The Spellbinding Success of Kai the Black Angel

Erotic and charming, it’s no mistake that 19-year-old Kafiq Baynes has been nicknamed Kai the Black Angel. Flying onto pop culture’s perch as the all-white winged figure on Blood Orange’s Negro Swan cover art, he has quickly become a fixture of New York’s coruscating queer art and music scene—pushing conversations about blackness, queerness and masculinity forward one art piece at a time.

That body of work—like the artist himself—is ripe with duality. Using bright colors, digital graphics, and a ’90s teen dream aesthetic, he unpacks timely conversations about his experiences growing up and hoping for more in Philadelphia, exploring his sexuality, and fleshing out his identity at Parsons School of Design.

If you haven’t seen Baynes by now, you’ve likely already heard him. A DJ who picked up mixing as a child, he’s provided sounds for Telfar and Dev Hynes, in addition to creating the soundtrack to his own must-attend underground parties. His deep house cuts are rhythmic and easy to move to, but if you listen carefully, you’ll find them infused with generations of voices encouraging you to listen so they can be heard.  

That yearning is derived from an upbringing Baynes himself, is working to grapple with.

“I’m 19 years old. I’m from Philly. I was raised in a single parent home. I went to a charter school. I have six siblings—three boys, three girls. But, I don’t know if that’s a cool thing to say,” he recounts, his voice becoming nearly inaudible.

“I have to prove to my mom that me coming [to New York] meant something,” says Baynes. “She sheltered us to the point that I didn’t feel like I was ready for the outside world. But one day I was sitting in my house in Philly and I knew I just couldn’t live that life anymore. My mom was at work. I got up. I left.”

Now, one of New York’s most in-demand young artists, Baynes is embarking on a new chapter in his career that will see him deliver a full-length album and expand his modeling and visual arts portfolio. If his newest nickname “King of NYC Youth” is any indication, he’s cemented his legacy and the city he once feared in now bowing at his feet.

How did you end up in New York?

It will be two years since I moved [to New York]  in August. [When I first got here] I lived in the dorms—so I was pampered a little bit. I moved out in my second year and got involved in scenes around the city—throwing myself into uncomfortable situations.

Like what?

Like looking for housing, learning to be financially stable, choosing to eat dollar slices every day.

How does living In New York and attending Parsons compare to your life back in Philly?

Parsons is a pretty amazing school. It’s honestly a blessing considering where I came from.

I never had to worry about presentation at home. Now, I deal with a lot of questions about identity and the idea of the self. [College] has made me hyper-aware of my blackness—how I present my work, my body, my walk. I’ve realized that I feel most comfortable giving a masculine—I hate to use that word—representation with a femme twist.

Did that realization inspire your Femme Thug persona?

We’ve seen the narrative of the soft black man before, so I made mine a lot edgier. I wanted to show that masculinity and femininity can coexist while being literal with the name—after all, I can make [a political statement], sound cunt and cute.

You decided to call your new radio show Femme Thug too. Walk me through the process of creating it.

It wasn’t supposed to be a radio show. I was just making practice mixes of house cuts and ballroom references. Femme Thug was a character I’d slip into, and one day it turned into a show.

Have you always had a passion for DJing?

I started DJ seriously when I moved to New York—when I realized you could get paid for it. When I was a kid in Philly, my friend turned me onto this software that let you do sound collages that could land on top of each other and that excited me.

How would you describe the state of queer culture in New York City?

It’s beautiful. I get to witness diverse personalities having fun, loving and protecting each other. We each have our own strengths, and we bring them together to create something the world can come into it.

But it’s not all fun. Right now my friend is working with the mayor on guidelines for queer spaces because hetero people have found their way into ours and have made things a bit uncomfortable.

How so?

I can’t speak for the trans community, but they fetishize that group, and we pick up on that. We want to be inclusive, but we also need to protect young brown people. You can’t come in [to our space] and make us uncomfortable— that’s some bullshit.

Are your messages about black masculinity and black queerness aimed at the people who make you feel uncomfortable in your own space?

It’s for the black community. This is only what I’ve encountered, but black people are a lot more critical of queer people.

Critical of the sexual act of being queer or queer culture?

[They’re critical] of the culture. In my experience, the white queens eat it up while I get the most hate from older black folk. I don’t know what they think goes on in the life of a black gay kid, but it’s probably not that.

By creating a public space where I can invite people to come and be themselves and exist together, I’m challenging that. At the same time, we’ve decided that if we can’t find validation within our own community, then we will create our own thing and enjoying ourselves there.

How have black youth responded?

If it’s for them, they gravitate toward it, and if it’s not, they acknowledge us and keep it pushing.

Your work in nightlife has led some people to call you a king of the youth. How do you respond to that?

I didn’t even know people look at me like that. But that’s cool. Maybe they see me that way because I’m providing space for people who need it.

Walk me through your artistic process.

I go through these phases. I’ll pick up a medium one day and then drop it off the next– I’m always unsatisfied. But, amid my discomfort, there are moments of clarity that make it possible to create something spectacular.  That gives me confidence because I believe I have something authentic to offer.

How did you end up on the cover of Negro Swan?

When I was a junior in high school, I commented on Dev when he was on [Instagram] live. He DM’d me after and told me that he wanted to shoot me, but It never happened—I think he moved away to Italy. I got a phone call from Nick Hardwood, who directed the video during when I was in my freshman year. He told me that Dev would love for me to be in the “Jewelry” video. Then I went to the shoot, and the angel thing just happened.

How has your life changed since that opportunity?

Not much has changed. But there is this new found attention. It’s sweet because there are a lot more opportunities.

You’ve found a lot of success online. Do you consider yourself an internet kid?

I never considered myself one. I was just chilling doing what I do and sharing my stuff, and people fucked with it, so here we are.

What does it mean to be a black angel?

Being a black angel means being soft and observant and realizing you have a responsibility to help other people. Maybe it’s my personality, but I’m very empathetic. I realized that the other day when I did acid—I still feel like I’m on a cosmic journey.

What else did the acid trip help you realize?

I’ve always talked about wanting to impact people’s lives. But when I did acid something changed inside of me—I had one of those ‘oh wow’ moments where I felt like a new person that would actually do the things I dreamed of.

How has your family responded to your success?

Everything I’m doing is to prove that coming to New York was the right decision.

Models: Kai + Gabe
Photographer: James Bantone
Styling: Julio Cesar Delgado
MUA: Cate Ureña
Fashion Assistant: Adrian Flores