A surge of excitement rushes as I sit down to interview actor and queer icon, Samira Wiley, about a collaboration made in my own personal gay heaven: a 5-foot tall portrait of Wiley, created entirely from LEGO bricks. The portrait was created to kickstart a campaign encouraging the use of play and creative expression, to explore who we are and celebrate our identity.
“There’s some fun visuals in there.” Wiley grins. “Things you wouldn’t know unless you were in the room with us.” Her smile is as electric as her personality, seamlessly switching between warm sincerity to playful joviality. As we’re troubleshooting audio for our video call—a remote conversational ritual in 2023—she oozes a zen-like charisma.
“One second,” Wiley holds up a finger before disappearing from the screen. Moments later, I hear her interacting with her daughter, George. Gleeful tones of toddler whimsy emanate from off-camera. Even in her search for a device with cooperating sound, Wiley holds time for her kid.
Just as quickly, Wiley is back on camera. Her video’s landscape orientation has been replaced by portrait framing, and the name “Lauren” displayed below suggests she’s swapped the unobliging desktop for her wife’s mobile.
“Okay, I can hear you.” She beams again.
Samira, this project beautifully examines the concepts and components of personal identity. For you, when looking back, what early identity influences stand out?
I didn’t see a lot of characters that looked like me and loved like me. If I did, they weren’t fully realized, three-dimensional people or played by people who identified the same way the characters did. That was a big moment for me to realize —wow, these things which didn’t exist when I was younger—not only do they exist now, but I’m a part of them.
You’ve greatly contributed to representation but all that attention can be tough.
Before my second TV role, I had conversations with my confidant, my wife, about not wanting to be pigeonholed, not wanting to be cast as the gay girl every time.
I get that fear. This idea that “gay” is a genre rather than a facet of a whole person.
[Laughs.] Exactly. But I was participating in this stereotype that a Black, gay woman is one thing and one thing only. This warped thinking like, because someone wants me to play another character who happens to be Black, queer, and a woman it’s the same thing. Left up to my own devices, I might have sabotaged myself.
Thankfully, for all of us, you didn’t.
My wife, Lauren, helped me realize what a privilege it was to be a Black, gay woman and bring life to a Black, gay woman on TV. To have someone know this is not just a fictional character. This person exists. That was a real epiphany for me.
As an actor, you’re repeatedly taking on different identities. How do you infuse yourself into your work?
For a long time, the way I thought about acting is, you go up and you have to forget every single thing you are and all your history and completely become another person. One of my acting teachers said, “Samira, there’s nobody up there but you. Every character you bring to life can only be influenced by your life experiences and the way you walk through the world.” I’ve found the answer to so many things by saying yes to that idea.
And you started acting on stage when you were pretty young.
I was 9 or 10. I remember telling my parents, “There’s this theater camp. I gotta go.” I ended up being a part of this program connected with Howard University all the way through high school. It gave me so much confidence and introduced me to a part of myself that has become much of who I am and what I do.
What was it about theater?
In elementary school, kids would recite poems on stage. One year, watching this girl recite; it felt like acting to me. She had this power. All the sudden this entire auditorium full of little kids is sitting up in their seats. They’re paying attention because of the strength and power you have with your words and body on stage. I was like, I want to do that.
I know that feeling – nothing is going to stop you from doing that thing. Any other empowering childhood influences?
I immediately go to my mother. And sister. Two of the strongest women I know. My sister’s the mother of five kids and owns her own business. My mother has two doctorate degrees. So, I’m just trying to catch up. I remember my mother’s stories growing up: adversity but also joy, triumph, and so many things which go along with triumph to be an important, successful Black woman in this world.
Now you’re a mother yourself. To a toddler, no less.
Marriage is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. [Laughs.] It’s saying yes to the same person every single day. It’s a beautiful thing. And then you put a baby in the middle of it. I don’t know why people do this. It’s crazy hard. Parenting has expanded who I understand myself to be as a whole human. It’s taught me my capacity for love and patience is greater than I thought. It’s also dropped me to my knees at points.
Parents are heroes. I watched my two-year-old niece for two weeks. I was exhausted.
Two weeks! That’s a long time.
I was like, Mother’s Day really–
–should be every day. I know. And then you think about single mothers, my God. But, yeah, the family we’ve created is one of the reasons I know why I’m here. It’s the big journey in my life: figuring out how to be a mom and wife.
How do you seek to inspire your daughter, and even other people you meet, to embrace who they are?
Making a conscious choice — my wife and I — to be visible in this conversation. We’re two women who’ve been married for six years. We have a stable, loving family. We can walk down the street and hold each other’s hand. We take our daughter to school together. Things many people could not dream of. So I’m proud of the family I’ve created. There’s so much pride there. Genuine pride.
You exude such authentic, individual expression—even in your style.
My parents were pastors. I was in the church every day. I wore church dresses. Then there was a time in high school where I didn’t know what was going on. As I look back, it was the beginning of exploration about queer identity. I remember feeling my brother’s backwards hats and jerseys, stuffing them in my backpack so my family wouldn’t see me wearing these things at school. Then you realize, it’s somewhere between the backwards hats and the church dresses. That’s where I found myself.
When we’re conditioned to dress a stereotypically gendered way, it can be such a challenge to find that place.
People spend years trying to figure out, What am I going to be? What am I going to represent? Andy Warhol said, “Art is anything you can get away with.” That’s what I’m asking when I’m putting an outfit together. “What can Samira pull off that no one else can?” I feel I’ve found a real sweet spot of just complete play.
Let’s talk about this stunning portrait you’ve created with the LEGO team.
I realized quickly what amazing passionate, caring, thoughtful people I was working with. It was quite striking. They were able to help me appreciate me and my story. It was incredible to walk into a room and have people really walking the talk.
This project seems like it would spark a lot of creativity and introspection.
This whole thing has been a very uplifting, rewarding process for me. Being able to investigate and think critically about different parts of my life, I was very encouraged by the team. I would leave these meetings sometimes in tears, and so inspired. I’m always inspired by someone else’s creative process and the way they think about the world and art.
What are some standout visuals in the portrait?
A couple of my tattoos. There’s one called Nsoromma which is a West African Adinkra symbol. It’s the first tattoo I ever got. It means “child of the heavens.” For me it symbolizes that my presence here on Earth is not a mistake. It’s divine.
This Pieces of Me project is about celebrating the unique pieces of our identities. Based on your own experience, what advice would you give LGBTQIA+ folks as they learn to embrace themselves?
Advice is hard because our journeys are so individual. But the thing that’s helped me through life is knowing: if no one else has got me, I’ve got to have me. I’ve got to have self-love. I’ve got to understand my self-worth. If you grow up in a place where you’re never shown you matter, it’s not the easiest thing to just say one day you’re going to believe that. But I do know, any person, wherever they are in their journey, if and when they can find that, something might turn around. My journey to self-acceptance has changed me, saved me and allowed me to thrive.
As we conclude, and Samira returns to her delighted two-year-old, I consider the kaleidoscope of portraits that would emerge if everyone were to ponder the same question: “If you were to build a LEGO portrait that celebrates YOU, how would you create yourself in brick form—and what pieces of your identity would you be most proud to share?” Undoubtedly, there would be recurring motifs echoing our shared human experiences—love, acceptance, community, artistic expression, and play. Yet, just as captivating would be the dazzling array of specificities and quirks that render us so fantastically, singularly ourselves.