the duty of Black Women to tell their stories. Who are you making films for and why? 

I’m definitely trying to activate other Black women to tell their stories, because this is how the culture really shifts: through art. During the making of the film, I made sure I brought on other Black women. I wanted Black women to be in leadership positions. Most of our producers are Black women. That was a dynamic that I wanted in the culture of our set. So it was very intentional in how the crafting of the film would go, but not so much inside of the story. Inside of the story, it was important for me to show the love of the sisters and have the belly of the film be about that. Everything else is dressing around that. 

Who are the womanist artists you’ve been inspired by?

A lot in the literary and art space: Audre Lorde, Maya Angelou. Carrie Mae Weems, Kara Walker, Lorna Simpson. I’m just thinking how I have probably 400 books [laughs] and a lot of them are art books or Black women's literature. 

How do you take care of yourself? 

I do my best to meditate. I don’t do it daily—I’d like to make a daily routine of it— but it’s more like every other day. But, with some consistency I do meditate 15 minutes a day. That cleanses the palate emotionally and psychically. I also make sure that I take really great showers. I feel like water is kind of a conduit. So if I need to release or let ideas come to me, I’ll just hop in the shower. 

What is the greatest thing you’ve learned from relationships with the women in your life? 

I think the biggest thing that I’ve learned is that I am enough. I am my own ticket to the party, and I don’t have to look outside myself to be validated. I can kind of stamp my own passport, and that’s something that I would have thought I always knew, but I actually had to learn and be guided to it by other women who could see things that I needed to see. They let me know and they did it in a way that was not pressured at all. That led to me finishing my film and carrying it through.

You can watch Jezebel on Netflix now.